Dining Table
A lavish dinner has arisen from the depths of cookery,
One blade is too many, one knife can cut and kill.
The food of heaven is a dish too fine, and plenty
Of it is causing the belly to be satisfied, with the mind at ease.
The supper is splendid of course, sumptuous,
So splendid, and it hurts inside the mouth with the tongue.
So much has been fulfilled lately, that I cringe,
And I mutter to myself the illnesses all absent.
A dinner is a food collected by cooks, eaten by heroes,
The many who dine are liking comfort and heat.
The table is abolished as we see it be empty
And more like a table too dirty, once too full.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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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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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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To Dine
The night we dine is a fine old time,
Worst health happens to those who abstain from fun.
The nights are cold to the touch,
Dinner awaits.
We have health as we speak, and eat,
The worry of limping and being lame has gone.
The dinner we eat cancels our sleep,
And my legs are enough to satisfy my health.
She points to my head, and my heart jumps,
Insults are rapid and food has been dumped.
On me, on me, and on me,
Me and my legs,
The drink is on my face.
The night we dine, we fight for good health
And never speak again.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Taste Of Food
In food is a certain quality of taste,
May they abstain and be erased.
For food manages my godly life,
Just as the fish manage with strife.
In this food, in that food we collapse
And honour a feast with some gaps.
The food we eat as dinner shall be kind
To the sleep we carry throughout the mind.
What food do you cook with expertise?
Fish and meat will certainly cease!
poem by Naveed Akram
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Poor, darling fellow - he died of food. He was killed by the dinner table.
quote by Diana Vreeland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whats For Dinner?
what's for dinner tonite there?
for dinner tonight here
none have an idea tonight
hunger is time planning
who cooks?
mainly mother when blackberry resting
several times cook selected fast food outlets
getting out about is routine ritual blessing
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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To Seek Food
Hunger is to seek food,
Food has one eye and one ear.
The food we abstain from are the heads,
The food is caring over us, and we maintain
Our lives with the food of the day.
Liquors are taken as food,
With a brain too bright,
A table and a cook is required,
Forming my life as a whole.
poem by Naveed Akram
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No Dirty Games
It is some sort of dirty game
Humanity is not to be blamed
Black sheep are everywhere
Still we have to find ways and stay somewhere
Mind may bog you down
Think of snatching somebody’s property to own
Build castle on ill gotten money
Offer poison in return of honey
These are some of glaring examples
We silently eat lavish food with apples
Fruits may not appeal and long for still more
Let it flood all over but expect down pour
Truth may prevail at the end but the evil may prolong
It has short life and not last long
Yet some of the finest things fall on deaf ears
We go on wasting precious years
Who cares for new find and heaven?
Why to bother for it now and then?
Throw the stones at glass door
Snatch whatever you can from the poor
This is order of the day and just a routine
All the trades and dealings are clandestine
Night starts with rich food and wine
Lots of verities on table to dine
If you spare a little time
You may not go in for it sometimes
It is blood soaked wealth
You can’t remain happy with good health
Nothing accompanies when you really depart
Even though it was dear to you and remained your part
You amassed it with fine oratory and art
Knowing fully well that it is futile and useless start
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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No to Dirty Game
It is some sort of dirty game
Humanity is not to be blamed
Black sheep are everywhere
Still we have to find ways and stay somewhere
Mind may bog you down
Think of snatching somebody’s property to own
Build castle on ill gotten money
Offer poison in return of honey
These are some of glaring examples
We silently eat lavish food with apples
Fruits may not appeal and long for still more
Let it flood all over but expect down pour
Truth may prevail at the end but the evil may prolong
It has short life and not last long
Yet some of the finest things fall on deaf ears
We go on wasting precious years
Who cares for new find and heaven?
Why to bother for it now and then?
Throw the stones at glass door
Snatch whatever you can from the poor
This is order of the day and just a routine
All the trades and dealings are clandestine
Night starts with rich food and wine
Lots of verities on table to dine
If you spare a little time
You may not go in for it sometimes
It is blood soaked wealth
You can’t remain happy with good health
Nothing accompanies when you really depart
Even though it was dear to you and remained your part
You amassed it with fine oratory and art
Knowing fully well that it is futile and useless start
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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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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Sunday Dinner
Sunday Dinner
It was on an impulse I went to visit
my brothers' a fine Sunday noon,
No answer, but the door was open
I walked in food on the table, still
warm. Mary Celeste, I thought and
served myself.
Their garden looked enchanting
bushes full of red berries, I turned
on the water sprinklers and left;
heard a scream, thought it came
from their neighbour's garden and
took no notice.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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What Hidden Sweetness Is There
217
What hidden sweetness there is in this emptiness of the belly!
