Related quotes: dinner was an examination with...

Prayer at Dinner

dinner was an examination
with little talk. each dish
a memory, forced together,
holding on to the plate
with butter and sugar
dad sips dark beer from bottles.
mom washes cake down the drain.
brothers smoke pot out of sight.
a dog chews on golf shoes.
a family above the mantle smiles
sitting in the backyard grass
the sun shining from behind them
a different dog, now dead, behaving.
thoughts of 'what should be said,
that hasn't been said (or can't be said) ? '
and always the tapping feet,
running wild under the table
nudging the languid dog,
worried at the time they pass.

poem by Sam Stine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

How Much Cake Can You Eat

The shining spoons of this town
All point in your direction
Can you keep a secret?
We can trust you, we can throw you
Are you sitting on your feet?
How much cake can you eat?
Are you sitting on your feet?
How much cake can you eat?
Are you sitting on your feet?
How much cake can you eat?
Are you sitting on your feet?
How much cake can you eat?

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Golf Tees Lament

Golf tees on my dresser
Golf tees in my bed
Golf tees on my pillows
Where they poke me in my head

Golf tees in my closet
Falling from my shirts and pants
Golf tees along the baseboards
Just like army ants

Golf tees in the carpet
And underneath my feet
Golf tees lined up on the mantle
Oh, they look so neat

Golf tees in my couch
And in my back and thighs
When I sit and watch TV
I feel those little guys

Golf tees in the kitchen
In Jurassic coffee mugs
Sometimes when I pass them
They look like prehistoric bugs.

Golf tees in the bathtub
Like sailors on plastic ships
Golf tee in her make-up
Like little bald q-tips.

Golf tees in the attic
Golf tees in the shed
Golf tees, golf tees everywhere
I wonder where they bred?

Golf tees out the backdoor
Like Hansel-and-Gretel’s trails
Golf tees in the flowerbeds
Among the mulch and snails

Golf tees in my car
And underneath the mats
Golf tees in the backseat
Like little baseball bats

But when I am at the golf course
I ask my partner, like a louse…
“May I borrow some of your tees? ”
I left mine at the house!

poem by Larry Buddin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Ben

Verse 1:
I’m sitting in my room thinking about the times that weren’t so bad
When you were here with the family
It was like you were the person who listened, the kind one
Always knew the right thing to stand up for no matter the cause or cost

Chorus:
The pain shoots through me every time I start to think or talk about your memory
Just because the way you were taken was so unnecessary
So Ben this one is for you
The family we miss you it’s like
The pain could never end
But together we can get through this
And keep your memory alive

Verse 2:
The many things run through my head
That the fact if you were here still today
Things could be different, it seemed
Like you were the part that kept things together
When you went things fell apart

Verse 3:
The feelings cut deep like a knife
Through all of this I’m still here
To keep your memory alive, I shall remember you for the good
Not the last memories, the grievance just wont pass
But thanks to the support of many certain friends I can still pull through.

In memory of Ben Chantler 1981-2006

poem by Shane Cannon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

We Are Worried

We are worried
Our once prosperous land
Is now a beggar

We are worried
Our incandescent light
Is now blurred

We are worried
Love no longer co-habits
On our wide streets

We are worried
That brothers slaughter brothers
All in the name of God

We are worried
How vultures prey
On our commonwealth

We are worried
The gap gets wider
Between the rich and the poor

We are worried
About our youths
Whose destinies are bleak.

We are worried
That the ship may sink
Like the titanic.

We are worried
We do not know who to trust
We are worried of many things

poem by Babatunde Aremu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

About Being Extrasensitive The Places Around You...

I SEE sparrows gathering
little pieces of leaves and
light husks
for the building of
their nests

it is time for laying eggs
this summer
when the winds are a little bit
colder

i see leaves falling
the trees getting bald
becoming like new fingers
under the sky

i see grass spreading
slowly turning brown
like muscovado sugar

i see mountains
where clouds hang like
smoke from pipes
of old men waiting
still on there
veranda

i see roads where old cars pass
leaving an eddy
of dusts
slowly settling down again
like a light brown mantle
of the breakfast
table

you should have seen me
how foolishly have i waited for you
in this old house
where we first met
many years ago

you should have felt how a poem like this
can be written

because waiting can be an agony
and without being extra sensitive to all that i see beyond all these longings

the horizon over there
the mountains and grass and roads running without ending
and eddies of dust of old cars that conk and honk
and winds that manipulate the helplessness of leaves
as cold as feelings of being
ruthlessly abandoned

without all these
life could have long surrendered
could have long ceased
like a calendar
on the last day of Christmas

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Rainy day...

