Short Tablecloth Poems

the tablecloth stained -
old couple had gravy on
their chins, no napkins
...

Read More

A fleeting glance
       no need to remove them
     Specks, particles, of no import 
       ~ a banquet undone...

Read More

Here's a field that glows as gold
upwards to a sky of cloud,
like a tablecloth unrolled
for feasting bees buzzing loud....

Read More

Hibiscus drooped, sheds
Petals in the gust of rain ...
A broken heart dies

Swallows swivel rain
Above water stifled grass .. .
Memories of joy

Light covers the earth
And dust make rainbows appear ...
I am that poem

Sky and tablecloth of stars....

Read More

Friday afternoon's shadows
  hover over her morn
Awaiting the Sabbath
  soon to be born

Candlesticks polished
  Pressed tablecloth white
Come, Day of Eternity
  Illumine the night



_____________________
The Sabbath begins today
  at 4:12 p.m. in Chicago...

Read More

                        11/13/2023


Christmas tablecloth
Red mugs, hot chocolate
Cinnamon candle

We, so lovingly 
Just like kids, dunk marshmallows
Sniffing the candle

Beneath the table,
Our feet do a romantic dance
Quite a sensual trance!


English Haiku
...

Read More

Rustic greenery and quiet alleys
artist at the Window
composition bringing distance
salt and pepper pots on a table
a silk brocade tablecloth
only the sound of the wind can be heard
history is a fleeting moment
a cherished simplicity.

Written; January 13, 2023...

Read More

in a rut
no, a trench.
pulled under like Ypres or Verdun
walls held up by bodies of dearly departed.
we gather here today because we have to.
so chew the dirt from fingernails, 
swim this mud sea.
six feet.
draped flags,
bedsheets, tablecloth rags
set the places.
mines flower on this grave....

Read More

Money licks its lips 
A fervour without bound it rips
Feeding on the rich with etiquette and poise
The middle classes swallowed with grumbled noise
And screaming poor not even savoured
From a beast thats never laboured
The earth lays daily a new tablecloth
For the feast where all humanity is lost...

Read More

Grime under the table cloth

Beneath the fluorescent lights and sterile walls, 
Lurks an undercurrent of unspoken strife. 
The daggers are kept hidden, the words unsaid, 
But the tension is palpable, 
A throbbing wound. 
For all the forced cordiality, 
the animosity seethes underneath.

©?Chitra Arun...

Read More

Art of Ivan Albright
I hear a death rattle
feel gloom 
despise grayscale-ness

flat black paint kind of background
lecherous guy
creepy skeletal hands
craggy face

shirt looks dingy, dirty, smudged
tablecloth is dank, dour, dusty,
grays and blacks, morose, macabre
I run from his art, screaming pink and orange....

Read More

An untouched cup of coffee
sleeps on the café table.

I want to take hold of your hands,
hands now clasped upon
a checkered tablecloth.

We both know it's over,
but no lies please.
being dumped
should be a fingertip moment.

Utter no pre-chosen words.
I promise to say nothing,

let the cooling,
once hot coffee, speak for us both....

Read More

Can we talk over dinner?
I’ll be composed,
Salad a middleman
On orange china.
I won’t stare daggers
I’ll only look gently
You won’t upset me
You won’t cry
Tablecloth a barrier
Of polite normalities
No last words.
No hard feeling.
You’ll drift atop
Jello molds,
An angel in suburban hell.
You won’t tell me 
You quit your job,
And our haven
Will remain bubble wrapped....

Read More

My sister and her husband 
Go dining in the early eve
In a restaurant by the water
Sitting by the window
It is a lovely view to see

the table has a setting 
A set in the middle 
Two candles are lite
On a tablecloth
Two glasses and bottle

Filled with red wine
Ready to fill the glasses
To click together
For a special celebration
A toast to marriage
For fifty years marriage...

Read More

Frances exits the bistro.
Her napkin falling
onto the tablecloth,
it flutters down in slow motion;
a snow-goose onto a red desert.

‘Not a good way to break-up Frances,
not cool’.

On the pavement, high-heels clacking.
Frances running,
the backs of her heels bleed, 
tendons bolting her onward.

On hind legs
a restaurant chair tries to follow. 
A thunderclap
as the napkin lands....

