The Friend
We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?
poem by Marge Piercy
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Everyone happy :)
Everyone happy
Everyone happy when they can pay their bills
Everyone happy when they have money in their pocket
Everyone happy when a person tells them they love you
Everybody happy when they have food on their table
Everyone happy when they have cloths on their back
Everyone happy everything goes right in there life
Everyone happy when find them a boyfriend or girlfriend
Everyone happy when they pass a test
Everyone happy when they get a new car
What happen when you lose everything?
What happen when you don’t have anywhere to go?
Or no food on your table
Your lights about to get cut off
No money in your pocket
Bills are due no money
Can you still be happy and have a smile on your face
poem by Jovahn Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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I saw the heaven
Last night I slept, was drowned in dream
Angels came, played and danced with me.
A child angel wanted to take me together
But senior angels refused to accept his prayer.
Lastly, they agreed to take me for a day
Saying after visiting heaven, at once go back.
On the way, first door came was of the hell
Show me this also, with curiosity I did tell.
There, on a big table, kept variety of dishes
Inter continental, Indian and delicious fishes.
People sitting around, tied with long spoons
So long in both hands taking away the boon.
No one could eat, hands going here and there
Food was spread on table, floor, everywhere.
Kingdom of flies and germs was spread over
Anarchy, disorder, battle for food was to hover.
Habitats of Hell fighting and hurting each other
Snatching food as have been starving for ever
No one could eat properly, remained hungry
It’s a madhouse planet, for the reasons sundry.
In act of selfishness they were doing more sin
Terrified by demons and Devil was punishing.
Now I shall take you to heaven, the angel said
We reached the heaven that was just ahead.
In heaven also variety of dishes on a big table
People had their hands tied with long ladle
But there was, I noticed the scene different
Habitats not giving themselves any preference.
They had made a system instead of himself
Each member was feeding some one else
Orderly system kept, place was nice and neat
It was amazing every one was able to eat.
By co-operation they easily fulfilled their needs
Happy angels helped and hopped for their deeds
No fight, no battle and no hotchpotch situation
Every one was enjoying, in the God’s heaven.
(C) S.D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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A memory of childhood............
Her plump, hard working hands
plunged into the bowl of minced meat,
kneading and blending
with egg and a dash of salt.
That's how, she'd teach me -
me fascinated with the goo,
feeling loved and cherished
enjoying conversation.
We'd talk of the good old days, her childhood,
my grandmother and her sisters.
We'd talk of things in newspapers,
things that worried us.
The humid warmth of the kitchen,
its infusion of smells and spices,
hot water boiling, steam rising,
sticky hands making sweet, succulent dishes.
There was a large wooden table
where we'd read or eat or draw.
I don't have one anymore
but my memories linger.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Reason
i won't touch you
i only take a look and feast my eyes on you
i know what happens when i touch you
you turn into stone and i become fire that cannot burn you
i burn all night and day because i cannot touch you
because i won't dare
i burn all of myself without gaining from this heat
i burn myself in sleep
there is reason that this fire cannot burn
it is like you it is stone
it is the only one that i can touch
the one that now i can fully trust
this stone is cold it is very cold
look at me the burning finally stopped
look at me and if you must feel me
to your hands i am dust i am ashed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cold Feet
There was a little boy once upon a time
Who in spite of his young age and small size knew his mind
For every copper penny and clover he would find
Make a wish for better days the end of hard times
For no more cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
His clothes were always clean
His face was always scrubbed
There was food on the table enough to fill him up
His house was full of life - his house was full of love
But when winter days arrived
There was never money enough to shod his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He grew up to be a worker determined to succeed
He made a life for himself, free from worldly wants or needs
But with nobody to share the life hed made
No body to keep him warm at night
When hed go to sleep hed sleep alone with his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
One night he walked the street looking to the heavens above
Searching for a shooting star a benevolent god
When a woman passing by brushed his arm
He turned and found love
He then wished for the courage to ask this stranger
Who she was to not have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He thought shed like the party life and want the finer things
So he promised more than he could buy
And he promised her the sun and moon to not have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He worked day and night his fingers to the bone
Hi worried mind guilty conscience drive him on
He cant give her what she needs
He wants to give her what he thinks she wants
Her sad-eyed face, his empty pockets drive him on and his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
Hed struggled all his life to be an honest man
Proud that the dirt on his palms was the soil of the land
But some guys he knew from high school days
Said they had a plan to get rich quick
And they could count him in if he dont have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He thought about their offer accepted it without qualms
Dreamt about the life hed buy
The comfort that would come without cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He decided to tell his wife things would soon turn around
He said the little boy is dead
A man stands with you now without cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
Without cold feet - cold cold cold cold feet
He thought hed set his clock right - he though hed read his watch
He left in such a hurry he didnt think to wish for luck
Makes no difference if youre early - no difference if youre late
When youre out of time - the flowers have been laid
Youre six feet underground
With cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hands Of Death (Burn Baby Burn) (feat. Alice Cooper)
? sometimes? the wicked ones
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? the mortal sting
I am the only one
? across the dreary plane?
? i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? horrified
And seat yourself a ride
Get out of your denial
A genius of the night
? and I am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
They creep and crawl inside
Into the heart of cold
So dead and paralyzed
Perversion of the soul
? i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hands Of Death
?sometimes? the wicked ones
????????? the mortal sting
I am the only one
?across the dreary plane?
