It's considered bad manners if you pickup your food
with the fingers that extend out from your paws
So many traditions surround
these inane culinary laws
Some days ago I watched a kookaburra
prepare a piece of meat
So unlike a human who need
a knife and fork for everything they eat
First he/she took it in his beak, thumped it on the turf
did it several times until a piece broke off
Then he opened up his beak, tilted back his head
downed this mini morsel with a mighty scoff
Humans are the only species that maintains a large variety of utensils
to prepare their food and then do dine
Followed up with crockery
to scull a glass of wine
Set the table, put cutlery in its place
add a clean white napkin on which you wipe your face
Me I prefer to be like the laughing kookaburra
Pick my fruit and park myself beneath a spreading shady tree
to dine in peace and eat my fare, much more naturally
Set the table, and let the light fall,
cut the bread, cost nothing but time.
Read my face for the story—
for and, or but, yet so—
we keep finding ways to meet.
A few laughs shared,
a lot of pauses filled,
twenty of those small gestures
put us back in step.
So often, many times,
and always once more,
my hand set beside yours,
the rhythm unchanging,
the word read aloud together.
Not grand, not distant—
just the steady cost of care,
the hearth of language,
the warmth of being here.
.
I set the table; I did not.
The pourer did. The poor did not.
The seats are cold; merlot is warm.
The pourer asks; there are replies,
sips, guzzles, sighs, manners.
I am satisfied as each one’s drunk.
The pourer leaps from spot to spot,
wincing, squinting, craving approval.
I smile; I nod; with each intonation, accent,
sound of a lady and a gentleman.
The table is set quite elaborate; each course,
choice: salad, pork, dessert.
The hour becomes late;
drunkenness from each glass poured.
I am satisfied by the pourer; rich
with the scent of merlot and more.
He’s the only one left of my friends.
The seats are cold; he is warm.
shadows
”When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.”
—Lauren Eden, The Lioness Awakens
i was raised by the dark—
mother taught me to swallow
the unsaid. my tongue split
on edges, learned to sip honey
from blades.
shadows don’t starve.
they chew the unspoken:
hiss of struck matches,
salt of a wound,
a fist clenching grief
like a prayer.
i wear my scars as cutlery.
each night, i set the table
with my father’s silence,
my mother’s marrowless bones.
i eat what the light abandons.
i drink what it fears.
Written By: D. Collins 1/8/25
If you should somehow enter Heaven before me.
Put in a good word of what I turned out to be.
Although He already knows a little help won’t hurt.
Tell Him I tried very, very hard to do His work.
Tell Him about me and how much I care.
Please set the table before I get there.
For the defenseless ones, I am their might.
That soldier He anointed to lead the fight.
Tell Him I offered help wherever I could.
Spent most of my life trying to do good.
Though, may not be merits its worth a try.
That He may greet me with a loving smile.
This applies to every loved one who is already there and any to come.....
Set the table with festive cheer
for all our loved ones no longer here
Set them a plate and pour them a
Sherry
They would want us to celebrate, to be festive and merry
Don’t wallow in sorrow for they are not near
Turn to your memories and hold those dear
Don’t be downhearted for those departed
That’s not what they’d wish for or what they wanted.
Celebrate life, celebrate living,
Embrace each other and be forgiving
So as we celebrate Xmas together this year
Let’s raise our glasses to those not here.
Their spirit and memory is locked in our heart
And for that very reason never apart.
23 The Lord is well peppered;
I shall add salt,
2 He laid out the green peppers;
and poured the chili sauce,
3 all into my bowl;
that's filled generously with cut steak.
4 In the taste test, my eyes began to water.
He smiled at me, as I ate happily.
5 He set the table for my friends who said that they
were sorry as He poured the hot sauce,
and their eyes began to water.
6 We were full and begged for mercy, no more please,
and in the following days;
We all ate at the house of our Lord;
Forever.
If you enter through
The rusty back gate
Messily labeled 105 and
Walk thirty steps to your right,
You will come across
A beaten path
Overgrown with forgotten weeds
And the remnant leaves of autumn.
But twenty steps into the forest,
A maple tree stands alone amongst thorny bushes.
And if you stray here from the path
Fifty-eight steps through the branches,
Listen closely.
For you can hear the hinges
Of a small wooden door
Leading to the home of an elf
Where she returns from her gathering,
Bakes acorn-pie,
And uses buttons to set the table.
If you stay silent
Little pixies
With insect-like wings–
Some with the wings of a bee
Or wings of the teal dragonfly–
Flutter between leaves,
Collecting soft foliage
To sew clothing
In their homes within the trees.
Keep your eyes peeled,
And you may see a gnome
Walking up a hill in the distance
Peeking under logs and bushes
Searching for his squirrel companion.
Then you blink,
And they are gone.
When the sun rises and spreads
its sticky yellow syrup across green marzipan fields
I rub the bees from the fragrant holyhock bells
and sniff the nectar.
I pull each cup to drink the breakfast dew
and taste summer mornings paste
then hear a fly buzzing by.
Trees are heavy with laden aprons of
sappy boughs, thick with unopened fruit,
Unable to set the table or move their loaded limbs.
In this warm, breathless, first blush,
slurping down the booty of the day,
inebriated in a fine stirred brew of Yorkshire hemp,
I blink to see my dreaming fairyland alive,
and paying tribute lift to toast the ride.
She married at the age of 19
For over 70 years
worked for husband.
set the table,
took care of children
With parents-in-law
their distant relatives and neighbours
Cared for them
Losing job and family
Drifting
drunk people,
beaten and kicked out by husband
Bring a woman
she ate together
She thought love was the best,
but her love was also unequal.
You confused the situation
by alarming the guests
saying close
but no cigar
You always gave quaint encouragement
by virtue of your factuals
We sweetly sang out of tune
to deflect the despondency
On the chimes befalling
you set the table for many guests
but could ill afford the meal provided
Everyone helped clean up after dinner.
Dad, Mom, brother and me.
Mom created the casserole.
Daddy baked the pumpkin pie.
I set the table.
Brother washed the floor.
We all worked together.
In 1962 we each took up a chore.
We felt needed and loved.
Working together, we would sometimes sing
In 1962 the entire family worked together
To make clean up an easier thing.
scattered pieces of pretty teacups -
floral, dotted, antiques.
they’re broken, like jars of clay,
and the beauties are you and me.
we find ourselves, abused and ugly,
but God’s already set the table.
we see ourselves through a dark mirror,
but when the light hits us, full on,
in our wardrobe, white -
what designs, colors and accents
shall be revealed. relish
the thought. take
a look at your perfect form
through the eyes of God
8/15/2022
Hello Love,
Tonight I really want you here by my side.
With our favorite music on,
my ears to your chest hearing your heart beats,
"you're mine, you're mine, you're mine"
Oh sweet serendipity!
My hands are in your hands
swaying gently, fiasco dancing
We're perfectly imperfect.
Hello love, come on, come over
It's beautiful tonight for us to be apart
Let's celebrate like it's our first night
Come on Come over
I'll set the table, we'll dine under the moonlight.
The stars are align for us tonight,
whisper your wishes I'm all ears
I'm all in, no inhibitions, no hesitations.
Take my hand, take me all you want.
Tonight there's nothing between us
But our love, sincerity.
Hello Love,
I really want you here by my side,
your eyes my serenity
your lips my certainty
your hugs my sanctuary
Come on Come over
With our favorite music on,
my ears to your chest hearing your heart beats,
"you're mine, you're mine, you're mine"
~cvb062621~
very late posting
there are three of us
I set the table for six
animals eat too
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.