My table is now brightly, now dimly lighted. Its temperature varies. It may receive an ink stain. One of its legs may be broken. It may be repaired, polished, and replaced part by part. But, for me, it remains the table at which I daily write.
quote by Ernst Mach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Ode for David
Inspiration
From a lopsided table?
Words written down
Told as a fable
Strange request you have
My dear friend
Inspiration I will find
This I do intend
Wooden Table
Possess my tongue
Wintered table
Cry from my lungs
Pen striking paper
You shall be my muse
May the bleeding ink
Cry of your blues
Splintered skin
In a corner rest forgotten
Winding legs
You stand wild as cotton
Pen stroke slide
Across your lofty floor
Three legs you stand
When you should have four
Awkward table
You have no friend
Ancient table
You've reached your bitterend
Should my pen learn sea legs
I'd love you once more
But, on three legs you stand
When you should have four
poem by Kay Gardner
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Table D'hote
My table tennis champion girl
Who does a part time job,
And she pretends when I go there
She's not aware of me.
And I write her a poem on a paper servitte,
Hey! My haughty please do not hit me like that
As you play with a bat and a hollow ball on a table.
*To my friend Romeo Della Valle!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Change.....
before i became you
i always see to it that any broken thing
is repaired
nothing is spared
i thought
that every part and nook
of this house
must be perfect
time is not only the healer
of wounds
it is the giver of
our destination
it changes us
into chameleons
now i will have no more time
to repair broken
things
when i see a broken leg
of the table
i have learned to ignore
it
shrug my shoulder and
say
oh the days shall repair
that leg
oh i have other better things
to do
oh i only pass this place
once
i am not destined for
something permanent
for something steady
and unchangeable
i can resist
and has given up that
instinct to
recreate
and reconstitute
i only have my mind left
and i can manage
even without it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red Rose and Chardonnay
A dinner with chardonnay
Plates of love whilst piano play
A love song of long ago.
She sat by the table
A hands folded like napkin in array
And red roses on the table
Of two love birds
Today are their anniversary.
She excused herself
As the waiter arranged the table.
Today is their day
But her lover has another.
She waited for an hour
For he promised to surrender
The love he has for her.
She begged him not to part
But…he’s not here.
Nor his shadow emerged
Red rose and chardonnay
are now abandoned- by the table.
She exits in the moonless sky.
poem by Tess Rockenstire
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Somewhere In The Middle Of This Journey
somewhere in the middle of this journey
is the chaos of our presence
we like to dislodge and vomit of this
nostalgia of where we come from
we like to go back to the womb
and regret having grown our legs
we blame the hands of the midwife
we want to pinpoint who slapped us
we like to hear the sound of vengeance
of our first cries
did we cry for help? did i cry because
i never asked to be put here?
or did i cry because i am just making a lot of nonsense
about my innocence about despair?
i get some names of fathers and mothers and siblings
i write them on a page of a book and i ask what if they were not there
what could have been? what could i be part of?
i shout, i am an individual, i am not a part of this relating places
i am not a connection of the branches and roots
i stretch my hands wanting to touch and get hold of a rope
there is nothing there to put my neck in shame.
we get some comfort to the miseries of others.
we become brave from the stories of their sorrows and misfortunes.
we read the stories and the poems of those who know what is wrong.
what is pain, what is so distressing.
soon we learn this game. This art of shrugging our shoulders and then
putting the payment on the table, not drinking the glass of beer.
Leaving the table and not saying any word at all. And this we tell ourselves,
i am courageous. I am silent. I grow alone. I die alone. I am beautiful.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Crowded
Here I am
My trun to
sit at the
table
I've seen it
happening long
ago when
Perry Mason
was still in
black and white
Who knew he was
gay
I've visualized it
as I've read
books about famous
trials
Waiting for
the moment
Listening for
the moment
But there are
No attornerys
leaping to their
feet here
There's barely
enough room
at the table
for me
Attorney takes up part
My investigator takes up part
Then there's our notes
evidence and such
Not much room left
even for the water
the cups the napkins or
me
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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A Certain Doubt
it has been here
do you see it? she points to a
black spot
on the white mantel
it's been there i said
never shall it be removed
it is part of the landscape on the table
and without which,
mind you
this table would be incomplete
she feels uneasy about it
there is this certain doubt if she really knows
about me
it is enough that she sits by my side
lays her head on my shoulder and then we enjoy
most the silence
between our concerns
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Food On My Table
Come and see the food on my table,
For it is prepared for you and me;
And, i am waiting for you in the room of my love.
Life is full of surprises and i want to show you my love,
And here comes the sun of the morning to touch your heart;
For, it is right for you to be beside me at this table.
The food on my table,
As soon as you receive my letter means that i love you;
For life is full of surprises and i want your love,
So come and let us share this food on my table.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Recognition: Now Your Silence Is Always Part Of Me
Now your silence is always part of me,
where you lie naked on the examination table
before they slice you open after your death
and much too quickly life frolics past
and now I want it so much differently.
Now your silence is always part of me,
with past moments that I cannot avoid,
when a holy man says some words from scripture,
before they slice you open after your death
and totally separated are you and I
where my hand rests on your breast,
now your silence is always part of me,
you that once full of life, carelessly free
could bind your love as a oath to me,
before they slice you open after your death
and I wonder what remains in these moments
where I have to lie down that, which had been between us,
now your silence is always part of me,
before they slice you open after your death.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table.....
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table
poem by Vincent Armone
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Winter Night
It snowed and snowed ,the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
As during summer midges swarm
To beat their wings against a flame
Out in the yard the snowflakes swarmed
To beat against the window pane
The blizzard sculptured on the glass
Designs of arrows and of whorls.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
Distorted shadows fell
Upon the lighted ceiling:
Shadows of crossed arms,of crossed legs-
Of crossed destiny.
