Short Diner Poems
Short Diner Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Diner by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Diner by length and keyword.
ghost waiter blimey bondo
a haunting in a condo
rushed in a flurry
and pot of curry
hope sir you like potato.
Though it has stellar moonscapes
And the breathable sand lakes
Gork's place really stewed
With Drakari food
We just like the Tribble cakes
hard boiled eggs for diner Pew!
what ya know , I laid a few
toot toot then a dump
what a pretty lump
hard boiled eggs for diner, you?
By Angeline Vine
The rats were lively
falling from ceiling tiles
running for an open door
some had no tails
and later their photos were
on the news
The patrons were eating
spaghetti and meatballs
i knew an old cook in a diner
who was a terrible whiner
but people loved what he cooked
and the diner was always booked
no one had fare that was finer
Cornucopia Cooking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:
Chantelle Anne Cooke
7/12/19
And now she looks guarded, watched.
Why do we want to make love to complete strangers?
She's gone now. Forever.
There is the constant beg
For intimacy that grinds and binds us;
The end to all our means.
Even our meanness. When it pops out
Is a call for love.
an automat whose orbs of light
reflect and touch the void of night
a refuge from the twenties’ roar
trapped in her thoughts without a door
a table, cup and gloveless hand
alone together in her land
a bowl of fruit that sits behind:
the 'still life' and her state of mind.
I am standing
In a line scene
Cuz my body
Needs its caffeine
And in front of me some dink
Orders a confusing drink
Now he’s changing ‘round his order
With our patients growing shorter
And a sword from
Someone’s pocket
Now sticks through the
Guy’s eye socket
Du du du du
Du du du du
Du du du-du du-du du-du...
Doctor Love's Diner.
We have everything, even
Chicken and waffles.
We have included
Games and live entertainment.
Sounds great, doesn't it?
Our wonderful staff
Will make you feel right at home;
Service with a smile.
We do cater for
Birthday parties, weddings, and
Graduations, too.
Why don't you drop by?
There's fun for everyone at
Doctor Love's Diner.
Adam is out
on a hot date
has a good time
until the fruit plate
Eve gets cranky
says ''I'm late
my nipples hurt
and you I hate''
He yells at the cook
''Worst I ever ate!''
she glares in silence
at her lousy mate
He gets on up
feels low rate
she calls him a slob
he mentions her weight
It's not going good
they've sealed our fate
the meal cost too much
and smells like bait
Janice is as fresh and pretty as a fifties diner
That opened a week ago, said Cuz.
We saw her sitting at the counter
And we saw how fresh and crisp she was
Her freshly-washed pin-curls give her that fifties look.
We wonder if she is related to the hostess or the cook?
Janice gives us a smile and we recognize once again.
What a gorgeous fifties place, we have fallen in.
Welcome to the fifty’s diner
Where there are chrome stools
Black, red and white leather seats
A checkered floor
Everything matches
A soda machine is standing ready
The chef is heating up the fryer
Burgers and fries are the main stay
The waitress has filled the ketchup bottles
There are also mustard bottles, and salt and pepper shakers
Staff is ready for school to dismiss
So, the munching, and conversing can begin.
There was a chef named Luke,
All of his entrees were nuked.
In every dinner he planned,
All of his food was canned,
And most of his patrons puked.
Now many patrons inquired,
Why this chef was never fired,
But his boss was anemic,
and very bulimic,
Which is why Luke was hired.
This Diner's reputation lags,
But the owner always brags,
That his dining auditorium,
is a modern vomitorium
With no need for doggie bags.
On the way to the New Jersey Shore,
make a stop there if you never have before.
Travel eastward along U. S. Route 30,
you will find this place that will be easy to see.
It's located in the town of Hammonton, New Jersey.
In the morning, you will never have fluffier pancakes.
In the evening, they have tender and juicy steaks.
There are very few places that are finer.
Stop and check out the Silver Coin Diner.
I have got you at the tip of my tongue,
at the end of my mind.
My fallen star which rose again and shines brightly,
enlightens my dreams, my way.
A feather you planted under my blade
has grown, has spread.
My angel, which I miss more and more every fall.
I am hungry for your voice,
your work and eyes.
Forever young.
Endless.
I was shaped with your words.
Tell me, would you drink with me,
to celebrate the fate ?
If we ever met...
Place to eat
I can’t say Evanston Diner can’t be beat
Location being the town of Evanston, Wyoming
Bound for Los Angeles, California
A stop on Greyhound Bus
You know the slogan, “Leave the Driving to us”
Limited food
There was no need to drool
Hamburger last
Had to be ordered fast
That was all that was available
Greyhound buses that passed through had cleaned out the Evanston Diner of food
Later the Greyhound bus pressed on
Back on the road again
Homer’s Diner
Retirement closes afternoon eyes;
Dreamlike pictures of old desires arrive;
Transporting the willing consciousness
To a heaven’s far away hoped diner
Where old friends arrive one by one
As they leave old earth behind and find
A place where pie and coffee flourish
Hugs and back pats abound;
No talk of mean and harsh politics,
Only arguments of the best flavor of pancakes,
Where laughter and smiles are always around;
At Homer’s Heaven’s Diner.
The sizzle of the griddle
amongst the chitter-chatter
of nubile meanderings
The St. Francis rocks
rocks the soda POP stops...
This fifties Fonzi haunt
for the twenty-first century's gaunt
feeds the bellies of San Francisco's dreamers.
Amongst a milkshake swirl
stand pretty girls
tee's rolled up tattoos unfurled
on lollipop like pedestals they twirl
unwinding like wet red and white paper straws
barelegged or blue-jeaned.
The St. Francis rocks
rocks the dinners scene.
Old Man At The Diner
He slaughters his hamburger steak
with a fork and a butter knife,
massacres ringlets of onions
again and again
thumps catsup all over
the bloody commingling,
then ever so slowly
peppers and salts
and reminds me of Hrebic,
whose wife, back
on the block of my youth,
sat all summer out on her stoop,
knees awry, one eye black,
the other turning gray,
sunning the great white hydrants
of her phlebitic legs.
Donal Mahoney