A Fruitfly!
It was there on the red table cloth,
Of the Chinese Restaurant,
Where the chef use their left hands,
To pick up the right ingredients,
To put into the hot pans and pots,
To dish out the delicious fries of boneless meat,
Laced with Ketchup and in MSG puddle,
I forgot the ‘It' on the table,
It was like a grain of sand,
Suddenly started to crawl like an ant,
A small little cute ant took a stroll,
Beside my plate and cutlery,
Then it stopped crawling, I thought it was tired,
I took the servitude and folded it into a cone,
Touched it softly to provoke it,
Then it woke up from the slumber,
And started to crawl like any toddlers do,
When I tried to touch for the third time,
It spread its tiny wings and flew away,
In a split of a second, either it knows,
That it is in the wrong place,
To show its tiny fist thinking as hulk's
Or might have gone to the right place,
Where the rotten fruits are found.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Other
I sit at this tiny table
and wait
as I have before
for you to make
excuses to get
away;
to steal the tiny time
you have with me.
I know I should go,
break away
and leave
but I don't.
I sip my coffee
swirling in the cup
mixing my milk
and your strong brew.
Perhaps one day
there will be a me and you
but today-right now
there is only me.
I feel you at my side
suddenly
your face
comes over me
and once again
there is the peace
you offer
each time we meet.
That is the drug
which overpowers
each time
I
the other woman;
and we
reach across
the tiny table
re-joined
in tiny time
the tiny space
we allow ourselves
to enjoy
rarely,
this other me
that other you.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Innocence Of Innocence
So tiny
The little hands
Holding my shrek-like hands firmly
She doesn't wanna be carried anymore
Crawl, crawl, fall, walk, run, the world to explore
Suddenly door bangings and boy dramas
Suddenly a silent sound, her heart hitting the ground
Suddenly identity crisis, clique mentality
Suddenly three-faced, one for mom and dad
One for the world
One, who am I?
Suddenly....
She used to play naked in the rain
She used to love cereal and biscuit
....She was so tiny
...With no care in the world
...But suddenly...
She's all alone...mom, dad died...
The world defined love as sex
The lungs that awoke her mum in the middle of night's sleep
Now nags the man she loves in the middle of love's death
She was small...the world was big
After burying so many dreams
She buried herself
The world got to her
The neatest view of a soul
Found in the eyes of a child
The cleanest room of mankind
Found in the mind of a child
No sooner hath the child begun to walk
Doth the world begin to dump its junk
On the most naïve creature
Naiveté oh naivete!
The things I long to un-know
The words I long to un-hear
The visions I long to un-see
The deeds I wish to undo
The phrases I wish to unsay
The right to smoke
The right to drink
The right to cheat
The right to sin
What happened to those tiny hands?
Lost somewhere in eternity, as shrek-like hands
Never fails to give a shrek for a shrek
If ever my friend, your memory lets you stroll down its lane
Find the innocence of innocence...
And rebirth it.
poem by Jenim Dibie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Part Of A Whole
it is a tiny part
as tiny as a grain of sand
you hardly give it
attention
you keep on saying
what is in this grain of sand
that philosophers
say contain this universe
something so tiny
yet to contain everything
and so you hold the grain of sand
against the light
and revolve it around your fingers
little finger planets
to the sun grain of sand
you cannot believe what you
felt and saw
and so you throw away that grain
of sand to the air
eating it like a big mouthed monsters
you are lost
your world dissolves
like ice
you turn to air
and there you are
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There Once Was A Tiny Girl
there once
was a tiny girl
who grew up
in this world
there once
was a tiny girl
who cried herself to sleep
every night
there once
was a tiny girl
who wore the same dress
every day
there once
was a tiny girl
who wouldn't go out
and play
there once
was a tiny girl
who would bleed and have bruises
from head to toe
there once
was a tiny girl
who begged
daddy, please no more
there once
was a tiny girl
who the angels
heard her prayer
they came down
and took her
to a better place
where that tiny girl
found love
instead of hate
by: crystal sonier
age: 15
poem by Natalia Anna Joelie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Little Sunshine
a grain of rice
on a table cloth
beside
a cup of hot
coffee
imperceptible
but when a connection is found
soon
the spoon and fork
shall understand
some pieces
no matter what
do not fit
on a reasonable landscape
what is the grain of rice
doing on a breakfast table?
your mind is furious
i think it is cool
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Tree House
As children, my dearest friend and
I began planning to build a tree
house. We searched until we
finially found the perfect tree.