Two tiny shoes fell to the floor
And thudded.
A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears
Upon a dress.
All things vanished within
The snowy murk-white,hoary.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
A corner draft fluttered the flame
And the white fever of temptation
Upswept its angel wings that cast
A cruciform shadow
It snowed hard throughout the month
Of February, and almost constantly
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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For My Love In The Open
i love you
that is what you will hear
because i say it
when you ask for it
as a matter of
your daily
need.
i have long accepted
half of what i am
ever since
when light is vague
when truth is nothing
but an opaque
view of the egg yolk
against the
lamp.
part of my nose
is efflorescent
it shines when it is
so dark
like a fish on
a moonless night
on the surface
of the the calm sea
part of me is an
anemone
when you are near
everything in me wants
to close and disappear
part of me is your confusion
like the squid
jetting a spurt of
a black trail
part of me
is your love another part of
me is my hate
for this self that i wish
i have completely known
like the lines of
my palm.
part of me is lost
another part of me says
there is no way to find
i hope that 50 years is enough
to know that part of me
is unknown
like that part of the sea
unfathomable.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Round Table
we have this round table
and we put all our hands
on it when we eat and
drink and just talk for
hours and hours and
listen. And we ask what
is happening: Karding
broke a leg and Delia
is looking for the money.
Always it is the money.
Always she is short of
the money. And there
were jewelries hanging
on her neck and arms
and fingers, and we all
ask at this round table:
what is happening?
Nothing, don't mind at
all, this is just a part of
the round table, some
wine glass that broke
and must be swept at
once. We keep away the
sound of a crying pig.
We eat pigs here at this
round table. Then we shifted
the talk about our dead
parents. We pray. We
remember we keep on
saying this. We finish eating
the pig. We drink a very
cold water. Our throats
are irritated and we step
out of the room wanting
to pull away our tongues.
when we come back the
round table is empty.
and we laugh about a
joke that we remember.
our childhood games
the river, and the boat
that father made for us.
we turn off the tv and we
begin to talk about the
beautiful flowers in mother's
old garden, the secret one.
we agree. we miss it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Are Part Of Nature
We are part of Nature to her we belong
Those who tell you otherwise they have got it wrong
The only God or Goddess I can claim to know
Lives in Nature and my wonder of her only grow.
As much as the sheep or the goat or the cow
Or the blackbird who pipes upon the leafy bough
Or the wildflowers that bloom on the banks of the stream
We are part of Nature or so it does seem.
We are part of Nature it does seem to me
Though some with my opinions may well not agree
To Nature we have to return to one day
And in her earthy bosom our remains will lay.
As much as the koala or wombat or roo
Or as much as the black or the white cockatoo
Or as much as the echidna or the emu
We are part of Nature that fact remains true.
The Goddess who feeds us why must i explain
That we are part of Nature must i say it again?
As much as the blossoms on the leafy tree
We are part of Nature you as well as me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Table And The Chair
Said the Table to the Chair,
'You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat,
And from chilblains on my feet!
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk!
Pray let us take the air!'
Said the Table to the Chair.
Said the Chair unto the Table,
'Now you know we are not able!
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we cannot walk!'
Said the Table with a sigh,
'It can do no harm to try;
I've as many legs as you;
Why can't we walk on two?'
So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound,
As they toddled round and round.
And everybody cried,
As they hastened to their side,
'See! the Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!'
But, in going down an alley
To a castle in the valley,
They completely lost their way,
And wandered all the day
Till, to see them safely back,
They paid a Ducky-quack,
And a Beetle, and a Mouse,
Who took them to their house.
Then they whispered to each other,
'O delightful little brother!
What a lovely walk we've taken!
Let us dine on Beans and Bacon!'
So the Ducky and the leetle
Browny-Mousy and the Beetle
Dined, and danced upon their heads
Till they toddled to their beds.
poem by Edward Lear
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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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Flies In Face Challenges
a fresh start a fat check is window to new worlds
man motives material moves flies in face challenges spies
opportunities buildings iconic represent world desires
global aspirations are a meal table set with room temperature wine
most citizens drink tea coffee eat at tables below the salt
at the king’s high table swords are still crossed with empire intent
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Table For Two!
Flash of dream overcome me
as I took slumber one night
I saw a romantic setting
lies a set of table for two
A bouquet of red roses
decorate at the center
where a bottle of red wine
completes the table for two
I saw you entered the haven
dressed in rainbow colored suit
your face so pretty with a smile
as we kissed at the table for two
Mesmerized by your countenance
I was filled with romantic stance
as we danced to the tune of love
such so divine at the table for two
Awaken at height of joy
I am filled with inspiration
as today it becomes a reality
a table for two on Valentines day
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Hasty Marriage
Burden of a Hasty Marriage.
He saw her at the cafe she a cup of cacao and eating a cream cake,
he had a sandwich with cheese and ham. She looked up and smiled,
he knew she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Shy, as he was, still found the courage to get up and walk over to her
table and ask if he could eat his modest sandwich with her; she said
yes and they sat there in silence, just eating. Dimly he knew he had to
say something, but couldn’t but couldn’t find the words so he ate
the cup and saucer, the table cloth, serviettes and crumbs of her cake,
when he began eating the table she told him to stop. Ice broken he said
he loved her, she said she loved him, not to waste time they got married
in the afternoon. Found a hotel room and stayed in bed for a fortnight.
Made love in every position one could think of; they even forgot to eat.
Entwined they slept until a knock on the door, something about paying
for the room. For him was a welcomed distraction, got up had to go to
his bank he told her, two weeks in bed it stunk like a pig sty. Paid his bill
but didn’t enter their room, he was cured of love based on sex alone
poem by Oskar Hansen
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