Rainy day
Cool evening
Porch sitting
Unusual for mid August.
Where is the usual summer evening traffic?
My thoughts drift
into my childhood past.
They come up blank
and I simply do not recall
what I did on summer evenings like this.
I just remember –
the smell of freshly cut grass
the catching of lightening bugs
devouring Good Humor ice cream
friends trying to invite themselves
into my backyard pool
playing a game called “Murder In The Dark”
in the backyard of the house across the street
when the sun went down.
I wonder
what summer evening games
the kids in my old neighborhood play now.
I wonder where
the kids I played with are now.
Should I visit the old neighborhood,
will I find our childhood spirits
still running around the streets?

poem by Bob Barci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Wilma's Welcome

He sat the table, fresh kid,
waiting for his dinner,
pushing back the war
now so far away.

His big brother smiled
glad to see him safe,
when she walked in,
carrying a steaming plate
of the best fried chicken
either had ever seen.

The aroma awoke in his memory
soft Ohio nights,
God's righteous thunder rumbling
gentle rains cooling the hot August sky,

when Mom carried in our dinner,
fried chicken and mashed potatoes,
safety and love.

And looking at his brother's new wife,
he smiled and at last said,
'welcome to the family! '

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

It's the sense of what family is at the dinner table. It was the joy of knowing mother was in the kitchen making our favorite dish. I wish more people would do this and recall the joy of life.

quote by Paul Prudhomme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

We Talk About

We talk about taxes and the price of gas
and how the time does pass.
We talk about crimes and drug scenes
and wonder about the middle-class.
We talk about food prices out of sight
and wonder what to eat?
We talk about strange weather patterns
and how history does repeat.
We talk about morality being gone
and turn off the news.
We talk about the unemployment rates
and hidden bombs in shoes.

And all the talk, what does it do?
Not a thing that's good for you.
but still we talk about________

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Abandoned House And The Man Who Drags His Shoes To Make The Necessary Sound

when you arrive in the house
(the house that both of you built 17 years ago)
no one is there
not even the three white dogs

you have accepted this face of loneliness
without a mouth

it is its nature now
gentle in silence

there is nothing to talk about with someone else
when someone else is far away and seemingly taking all the hearts out

the door and the hinges have to keep things for themselves
for in truth, those who left the stairs
they still love

you have the key to the door of the kitchen
and that is where you start the journey towards the living room

you scurry on some little memories
it is like putting some words in your notes
in here and there beyond the margins

but it is not that endless really
for whatever it be
joy or death there's got to be an end
that is the truth of the meaning of
this word

it could be a dead-end
a street of walls
& then actually you are caught
in flagrante
where your only choice
is to go back,
retrace,
remember,
refresh
refrains, refrains
of a
love song

you go back to the room look longingly at the bed
the blankets are dusty and the pillows are stained with so much emptiness
or guilt
scruples
Freudian analysis
Carl Jung's other possibilities
of reconciliation

this is a very soundless world and
every part here is keeping its mouth shut
their layers of concealment are thick
and their canopies of
self-defenses are hard

you feel like this is one kind of a giant shell
and you are inside it
its flesh
all blistering
flesh

you decide to wear your shoes all throughout this scrutiny
this journey into marriage
into childlessness
into what if's

you drag your feet with your shoes on
as though someone is suffering and wanting to die
and you hold the collar
and you hurt the backbone
and in that open window
you imagine that someone may finally
jump like a scared cat

nine lives
thirty-six softest feet

you purposely make a sound with your shoes
tapping and tapping
and tapping
to create those sounds
of the past dances
just to fill an empty room

some thoughts jump out of the window
dressed in euphemisms
as the ceiling creates its own crankiness
its cloudiness

nine cats in you jump out that window
falling softly on the grass below
all thirty-six
dreams

it is nice to see of course
nine unharmed cats like fluffy cotton blown by the wind and gently
softly land on the grass

it is no wonder
why men sometimes invoke the sound of their whistling

indeed it is by this time
very relaxing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Chocolate Cake

I love chocolate cake.
And when I was a boy
I loved it even more.