Along with our brothers, we began
to gather wood, and pieces of
fragments for the roof. When all
the material was gathered, the
construction began.
We worked day after day, endlessly
until we saw the tree house coming
together. Little by little it took
shape. At last it was time for the
curtains to be hung.Our lovely dish
towels were hung from tree limbs.
Now for the furniture. Old boards
were nailed together for our chairs.
Little pieces of cloth attached for
the covers.We were getting ready to
move in. In our childish eyes, it
was so beautiful.
So many happy hours were spent there.
Every afternoon when we arrived home
from school, we met at our tree house.
We talked, laughed, whispered secrets.
Enjoyed our tea parties, and the time
spent there.
One summer afternoon, sad news arrived.
My friend was moving to another city,
far away.Leaving me and the tree house
behind. Inside I cried. Suddenly I
was alone. Now it seemed so big and
lonely.Before so small and full of
life.
As we walked away that hot summer
afternoon so long ago, holding hands.
we knew life for us would never be
the same. We made a pledge to each
other and set a date someday we would
return.
Our tree house remained, but started
looking old and battered from the
storms of life.I no longer went
there, as I also moved on to another
city. Before leaving I returned to
our childhood fantasy, saddened and
whispered goodby. Walked away with
tear filled eyes.Promising to return
someday.
The years have flown by, and today
I am returning to the place I so
loved as a child. Looking at the
house old and worn. yet so lovely
and inviting.
Climbing the broken ladder, I went
inside. Our curtains were tattered
but still remain. Side by side our
dolls were sleeping in their tiny
beds. On the table a tiny tea set.
Attached to my friends doll a note
reading.
DEAR HEATHER;
I cannot attend our tea party today,
as we planned.Someday we will meet
at the big tree house in the sky.
There we will drink our tea from
from golden goblets. I am here now,
setting the table, and preparing
the tea for our party, waiting
to welcome your arrival
Your childhood friend, with love
Mary:
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A silent phone call
I sat for an hour thinking of her
wondering about where she was
what she would be doing
and who she was with.
Then again I think of her a lot
because they say if you do that
that person will feel those thoughts
and get back in touch with you.
Who believes all that nonsense anyway
how can someone feel the thoughts
of another person miles and miles away?
I sat there thinking I'm thinking too much
and just as I was going out the door
the mobile on the table started ringing
bet that's another cold caller I thought.
It wasn't a cold caller but my mate
asking if I was going down the pub
told him no not tonight bit short of cash.
Putting my coat on the phone rang again
bet that's my mate going to buy me a few beers
he knows he'll get it back at the weekend.
No it wasn't my mate as nobody spoke
even when I asked who was there on the line
all I could hear was someone breathing.
The next night the silent caller rang again
and the night after that and the next night
then it stopped as suddenly as it started
no voice, no talking, no light breathing.
They say if you think of someone a lot
that person will feel those thoughts
and get back in touch with you,
who believes all that nonsense anyway?
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Dish (cuisine) that talks
I am a dish that talks
and usually i want the chef
to do his stuff my way
wishing this, wishing that
hoping to be the next best dish
to top the restaurant list
as the chef sprinkles
his spices and salt onto me
i diffident would complain of
the excesses, the overindulgent
use of veggies and mutton
or mollusks, mustard
vinegar and pepper
and even the overheating,
charbroiled, stir fried
steam cooked or stewed
i want it my way giving
little regard to the chef's expertise
for fear of becoming an
offensive blandness on
the tongues of the masters
over enthusiastic over
what would turn out of me
only when my fragrance
spreads over the table
to trigger that salivating
nerves in mouths that
the buddha himself would
jump over the wall to
have me in his belly that
i realise the chef is correct
he is cooking me and he knows
how best i should be served
that exquisiteness that could only
result from an original recipe
the chef himself knows best
how he should turn out his creation
i take the opportunity to ask him
what he finds most in the way
as he tries to realise his dream of me
and he says 'Your load of bland ego
with the toughness of a three year old chicken.'
