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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Related quotes
The Ending Silence Of Departure
when the house breaks
like a porcelain plate
tiny pieces can hurt
the hands and feet
i know the reason of my birth
i will be the one to pick
the broken pieces
days and nights my fingers
busy on the piecing
tears are glue and
sobriety is the faithful
house help
the ruins stand back
the house takes a ball of light
on top of the
cliff
a lighthouse summoning ships
to take the safe path
collisions are avoidance
and parting becomes new meetings
a hug is the cure for all these
lonely stories, the ending is
the silence of departing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Breakfast
Look, the golden plate is ready set
On the round table for breakfast.
Glitters reflecting tinges of my blood
In tune with the table of mud
With the green medow streaking to fret.
Listen, worshiping Aurora at dawwn daily
Comes to me that golden plate by priority.
The green paddy rooted in deep water
Fans soothingly with its ricy flavour.
Feel, it makes golden plate more catchy.
I cook the rice to petalsoft
Adding ghee and jaggery enough to taste.
I resolve with my prayers in bundle
To offer the made rice i.e 'pongal'
To the above deity of splendid light.
On the muddy table, over the glisten
Placed a plantain leaf, served on
The pongal.I then whisper'my sun,
Enlightened by the plate of your glisten'!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Three Wives Of A Mandarin
Lawful wife.
There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate that’s served is nests of the swallows.
Since the birth of time, the legal spouse
Is respected by her mandarin-husband.
Concubine
There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate is served – duck: fat and heavy;
Should a mandarin be deprived of children -
Concubine is needed for a mandarin.
Maid
There is still some wine left in the chalice,
And the plate is served - preserves and marmalade.
Why the two of you are in his house?
Every night a new woman he desires.
Mandarin
There is no more wine left in the chalice,
And the plate that’s served is hot red pepper.
Silence! O you: bunch of silly blabbers,
Dare you laughing at the poor old mandarin.
poem by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
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The Saintly Sin
There was a man dressed shabbily
in church in the same old pew.
He sat there piously and pretended to pray
but knew what he would do.
He waited patiently for the collection plate
to pass him in the pew.
He made the effort to stop the plate
and this is what he'd do.
He'd place a penny in the plate
and take two quarters out.
And as he left he'd smiled a lot
and you would hear him shout
Hallelujah Lord.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Juggler
A ball will bounce; but less and less. It's not
A light-hearted thing, resents its own resilience.
Falling is what it loves, and the earth falls
So in our hearts from brilliance,
Settles and is forgot.
It takes a sky-blue juggler with five red balls
To shake our gravity up. Whee, in the air
The balls roll around, wheel on his wheeling hands,
Learning the ways of lightness, alter to spheres
Grazing his finger ends,
Cling to their courses there,
Swinging a small heaven about his ears.
But a heaven is easier made of nothing at all
Than the earth regained, and still and sole within
The spin of worlds, with a gesture sure and noble
He reels that heaven in,
Landing it ball by ball,
And trades it all for a broom, a plate, a table.
Oh, on his toe the table is turning, the broom's
Balancing up on his nose, and the plate whirls
On the tip of the broom! Damn, what a show, we cry:
The boys stamp, and the girls
Shriek, and the drum booms
And all come down, and he bows and says good-bye.
If the juggler is tired now, if the broom stands
In the dust again, if the table starts to drop
Through the daily dark again, and though the plate
Lies flat on the table top,
For him we batter our hands
Who has won for once over the world's weight.
poem by Richard Wilbur
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The Poets
an old woman poet,
stood behind the table,
doling out plate after plate,
to the line of faces...
taking the time...
to ask each their name.
a young student poet,
jerked from the picket line,
beaten, and arrested...
now sits in jail.
the young man poet,
just home after a 12 hour shift,
went next door and mowed
his elderly neighbor's grass.
a young girl poet,
took in the stray cat,
fed it, and held it...
and rocked it to sleep.
the poor poet,
makes a pallot on the floor
of his empty room,
for the homeless to sleep on.
the old man poet,
goes to work again,
minimum wage with a smile,
to feed his sick wife...
the common poet,
build houses, works on machines,
tills gardens, works on cars...
treats everyone the same...
and no one knows his name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The duel
The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn't there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)
The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!"
And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!"
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(Now mind: I'm only telling you
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)
The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw -
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(Don't fancy I exaggerate -
I got my news from the Chinese plate!)
Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(The old Dutch clock it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)
poem by Eugene Field
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Points
Counting points every day
To try and keep my weight at bay
Low cal this low fat that
Its all to keep me from getting fat
Meer morsels appear upon my plate
Were once was full my mighty plate
Green stuff coming out my ears
I should have buckteeth and rabbit ears
The weight is dropping really slow
I have such a long way to go
Rabbit food and plate so bare
About my weight I really care
Four months down the line
Lost loads of weight and feeling fine
No more grumbling about the food
That balanced diet done me good
Chellaston
06 04 2010
poem by Jim O'Donnell
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The Wait of Water - (Villanelle)
a shift in the tectonic plate
early morning siren screeches
across the ocean people wait
awakened to this twist of fate
tsunami warning, clear the beaches
a shift in the tectonic plate
minute by minute news updat
listen to the experts speeches
across the ocean people wait
all trying to anticipate
how far this devastation reaches
a shift in the tectonic plate
don’t live in a complacent state
lessons Mother Nature teaches
across the ocean people wait
as the local pastor preaches
although his prayers come too late
a shift in the tectonic plate
across the ocean people wait
poem by Charlie Parant
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Gone Is the Whoopie Goosed From You
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down,
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Tingled were sensations,
A few dollars had amused.