Sometimes we used to have it for tea
and Mum used to say,
'If there's any left over
you can have it to take to school
tomorrow to have at playtime.'
And the next day I would take it to school
wrapped up in tin foil
open it up at playtime
and sit in the corner of the playground
eating it,
you know how the icing on top
is all shiny and it cracks as you
bite into it,
and there's that other kind of icing in
the middle
and it sticks to your hands and you
can lick your fingers
and lick your lips
oh it's lovely.
yeah.

Anyway,
once we had this chocolate cake for tea
and later I went to bed
but while I was in bed
I found myself waking up
licking my lips
and smiling.
I woke up proper.
'The chocolate cake.'
It was the first thing
1 thought of.

I could almost see it
so I thought,
what if I go downstairs
and have a little nibble, yeah?

It was all dark
everyone was in bed
so it must have been really late
but I got out of bed,
crept out of the door

there's always a creaky floorboard, isn't there?

Past Mum and Dad's room,
careful not to tread on bits of broken toys
or bits of Lego
you know what it's like treading on Lego
with your bare feet,

yowwww
shhhhhhh

downstairs
into the kitchen
open the cupboard
and there it is
all shining.

So I take it out of the cupboard
put it on the table
and I see that
there's a few crumbs lying about on the plate,
so I lick my finger and run my finger all over the crumbs
scooping them up
and put them into my mouth.

oooooooommmmmmmmm

nice.

Then
I look again
and on one side where it's been cut,
it's all crumbly.

So I take a knife
I think I'll just tidy that up a bit,
cut off the crumbly bits
scoop them all up
and into the mouth

oooooommm mmmm
nice.

Look at the cake again.

That looks a bit funny now,
one side doesn't match the other
I'll just even it up a bit, eh?

Take the knife
and slice.
This time the knife makes a little cracky noise
as it goes through that hard icing on top.

A whole slice this time,

into the mouth.

Oh the icing on top
and the icing in the middle
ohhhhhh oooo mmmmmm.

But now
I can't stop myself
Knife -
1 just take any old slice at it
and I've got this great big chunk
and I'm cramming it in
what a greedy pig
but it's so nice,

and there's another
and another and I'm squealing and I'm smacking my lips
and I'm stuffing myself with it
and
before I know
I've eaten the lot.
The whole lot.

I look at the plate.
It's all gone.

Oh no
they're bound to notice, aren't they,
a whole chocolate cake doesn't just disappear
does it?

What shall 1 do?

I know. I'll wash the plate up,
and the knife

and put them away and maybe no one
will notice, eh?

So I do that
and creep creep creep
back to bed
into bed
doze off
licking my lips
with a lovely feeling in my belly.
Mmmmrnmmmmm.

In the morning I get up,
downstairs,
have breakfast,
Mum's saying,
'Have you got your dinner money?'
and I say,
'Yes.'
'And don't forget to take some chocolate cake with you.'
I stopped breathing.

'What's the matter,' she says,
'you normally jump at chocolate cake?'

I'm still not breathing,
and she's looking at me very closely now.

She's looking at me just below my mouth.
'What's that?' she says.
'What's what?' I say.

'What's that there?'
'Where?'
'There,' she says, pointing at my chin.
'I don't know,' I say.
'It looks like chocolate,' she says.
'It's not chocolate is it?'
No answer.
'Is it?'
'I don't know.'
She goes to the cupboard
looks in, up, top, middle, bottom,
turns back to me.
'It's gone.
It's gone.
You haven't eaten it, have you?'
'I don't know.'
'You don't know. You don't know if you've eaten a whole
chocolate cake or not?
When? When did you eat it?'