'It takes such a long time to just
boil them down to edible portions.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ignored. (a Seagull Story)
Ignored. (A seagull story)
At the seaside restaurant it was busy everyone was eating lobsters,
I tried to catch the waiters’ eye. I was ignored and got the feeling
that I was Invisible, or that I was so small that my head didn’t reached
over the table. A seagull landed on my table a beautiful bird,
yellow beak and feet, plumage snowy white its wings light grey/blue
and its eyes were green; it also had the aroma of the Atlantic Ocean.
Waiter came, looked at the bird asked what it wanted, lobster, I said
when the dish came I gave it to the bird. Got up, left and no one tried
to stop me.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pelican Restaurant
Pelican Restaurant is run by Tara Sami who is sweet,
she makes her restaurant cute and upbeat.
A cozy decor that has a quaint beach town feel,
the Pelican Restaurant makes great delicious meals.
For breakfast is the Lamb Keema which has a flavorful taste,
it comes with home fries that taste great.
Have a spinach omelet made by Chef Brian Stone,
tastes hearty like cooked fresh in the kitchen at your home.
Pelican is open 7am to 12 noon, bring a friend or two.
Even open 6 to 10 on Friday nights with Indian plates to satisfy your appetite.
Indian dishes which is out of sight, like the Lentil fritters for price of $7.95,
served with cilantro & jalapeno sauce, making your tastes buds come alive.
Try the slowly roasted marinated cilantro and ginger on the Nihan beef shank.
cooked on the bone with spicy savory curry to make it taste great.
Vegetarian and meat dishes served with yogurt, naan, and basmati rice,
this adds to your dinner to make it extra nice.
Also your dog is welcome, sit with them at a table outside,
you can enjoy your meal with them in the sunshine.
Remember the Pelican restaurant only accepts cash,
it's a great eating experience when visiting on Lake Ave.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on October 13,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pelican Restaurant
Pelican Restaurant is run by Tara Sami who is sweet,
she makes her restaurant cute and upbeat.
A cozy decor that has a quaint beach town feel,
the Pelican Restaurant makes great delicious meals.
For breakfast is the Lamb Keema which has a flavorful taste,
it comes with home fries that taste great.
Have a spinach omelet made by Chef Brian Stone,
tastes hearty like cooked fresh in the kitchen at your home.
Pelican is open 7am to 12 noon, bring a friend or two.
Even open 6 to 10 on Friday nights with Indian plates to satisfy your appetite.
Indian dishes which is out of sight, like the Lentil fritters for price of $7.95,
served with cilantro & jalapeno sauce, making your tastes buds come alive.
Try the slowly roasted marinated cilantro and ginger on the Nihan beef shank.
cooked on the bone with spicy savory curry to make it taste great.
Vegetarian and meat dishes served with yogurt, naan, and basmati rice,
this adds to your dinner to make it extra nice.
Also your dog is welcome, sit with them at a table outside,
you can enjoy your meal with them in the sunshine.
Remember the Pelican restaurant only accepts cash,
it's a great eating experience when visiting on Lake Ave.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on October 13,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Weapons never Rule the World
the world started
out with a war
each mind fashioned
his kinds to dominate
all set out for artillery -
the fangs, claws, poisons
wings that could fly
a thousand miles
legs that could run like a jet
eyes that could see ten score miles
weapons, weapons, weapons,
until the almighty fashioned his
proud kind to show their mistakes
plain men with two hands, legs
and a conscience.