Now you're quite upset.
Regrets are now your pets.
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
Morning and noon too,
You feel you've been screwed.
And nobody's there...
To give a damn or care!
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Have you found the turnaround
Has come to beat you down.
'Yeah! '
With your knuckles scraped.
'Yeah.'
And nothing on your plate,
'Yeah.'
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
Gone is the whoopie goosed from you!
Ooo...
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
And there's no debate,
Which side to lick your plate!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I have avoided becoming stale by putting a little water on the plate, lying on the plate, and having myself refreshed in a toaster oven for 23 minutes once every month.
quote by Dean Koontz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heartburn Stew
I threw my woman power in a pot of stew
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single word did I hear from him,
So I tried the stew on my dog
But he wouldnt even eat it.
I put my light heart on a matching silver plate
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single footstep was heard near the door
So I ate the plate myself
And got a heartburn.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I toasted my pride and covered it with apple jam
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single sign of a stir or a breeze
So I soaked the bread in my milk
And I gave it to the birds.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I watched the clock ticking, ticking away to my past,
Eight years old, birthday and raindrops.
Not a single line from my dad or my mom
So I laid the cake on my cat
But she wouldnt even touch it.
Heartburn, heartburn stew,
Heartburn, heartburn blues.
What do I want with a heartburn, I ask you,
Dont try to give me the word.
cause I ask a clever question
And I get a silly answer.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heartburn Stew
I threw my woman power in a pot of stew
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single word did I hear from him,
So I tried the stew on my dog
But he wouldnt even eat it.
I put my light heart on a matching silver plate
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single footstep was heard near the door
So I ate the plate myself
And got a heartburn.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I toasted my pride and covered it with apple jam
And waited for my love to come.
But not a single sign of a stir or a breeze
So I soaked the bread in my milk
And I gave it to the birds.
Heartburn, heartburn plate,
Heartburn, heartburn cake.
I watched the clock ticking, ticking away to my past,
Eight years old, birthday and raindrops.
Not a single line from my dad or my mom
So I laid the cake on my cat
But she wouldnt even touch it.
Heartburn, heartburn stew,
Heartburn, heartburn blues.
What do I want with a heartburn, I ask you,
Dont try to give me the word.
cause I ask a clever question
And I get a silly answer.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Making Our Own Space
this morning i wake up late
i see misplaced things
lots of it, like dirty clothes
on the floor
unwashed dishes on the sink
blankets unfolded
pillow cases removed from
their pillows
unzipped pants
missing underwear
tumbled glass
spilled milk on the table
dogs waiting to be bathed and feed
i stand up to get my empty plate
take three spoonfuls of steam rice
and two pieces of fish
a cup of coffee and i go out of the house
sit on a bench under a tree
sunshine above me and air breezing on my chest
i eat alone
and something's good is growing inside me
i love it this way
my own space of peace
amidst disorder
my capacity to choose
what i do
despite the negligence of
others around me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kissing My Disgrace
Cut her into little pieces
Move her round the plate
Knife and Fork, Ill dream you're all talk
I'm kissing my disgrace
Kissing my disgrace
Older fragments with no meaning
Cloaked her smiling face
Today I eat myself a breakfast
I'm kissing my Disgrace
Cut her into little pieces
Move her round the plate
Knife and Fork, I'll dream you're all talk
I'm kissing my disgrace
Kissing my disgrace (repeated)
song performed by by Queen Adreena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And that's how you shit on assholes
All is nothing
Unless sold
by the pound
If it has a price
Then kill
steal,
manipulate,
seduce,
it off
another plate
When 'Dog eats dog'
You'll find me
in the kitty litter
leaving what
you'll find
on my plate
poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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When there is little bread at table put plenty on your plate.
The untitled title
stone and plate full
kept in laughter
Why the moon?
I rise from the night
promise a great secret
laughter hurts when it bubbles
spills any hope caught
up in the sky
a bird- while I fly off
that pull in a poet
nowhere does it state
you must listen
bend your ear
jump in the deep ends
settle a rainbow
make your promises straight
poem by Tajma Hall
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Buttered Beans
If you don't want them,
Don't waste my buttered beans.
Roast peppers and the onions,
Makes them tasty.
Don't play with the food I prepare.
If you don't want to eat..
Get up from the table.
Don't stay there...
Staring into the plate like you don't care.
'The signs have been outrageously,
Flickering in neon.'
You could at least eat the salad.
Something to nourish you.
You are not going to save the world.
People will do,
What they do and choose.
'The signs have been outrageously,
Flickering in neon.
It's unbelievable they can not see,
What around them is going on! '
I have yet to see that movie 'Avatar'.
I've read the special effects are great.
That director, James Cameron...
Hits a homerun,
Everytime he's up to the plate.
To eat buttered beans,
With roasted peppers.
There is olives and corn in there too!
'I saw this homeless family,
Sitting on a bench right downtown.
You should have seen the looks,
Of the people who passed them.
Many disgusted.
Most with frowns.'
I baked the meatloaf with breadcrumbs.
And I added soysauce to the mix.
If I were you,
I'd remove those scenes right now.
Whatever you do,
People are not going to accept your point of view.
'What on Earth are you talking about? '
Buttered Beans!
I try to keep what's on my menu,
Simple!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Heat
To you show all wound
Turn to you all weak
Beating the drum of help only in your house
Dancing only to your presence
Worst, you are trusted
Place a plate on my soccer
Though i smell it, but never doubt
MY absence, knife my yam
He serve the gods of 30 pieces of silver
He come along with them
He walk towards me
He kisses me
Then i feel the heat of a betrayer
poem by Azeez Adewale
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