Man is surely like a lute, no more and no less;
For if, for instance, the belly of the lute becomes full, no
lament high or low will arise from that full lute.
If your brain and belly are on fire through fasting, because of
the fire every moment a lament will arise from your breast.
Every moment you will burn a thousand veils by that fire; you
will mount a hundred steps with zeal and endeavor.
Become empty of belly, and weep entreatingly like the reed
pipe; become empty of belly, and tell secrets with the reed pen.
If your belly is full at the time of concourse, it will bring Satan
in place of your reason, an idol in place of the Kaaba.
When you keep the fast, good habits gather together before
you like slaves and servants and retinue.
Keep the fast, for that is Solomon’s ring; give not the ring to
the div, destroy not your kingdom.
Even if your kingdom has gone from your head and your army
has fled, your army will rise up, pennants flying above them.
The table arrived from heaven to the tents of the fast, by the
intervention of the prayers of Jesus, son of Mary.
In the fast, be expectant of the table of bounty, for the table of
bounty is better than the broth of cabbages.
The Poor Know manythings what the rich may not know..
Plenty of food on the table,
plenty of restaurants that serve,
plenty of appetite that we have,
Eat and wash it with drinks soft and hard,
come back home and sleep on the bed,
middle of the night, start the burbs,
then lie down to have the sleep,
again, burps, burps with rolling gas,
sometimes hiccups accompany and rocks,
look for the antacid in the shelves,
in the drawer and kitchen cabinets,
if find a sachet or a bottle,
that seems to be a God,
mix it with water and gulp it,
slowly the stomach is quietened,
rumbles not heard, the gas is not out,
the sleep arrives and we sleep..
A poor man who has no food,
may sleep silently in trance.
A poor man who has no comfort,
may not feel anything uncomfortable.
Those who know the comfort,
can differentiate the difference,
those who are poor and ill,
are comfortable with these evils.
as they know not meaning for good life,
as they are not aware of,
what they have to strive.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Starving
i may have starved for food
not having dinner with you
but i have seen you tonight
and you smile at me and
you wave your hand
and i let you go with him
my love i am more than full
i may be hurt, but my love
i am satisfied i am more than full
seeing you so happy with him
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Belly Aches
Your belly aches from too much food,
Eating this likened your mood like fire melts wood.
The belly hurts from the compulsions,
The food of life angers my soul like dirt.
May the stomach be bleeding,
It hurts from the deep wound of hunger.
Hunger creates character like a brain thinks,
More selfish is the devil who does not create.
Must we listen to devils and demons always?
Then food disappears and we are aching like fools.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Playing 'Top Host
Humour intended:
I invited a close friend to dine with me
then to play golf, returning for tea.
The day was fine, no cloud in the sky
so the culinary items I decided to buy.
I purchased a joint of fine sirloin steak
and yorkshire puddings I would bake;
plenty of vegetables cooked just right
with rosemary sauce as an added delight.
A favourite sweet ~ peaches and cream
fitted the menu like a splendid dream!
My table was laid as the clock struck one
and with much relief the cooking was done.
Now...that expected knock on the door;
my friend had arrived to goodies galore,
but as I was just set to play the 'top host'
all he asked for was scrambled egg on toast.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Food To Share
She set the table with white linen cloth
and fancy dinnerware,
Sparkling crystal glasses with stems
and then she said a prayer.
But she had no food to share.
She played some Brahms and quietly sat
and fiddled with her hair.
She lit some candles and watched them glow,
all alone with no one there.
She had no food to share.
She was old and frail and forgetful
and she could not remember where
all the guests that used to dine
had sat in every chair.
She had no food to share.
She sat and thought of older times
when there was food enough to spare
for family, friends and strangers
who'd come from everywhere
for all that she had to share.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Let's Have a Party.
Let's have a party, invite the family around,
Tell them it's teat time, and come south bound;
We'll have it as a barbecue, so b.y.o some meat,
But we will supply salad, drinks, and also sweet.
Let's have a party, but dress up in a costume,
Don't say who you are, we have to assume;
And the food will be served as a supper too,
With Chicken, no wine, and some dessert will do.
Let's have a party for children, on Friday,
Seeing its a birthday, the kids will go hooray;
Let's put up streamers, have finger food too,
After all the games and food sing happy birthday to you.
Let's have a pre wedding party, for bride and groom,
Go out to dinner, let's try the sunset room;
We'll book a smorgasbord dinner, make it for forty,
Then come back to our place after, for tea or coffee.
Let's have a Christmas party, all family and a friend,
We'll sing lots of carols, and have a story at the end;
Each bring 1 present, for under the christmas tree,
And thank God for Christmas from you and me.
poem by Margaret Haig
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