No one knows what the dinner was after the plates have been washed.
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Surprise in Japan - Our Rattling Plates
earthquake
teutonic plates rattle
our plates
earthquake
rattling our nerves
the plates on the shelf
softly rattling
to an earthquake
our plates on the shelf
ratting plates
our seismic
detector
rattling plates
oh it is the earthquake
bothering us again
Ring of Fire
every now and then
our plates rattle
rattling plates
a belief in fate keeps
my heart calm
rattling plates
i put my life in
the hands of god
Japan is on one of the most siesmic proned region of the world called ring of fire. In our apartment, every now and then, the plates we stack one over the other on the shelf would rattle. When the earthquake was
strong enough, they would jump off the shelf. It was a surprise to me at first when I heard our plates rattled every now and then especially at night.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Last Night Time Passed So Quickly
last night
time passed so quickly
i did not even
notice that
the people in the house
where i live
had already taken dinner
washed their plates
kept them back
in the cabinet
and watched
soap opera
and then closed
the doors and windows
and slept
i only noticed the
change when
there was that
silence
that shouted
i have
been unfair
and too
insensitive
when poetry
seems to
be my whole
life when
nothing counts
anymore
except my
choice of
words
and living with
them
all alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Duet
Milestone:
All my troubles disappear,
When the dinner-bell I hear,
Over woodland, dale, and fell,
Swinging slow with solemn swell,---
The dinner-bell! the dinner-bell!
Hippy:
What can bid my heart-ache fly?
What can bid my heart-ache die?
What can all the ills dispel,
In my morbid frame that dwell?
The dinner-bell! the dinner-bell!
Both:
Hark!---along the tangled ground,
Loudly floats the pleasing sound!
Sportive Fauns to Dryads tell,
'Tis the cheerful dinner-bell!
The dinner-bell! the dinner-bell!
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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Gourmet Cuisine
If you can live my life,
Better than I can...
Don't discuss it over dinner.
Or bring it up when eating cake.
If you can live my life better,
Then by all means...
Relate!
My life is not sipped from the finest crystal.
Or prepared on exquisite boned China plates.
Even though I have a weakness,
For gourmet cuisine that's great.
If you can live my life,
Better than I can...
Don't discuss it over dinner.
After eating baked cake you ate.
If you can live my life better...
Don't fake it.
Relate.
My life is not sipped from the finest crystal.
Or prepared on exquisite boned China plates.
Even though I have a weakness,
For gourmet cuisine that's great.
And...
If you're not going to eat that fried chicken wing,
Pass it here I'll take it.
Before my appetite is wasted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Dinner Bell
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
Experimental dog*
Salivating dog
Good dog
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things
So in the morning when the morning bird sings
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket
til the dinner bell rings
I dont want a pizza, I dont want a piece of (experimental dog)
Peanut brittle, I dont want a pear.
I dont want a bagel I dont want a bean I wouldnt like (salivating dog)
A bag of beef or a beer or a
Cup of chowder, corn, cake, or creamed cauliflower cause Im (good dog)
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Shoulder, bicep, elbow, arm
Forearm, thumb, wrist, knuckle, palm
Middle, pinky, index, ring
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
I dont know whether Id rather be having a bottle of vinegar (experimental dog)
I dont know whether Id rather be having an egg.
I dont know whether Id rather be having an order of bacon (salivating dog)
Or whether Id rather be having a basket of garlic bread.
I dont know whether Id rather be having some pie or (good dog)
Saving my appetite cause im
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the dinner bell)
Dinner bell dinner bell ring
Ive been leaving on my things (Ive been leaving on)
So in the morning when the morning bird sings (the morning)
Theres still dinner on my dinner jacket (on my)
til the dinner bell does the bell thing
Dinner bell dinner bell do the bell thing
Im waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding ding ding
Waiting for the dinner bell to do the bell thing (waiting for the ding)
Dinner bell dinner bell ding
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Consider This...(Every Ten Seconds Of Every Day!)
Like to have something
Different for dinner tonight?
Tired of plates
Full of the same old thing?
Tired of having that tight feeling
Of having eaten too much
Tired of letting
Your belt out a notch?
Not enough variety
In all the food you eat?
Overweight just a tad…?
Actually over 80% of us are
Do you frown when
You step on the scales?
Have you thrown something out
Of your cluttered fridge
More than once or twice a week?
I have!
Something that got
Pushed to the back
And then forgotten
(until it got mouldy and turned rotten)
Bought more
When you already had some?
If this describes you
Here's what you should do
Invite poverty over
For dinner tonight with you
Imagine a hungry child
Across your table, looking wide-eyed
At what sometimes
We consider tiresome or boring
And then consider this
Every ten seconds
Somewhere in the world
A child dies of hunger
EVERY…TEN…SECONDS! !
poem by David Whalen
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Point Of View
Thanksgiving dinner's sad and thankless
Christmas dinner's dark and blue
When you stop and try to see it
From the turkey's point of view.
Sunday dinner isn't sunny
Easter feasts are just bad luck
When you see it from the viewpoint
Of a chicken or a duck.
Oh how I once loved tuna salad
Pork and lobsters, lamb chops too
'Til I stopped and looked at dinner
From the dinner's point of view.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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This House
In this house
walls vault
rise to high windows,
arch to sky and tree.
See the bright table,
gleaming plates!