all these weapon owners
that kill themselves to extinction
men - god's proof to his rivalries
the winners of the real world
are those with conscience, love
that mere weapon owners
are loosers fit only
for the pots and pans
the almighty always guiding
never allowing his men
to lose sight
that weapons never rule the world
owners of fangs, claws, mighty wings
that all end up in the pots and pans
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Time Will Crawl
I've never sailed on a sea
I would not challenge a giant
I could not take on the church
Time will crawl
Till the 21st century lose
I know a government man
He was as blind as the moon
He saw the sun in the night
He took a top-gun pilot
He made him fly thru a hole
Till he grew real old
And he never came down
He just flew till he burst
Time will crawl till our mouths run dry
Time will crawl till our feet grow small
Time will crawl till our tails fall off
Time will crawl till the 21st century lose
I saw a black black stream
Full of white eyed fish
And a drowning man
With no eyes at all
I felt a warm warm breeze
That melted metal and steel
I got a bad migraine
That lasted three long years
And the pills that I took
Made my fingers disappear
Time will crawl
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Warning Sign
A warning sign
I missed the good part then I realised
I started looking and the bubble burst
I started looking for excuses
Come on in
I've got to tell you what a state I'm in
I've got to tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign
When the truth is
I miss you
Yeah the truth is
That I miss you so.
A warning sign
You came back to haunt me and I realised
That you were an island and I passed you by
And you were an island to discover
Come on in
I've got to tell you what a state I'm in
I've got to tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign
When the truth is
I miss you
Yeah the truth is
That I miss you so
And I'm tired
I should not have let you go
So I crawl back into your open arms
Yes I crawl back into your open arms
And I crawl back into your open arms
Yes I crawl back into your open arms
song performed by by Coldplay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Our Hell
It started with pebbles at the window,
when no one was in sight.
For about a week this went on,
at 8pm precise every night.
Then came the opening and closing doors,
by some unseen hand any hour of the day.
Furniture moved around on it their accord,
then the voices came,
arguing from somewhere.
Continual searches of each room,
but nothing was found there.
Suddenly it stopped, and harmony reined.
There was a rest bite for what was yet to come.
Several weeks passed peace and quiet remained.
Then as suddenly as it had stopped, it started up again.
Lights switched themselves on and off,
object flew across the room of their own accord,
small and large.
Pictures flew off the wall
and smashed to the floor.
Then came the knocks on the door,
with no one ever there.
The television gained a mind of its own,
switch on and off and changing channels at will.
Then things began to disappear,
we look for them still,
it was beginning to drive us crazy,
finally, we were at our wits end,
and priest we called in,
but whatever drove him away,
he never came back for a prayer to say.
We seemed to be stranded in this house,
that once we called our home,
and that has now become our hell.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I love you mom
I poked my thumb
Then I cried some
I must have looked dumb
I love you mom
I damaged your plant
I started to run
Got tired and started to pant
I love you mom
I broke a dish
And smashed your favorite cup
You didn’t let me get a fish
And you took away my pup
I love you mom
I had a bad dream
Because I forgot to pray
I began to scream
Sorry I forgot to say Happy Mothers Day
I love you mom
poem by Jonathan Prieto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Kick Under The Table
After a man has been married awhile,
And his wife has grown used to his manner
And style,
When she knows form the twinkle that lights
Up his eye
The thoughts he is thinking, the wherefore and
Why,
And just what he'll say, and just what he'll do,
And is sure that he'll make a bad break ere he's
Through,
She has one little trick that she'll work when
She's able-
She takes a sly kick at him under the table.
He may fancy the story he's telling is true,
Or he's doing the thing which is proper to do;
He may fancy he's holding his own with the
Rest,
The life of the party and right at his best,
When quickly he learns to his utter dismay,
That he mustn't say what he's just started to say.
He is stopped at the place where he hoped to
Begin,
By his wife, who has taken at kick at his shin.
If he picks the wrong fork for the salad, he
Knows,
That fact by the feel of his wife's slippered toes.
If he's started a bit of untellable news,
On the calf of his leg there is planted a bruise.
Oh, I wonder sometimes what would happen to
Me
If the wife were not seated just where she
Could be
On guard every minute to watch every trick,
And keep me in line all the time with her kick.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!