At the dining table you should eat without constraint.
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The dining room in my old house was truly magnificent, but by far the worst room for conversation. I'd get up from the table, a very long table, and somebody would always say, Paul, I never got to talk to you.
quote by Paul Lynde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Boast To Kill
I can kill
A fly
On the dining table
With all of you
Watching
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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199
I can kill
A fly
On the dining table
With all of you
Watching
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I was very happy sitting alone at a dining room table, writing a script.
quote by Conrad Hall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I developed the habit of writing novels behind a closed door, or at my uncle's, on the dining table.
quote by Patrick White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet As Mere Spectator
and so there was this child
left by the mother who was washing
her body in another
room
the child crawls and walks its
way finally
to the dining table
and pulls the table cloth
where a cup of hot coffee
is put
hot coffee is poured on its face
and the baby screams
and screams and screams
at the top of his voice
i hear it but what can i do
i am the poet
and you give me this job of
a mere spectator
next time, tell me, i am more than that
i can be superman
to that child
only if you ask.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Family Today
Tele vison...
Tele phone...
Cell phone...
Fridge...
Radio...
Computer ...
Internet...
car...
Scouter...
Bycycle...
Keboad...
Washing mechine...
Dining table...
Sitting table...
Bed...
Dog...
Cat...
Toy s...
Colour fishes...
Books....
Hot drinks...
Dubule bed rooms
One atach bath room
Home...
.........with
......... .with
...........with
My father and mother
My only one wife...
My only two children...
It is for every human family today
Don't loug...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Auntie and Hand Washing
You made your way from the john
to the dining table
and Auntie said
have you washed your hands?
yes
you said
are you sure?
Auntie asked
looking at you
with her fixed stare
and the black mutt
under the table
gazed at you too
I washed them this morning
you said
let me see your hands
Auntie said
and so you held out your hands
and she turned them over and up
and held them looking at them
you're meant to wash them
after going to the toilet each time
she said
not just
when you get up
in the morning
she released your hands
and you looked at them
as if they were suddenly there
before you for the first time
so you had best wash them
Auntie said
before I dish up your dinner
and so you went back
to the wash room
and turned on the tap
and taking soap
between your hands
you washed and rinsed
and dried them
on the white towel
on the rail and went back
to the dining room
and showed your aunt
that's better
she said
now go sit down
and wait for your dinner
and the black mutt
put its chin on your lap
waiting in anticipation
for titbits from your plate
and Auntie called out
from the kitchen
remember to say your prayer
before meals
and you said ok
and muttered
thank you for what I'm about to eat
may there be few vegetables
and lots of meat
and the mutt's dribble
wet your thigh
its jaw lingering there
giving you
its dark eyed stare.
poem by Terry Collett
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What Do I Really Need?
upon a dining table
i too, ask myself,
what do i really need?
one fried dried fish
a cup of steamed brown rice
a pinch of salt
five drops of coconut vinegar
a glass of water
and then the much needed
rest for the night
& with you
my bare hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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But there's always a Mass. It's not a formal Mass at all. We're sitting around her dining room table with wine and Eucharist and holding hands. It's very informal and small, but to me that's a wonderful way to have Mass.
quote by Linda Vester
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To A Strict Lifestyle Of The Past
'twas the cruel time
with grandpa when dropping a grain
of rice on the table cloth is such a big crime
when you like to eat but you cannot swallow
the food
when you like to drink but the water tasted
as bitter as bile
when the conversations on the dining table
are shallow as affection is strange
as nothing becomes more important
than a future
not be be bound in the house anymore
when papa did not do anything
when mama simply sobbed
and stayed silence
and surrendered everything to God
all we waited is the blackness of the night
black because death is indifferent
because time is not a rescuer
of those who sank into
the bottom
of despair
i recall all these cruel times now
upon a grain of white rice
upon a coffee deprived of milk and sugar
upon a bread without the butter
upon a naked table
scratched with a knife
stained with tears
i look over the window
and stare at the black butterfly merely passing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Frances 6
at the end of the day what thoughts shall i keep
what thoughts shall i discard
what to forget what to remember
at the end of the day when we see each other again
dine together on this carved dining table
and steady mahogany chairs
sleep together in bed on thick blankets and soft pillows
then you lower the mosquito nets
we are both feeling buried
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Relinquish
There remains a sealed
But half empty container of crackers
On the dining room table
That you used when you ate soup
Beside a bag of peanuts
From which you would offer to share
On certain slow but meaningful afternoons.
I imagine, I'll discard those items in time
As well as others you no longer require;
But I'm so desperate not to relinquish
Any part of you that the grave has not
Already deprived me.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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At The End Of The Day (2)
at the end of the day what thoughts shall i keep
what thoughts shall i discard
what to forget what to remember
at the end of the day when we see each other again
dine together on this carved dining table
and sit on these steady mahogany chairs
finally we sleep together in bed covered by thick blankets and soft pillows
then you lower the mosquito nets
do we not feel both being buried?
i honestly ask if you are still alive with me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Love And Really Love
always be ready
with a tray of
forgiveness
like fresh fruits
and flowers on the tray
of hope
serve forgiveness
heartily
and then be happy again
dining on the table
of love
by the window the
sun is always ready with
the rays of
more blessings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dinner In The House....
a plate falls from the table
hits the tiled floor and breaks into pieces
a woman is caught in utter surprise
and breaks into a hysterical
line but soon
realizes that this is nothing but an
accident of its
kind
about an ordinary plate
on the dining table
she regains her poise
keeps her composure and
retains her
feminine reservation,
'it is just a plate',
(it is not
a relationship)
i assure the guests of the house
and then all begins again
upon a witty conversation,
an exchange of
state-of-affairs
some on a cheek to cheek basis
a tee-a-tee
a peek-a-boo
a little laughter here and
another one dashing
over there
the children are out of the house
playing
some men are smoking
to the moon
it is not just a plate,
there is more to this
breaking
it is a symbol of something greater than those
broken pieces
if they only know
someone is talking to oneself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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P.s. I Love You
Johnny mercer / gordon jenkins
Dear, i thought i drop a line
The weather is cool
The fooks are fine
I'm in bed each night at nine
Ps i love you
Yesterday we had some rain
But all in all i can't complain
Was it dusty on the train
Ps i love you
Write to the brown's just as soon as you're able
They came around to call
And not burn a hole in the dining room table
Now let me think; i guess that's all
Nothing else for me to say
And so i'll close, but by the way
Everybody's thinking of you
P.s. i love you
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Brandy Glass
Only let it form within his hands once more -
The moment cradled like a brandy glass.
Sitting alone in the empty dining hall...
From the chandeliers the snow begins to fall
Piling around carafes and table legs
And chokes the passage of the revolving door.
The last diner, like a ventriloquist's doll
Left by his master, gazes before him, begs:
'Only let it form within my hands once more.'
poem by Louis Macneice
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You Only Need The Heart The Soul
to be a poet
(what they think is needed is the
discipline to fully master the craft)
one needs (however)
only the heart
the soul, the rest when summoned
properly
comes without much
hesitation, for in time, when you are
true and faithful
words come like servants
and arrange themselves like furniture
the chairs walk in
to form the dining set
with the center table
the curtains hang themselves
on window borders
to form a frame
a perfect perspective
to view the sea
of art.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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