Read More

       Soft red and white checkered tablecloth.
         Round table, metal chairs with cushions.
            Under a dashing, dark green umbrella.
              Chocolate sundaes with nuts, add fresh whipped cream.
                   This is my delicious, vey special summer dream!

                                  4/5/2021
                                     ~3~
     
...

Read More

My grandma did embroidery
And several things she did for me.
Her tablecloths (I have a few)
On holidays must get their due.

Each cross-stitch, sewn by her own hand,
As needles followed her command,
Is neat and perfectly aligned,
Her handiwork and heart entwined.

My table’s set, her cloth in place
And so tonight I will embrace
Her love that I can draw upon
From every stitch, though she is gone....

Read More

Pour piping tea
Into imaginary cups
Flying on saucers
Dappling the tablecloth
Which isn’t.
Immerse the tarts
In sweetened dregs
Between spurious conversation
With yourself.
Who else can be trusted
With yesterday’s forecast
Of looming storms
Stalking the week.
Least of all on paper.
Cheers to the hatter
Twice-over the hare
Excellent companions
For a tea-loving fellow.
Indeed.
Indeed.
Indeed....

Read More

Poetry Valley




A fresh glass  of orange juice,squeezed.
My partner, the chef with an apron of red.
This day, a tablecloth, dark blue.
Shiny, lovely, cobalt blue plates, too
with homeade burritos for two.
The scent, divinely, Mexicali.
Oh, that chef, knows what's down my alley.
After breakfast, fresh French coffee!
Now sitting and writing in Poetry Valley.

            


            November 10, 2019...

Read More

Sizzling bacon in the pan
eggs are gently poaching
sausages hissing and spitting
fried bread turning golden brown

Toast just popped out of the toaster
fragrant wafts of fresh brewed coffee
cheerful tablecloth with vase of flowers
places laid await the bounteous feast

Be your taste just for a bacon sandwich
or if you like the full blown Monty
whatever you choose there is no denying
that the best meal of the day is breakfast...

Read More

Mushrooms push up their caps
in a cow meadow.
The bovine dung adds that umami taste,
it's the Glutamate, that relishes and beguiles.

The cows don't eat the button mushrooms,
but as they graze, they may scoop some
into their contently chewing mouths.

I think these thoughts in a steak restaurant,
while adding Worcestershire sauce to my oxtail soup.
Mushroom will be arriving on this white linen
tablecloth
soon.
...

Read More

Fantasy, the delicacy of royalty
Hundreds of worlds served on silver platters
Dragons’ wings and faerie dances whirl
Spinets of castles, swords and shields
Arranged for your feast – accompanied by
The magical flutter of capes concealing your meal
Caged birds sing of lands far away
“Just where am I?” – don’t question, dear reader
For the silk of this tablecloth will tear
And forever you’ll be blinded to the possibility....

Read More

     
 Morning
 My Muse
 Floral gym shoes 
 Terry aqua sleeveless dress
 Eggs frying on my stove
 Whole wheat toast, aroma utterly entrancing
 Brazilian Bossa Nova notes filling all rooms
 Floral tablecloth embracing sparkling utensils, glasses  dishes, cups
 Smiling, red petunias rest on the shiny, tall microwave
 Saying grace, hands folded in the kitchenette, her holy place





June 12, 2019
8:45am PST
...

Read More

Her name is Apogee Sausalito,
she is tiny, feisty and black;
when she romps with Tricia,
she thinks she's a cat.

The crafty feline hides
on the dining room chair;
'round and 'round the table,
the dog circles her there.

Behind the tablecloth,
the cat keeps watch;
reaches out with her paw,
and gives S'Lito a swat.

It's a game they both love;
each day's regular routine,
we enjoy their frisky antics
with morning coffee and cream....

Read More

We took the Marseilles road,
a cambered sun streaking the bay
with gold threads.

We drink lemon tea 
while lovers and others
search for cheap wine.

We are alone at last, free 
to explore our magnetic boundaries;
hands stalking hands
on a checkered tablecloth.

That night we translate
the prayers of our flesh,
surfing tidal crests.

Dawn arrives with gulls
and guilt.
I catch the bus to Perpignan,

head for a border
we have already crossed....

Read More