Onions are steaming
in the fragrant air; Oh, hear
the happy clatter
of dinner
in this house.
poem by Steven Federle
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A Dialogue Between Two Predators
it starts like this: hello
is hello that important? yes
is dinner important to you? no, i just had one
dinner must be important to you
since you have had no dinner yet, yes
can i have you for dinner? me> for food?
i am not delicious.
but you may swallow me alive...big shark!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Easter at Spanish Cove
As always when a holiday is here
Food miraculously arrives
For Spanish Cove they have
Cooks where perfection thrives
Fresh, delicious and tasty
Tables set up with such style
Folks lined up to fill their plates
Food that satisfies for awhile
Lovely flowers graced the tables
And put everyone in the mood
For Easter dinner is special
Nowhere can you find better food
The color and freshness of fruit
Adorned the enormous salad bar
Looking very festive as well
And wanted to be the star
I hope you had a special Easter
Like the folks who love to rove
A delicious dinner like the ones
Who had Easter at Spanish Cove!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Fish In A Bowl
Everywhere I go
A thousand faces stare at me
Eating from the palm
A date from hand to mouth
Break a leg!
The shoes are on the bottom
On your way
But the wardrobe always stays wide open
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
Everywhere I go
All bob and weave
Or sew it seams
Aiming low in life
They keep their noses clean
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
An ordered life from start to finish
And my timing is out
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up...fish!
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strawberries
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you
let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills
let the storm wash the plates
poem by Edwin Morgan
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My Childless Home
i have a home, not just a house,
you may disagree, but it is a home to me.
my heart longs for it
and my body likes to sleep with it.
i have this home and you may see it
and feel it, like it is your home,
but then you may complain,
there is no sound of a child yawning,
or a kid playing with his toys,
there is none in my home, but it is the sweetest home
i ever had, a simple home, with windows and doors,
a wife serving me dinner, only for the two of us
a table, two plates, two cups,
a set of spoons, a hot soup, and a happy
conversation.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don Not Be Confused
it is not the body
that we laundry
it is not the body
but the soul
that we purify
it is not the body
that you can
prepare like washed
dishes for your
next dinner
it is not the print
on the paper
but the thought
it is the dream and
not the sleep
it is the grasp of the
the divine
not the hold of something
bovine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Like Spinning Plates
Why do we play these foolish games?
Only consolations
You feed me to the lions (??)
I didn't need at all (??)
And this just feels like spinning plates
I'm living in cloud cuckoo land
And this just feels like spinning plates
My body is floating down the muddy river
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 11222012
Gather around come all
It is that time of year
Dinner bells rings and call
Everyone is finally here
The smell of gourmet fills the room
Salivation full mouth just from anticipation
All eyes are focus, just straight zoom
People metaphorically dying from starvation
Bow your heads and let's begin
We are blessed to be thankful for everything
We end this prayer with amen
The food and plates are flying
It always good to be surrounded by family
On Thanksgiving Day just my family and me
poem by Murasaki Kitsune
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The East London Devil's Diplomat
And so old mate,
you've taken your last breath,
You've snuffed it, yeah,
no, really your stone dead.
Now come on chum
it's really not that bad,
dark souls like yours
are welcome at our gaff.
The climate here
is great, better than most
Your bloody soul will
soon be warm as toast.
Just take a look around,
this place is hot.
we've china plates
and dinner's in the pot.
Or did you bet on
fluffy clouds and larks
maybe with angels
playing on gold harps?
You wouldn't want
that kind of shit, I bet.
Your not the fluffy sort,
let's have a drink.
I've saved your place
come in, we'll have a chat
For you've just met
the devil's diplomat.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Meet Me After Dinner
Meet me after dinner.
After all has been dished and served!
Meet me after dinner here...
If you have the nerve!
My ex-wife is a memory,
And my boyfriend has long been gone.
Only they could bring that 'freak' out of me...
That sweet freak!
Others deny and hide discreetly,
As they get their own groove on.
~Day and night long!
Not caring who says,
What they share is wrong! ~
Yeah...
You meet me after dinner.
I can picture you gnawing,
On those big beef bones!
Finish what you're doing.
I'm the one you should be screwing.
Meet me after dinner here...
And let's stop faking,
We don't desire naked love making.
Meet me after dinner,
And release those phone moans.
Your mate doesn't hear,
Or care who's heart is breaking!
Since I yearn for you,
With me alone!
Nibbling on your neck,
I want to hear you coo...
In licked whispers
Sighing,
In passionate delicious croons.
I do. Yes..I do.
Reflected in silhouette,
Our beads of sweat glistens.
Under the glow of the moon!
Meet me after dinner...
And I'll have dessert,
Perked and ready...
In the master bedroom!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A loving dinner
Story: One evening, they came home late
Mom, cooking dinner in a speedy craze
Asked: Help me to set the table, please?
There comes her sweetheart:
Zdring! ! Zdrang! ! Zdrong!
Shaking the sfrrr
sfrrr frying pan,
Mom cries out:
'LOVE! '
The daughter,
with the plates
in her hand, freeze
Dad's nose came out
from the newspaper wondering
Smiling, mom said: ~With love, my dears:
'All things that on our table come,
With love and kindness handled are.'
That evening? Oh, yes indeed,
they had one of the most beautiful
ever meals.
poem by Elena Sandu
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