?i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
????????? horrified
And seat yourself a ride
Get out of your denial
A genius of the night
?and i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
They creep and crawl inside
Into the heart of cold
So dead and paralyzed
Perversion of the soul
?i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
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Please Be True To Our Mutual Lies
please be true
to these mutual lies
as we lie
and kiss
and roll
and make such a quick love
do not make any moans
or calls
do not not kiss and tell
do not
be too possessive of my
body
my soul
my mind
these hands are strong
and so warm
you know, when these hands hold you tight
you know
these are not just yours
you know
these hands love you too like how these hands love
the rest of you, my all true loves
and them
they may not believe us
true to our lies
protective of ten fingers loving many lovely women
all worthy of my strong loving hands
my hands are made of ten fingers
there is no way that
these hands can be monogamous
you love me so true
and you would not have the folly to tell me that i have not loved
and loved you well enough
we must both be polygamous, and we must tell the world
we are true and we exist.
we lie because the truth is they are nor prepared for what they are too.
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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Things Do Not Seem To Be Them After A Careful Seeing
a spoon
and a fork and they seem to appear
with food on a silver platter
when we talk we talk like poets now
after years
a spoon is no longer just a spoon
and neither is the fork
and neither is the food the food that we
eat on the table
and neither is the silver platter a mere
silver platter as it seems to be
for a spoon may be me and i may also be
a tongue and i could be a tongue to your
fork, a protrusion that stabs me like a knife
and the silver platter could be our mind
a garden where we put every seed
and the table and the cloth that covers it
with leaves and flowers
myabe our worlds, covered and uncovered
with some intricate designs
this could be our world now. a world of poems
where everything is a roll of sensitive skin
a mind so fertile with its array of metaphors
and similes and
exaggerations, and these make us so happy
we tiptoe, we choose the word, we equate
every object to a meaning, we dance to a lot
of its nuances, and then we touch and then
we are so silent. we choose not to hurt.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The fruits on the table
I love the papayas
Spread on the table
Reddish orange papayas
Plump and Smooth to my
Hands
And some purple grapes
Sweet pulp
Luscious to my
Lips
Some rambutans
Hairy fruits in red
Tickling to my
Fingers
Pungent durian
Tasting like
Heaven to
My mind
They are all spread on
The table
And I would caress smooth
Reddish papayas with
My bare hands
Put a grape in my mouth
And my tongue
Does the savoring of
Juicy rambutans
My lips close in
To a juicy roundness
As I breathe on some
Red hairs
Of this magical luscious fruit
The durian is opened
And the taste of heaven
Comes to my mind
With eyes closed as
Though I own all the passions
Of this world
When we were young and
Crazy about ourselves
I laid her on the table
And spread herself there
She was all those kinds of
Fruits to me and I was the
Hands, the mouth, the lips,
The tongue
The stomach that swallowed her all
Every bit that was juicy
Every freshness every plumpness
She was all fruits to me
She was all nature giving in, all over
To the passions of this fruit lover.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Table of Hope
Inspired by JOEY VELASCO'S painting, HAPAG NG PAG-ASA
(The Table Of Hope)
Thank you, Lord for this wonderful show
Of happy faces, sincere and true
Without asking why who we are, what we wear
Without doubts, without fear, without a tear
Here we are in your table, your children in the street
Celebrating your birthday in the simplest way
In your table of hope, sharing your food
Where your presence is what we're after
Christmas miracle do happen,
Because you wanted it to be
You choose us, the weak, the poor and the lame
To share with you, to be with you
In the table of hope..in the table of hope..
Thank you, Jesus, for giving us hope
Thank you, Jesus, for Christmas
Note: thank you for reading.You can search
and type Joey Velasco in the Google website & You Tube
and you will be led to his great paintings
poem by Meggie Gultiano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stepdaughter
Hands cold and clammy
from all of the dishwater,
Hands wrinkled and raw
for she was the stepdaughter.
No way out that she could see.
No one seemed to care.
The others all laughed at her,
their hands soft and fair.
Knees scraped and scratchy
fom cleaning the floor,
Isn't that what stepdaughters do?
Isn't that what they're for?
No way out that she did know.
This was her plight.
The others all hated her.
She'd cry in the night.
Back sore and achy,
her stepfather's body lying.
No one helped her with him
as he lay there dying.
Eyes red from crying
she held his hand. He said
'I'm leaving all I have to you.
Let my will be read.'
Mind filled with memories
of all she had done,
The others all just stared at her
as she walked into the sun.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Tees spoon
Hand is
Use for eat...
Ok...
Wash every time
At your's hands...
At every works...
Wash your's hands...
Clean...
with clean...
Wash And eat food...
Tell about your children
Today...
Wash hands
And eat...
You are lazy
Don't wash
Your hands...
Use tees spoon...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Ultraviolence
Who saw those dark eyes
Who saw those dark eyes
These years gone by
Deep within
Burn my skin
All those years gone by
In the heat of the night
All those years gone by
Who felt those cold hands
Who felt those cold hands
Touch my skin
Deep within
Burn my soul
Fell to the ground
Where I was found
All those years ago
All those tears ago
All those years ago
Everybody makes mistakes
Everybody makes mistakes
Even me
Just be free
This is a place
Where in the end
It happens in
Our world within
Time to go
Time to go
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fish the Fish
fish makes every fish catch, the tail that
smell like fish as the angler bait its fishing
rod bit each heart beat, the triumphant
heart break its brake the nylon cord that
hold the hook that synchronize the timing
swings of each hand lifting as it goes
catching the net as it swing in the thread
that fishes the fish
strength hold on, tie so quick on, leave no
loose every cost is to repulse, time is
sweeten in the fish in the table all are
refresh, every fisherman switch the light in
the kitchen the kittle, the cool plate and the
fire is burning on
sweet smells like a baby, in every nose so
shiny, in every dinning table everybody is
happy ready to take like party, now all
hands should hold, and bring every magical
strength enfold, the fish is in the running
water waiting for us to carry in every heart,
please prepare the place, the net is
empty …… come and fish the fish
poem by Antonio Liao
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