So I told her,

and she said
well what could she say?
'That's the last time I give you any cake to take
to school.
Now go. Get out
no wait
not before you've washed your dirty sticky face.'
I went upstairs
looked in the mirror
and there it was,
just below my mouth,
a chocolate smudge.
The give-away.
Maybe she'll forget about it by next week.

poem by Michael Rosen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Generic Blues

I woke up this morning
Then I went back to bed
Said I woke up this morning
Then I went right back to bed
Got a funny kind of feelin like I got broken glass in my underwear
And a herd of wild pigs is trying to chew off my head
You know what Im sayin
Well I aint got not money
Im just walkin down the road
Said I aint got no money, honey
So Im just walking down this lonely old road
Well, I wish I could get me some money
But I forgot my automated teller code
I was born in a paper sack in the bottom of a sewer
I had to eat dirt clods for breakfast, my family was so poor
My daddy was a waitress, my mama sold bathroom tiles
My brothers and sisters all hated me cause I was an only child
I got the blues so bad, woo
Kinda wish I was dead
Maybe Ill blow my brains out mama
Or maybe ill, yeah maybe Ill just go bowlin instead
Im just a no good, scum sucking, nose picking, boot licking, sniveling, groveling, worthless hunk of slime
Nothing but a low-down beer bellied, bone headed, pigeon toed, turkey necked, weasle faced, worthless hunk of slime
Guess I pretty low self image
Maybe its a chemical imbalance or something -- i
I should probably go and see a doctor about it when Ive got the time
Make it talk
Aw, make it talk, son, make it talk
Ok, now make it shut up
Plagues and famine and pestilence always seem to get me down
I always feel so miserable whenever Im around
I wish somebody would come along, stick a pitchfork through my brain
Id flush myself right down the toilet, but Id just clog up the drain
I got the blues so bad
Kinda wish I was dead
Maybe Ill blow my brains out mama
Or maybe Ill go bowling
Or I just might go bowling
Maybe Ill just rent some shoes and go bowling
Maybe Ill join a league, enter a tournament, put on a stupid looking
Shirt and go bowling instead
Yeah

song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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!

Backyard Brawl

Got a cut on my thigh, got a nail in my eye
And I'm bleedin' all over the wall
Got a barbed wire bat and a dude on the mat
Ain't getting up soon at all
Got a head full of rage and a belly full of hate
I'm the neighborhood legend that just can't wait
For the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Don't matter who you are, don't matter what color
Brown or white'll do
But if you're yellow you'll be covered in red
A whole lotta black and blue
Jump off the trailer in a pile full o' guys
Scratching and kicking and pulverized
For the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Only got six teeth but three of those
Are sharp enough to bite off your nose
At the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
[Spoken:]
You think you're so tough
You talkin' to me?
You're mine
Come on, let's go
Come on stitches...

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Remembering Days of Old

I stood at the gravesite
Remembering days of old
As the memories of her cooking
Wafted through the house
And then the sound of music
On the old record player
Would echo through the house
Jim Reeves and Island Breeze
Swaying to the music
As both mum and dad
Recalled the days of old
They spoke in their mother tongue
First my fathers
Then my mums
It was wonderful to hear
Them banter in fun
Dad would laugh
Mum would scold
Sisters, Brothers hiding in fun
Then at the dinner table
Everyone behaving
Always at their best
Only listening to
What mother knows best
Smiles to one self
Remember the days
Wishing they were here
Sharing their story’s of old
Slides to the ground
Crying one day I will see them once more again

poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Dark Temptation

When the sweet dish
just melts in one’s mouth
one then tends to cherish
the tasty chocolate mousse

When one drinks milkshake
especially the chocolate one
one says, ”What a tasty make! ”
and asks” How was it done? ”

When one eats a chocolate cake
they say, ”The cake was damn good”
they ask”Please tell us how it was baked
So that we can make it if we could”

But what is the main ingredient
in these superb deserts?
“Its chocolate”- THE BRILLIANT
that adds magic to these deserts

the dish then due to chocolate
becomes a temptation
and even though one is not hungry to eat a plate
he cannot undergo any restrictions

As just the sight of chocolate
makes one’s mouth to water
one is just then unable to stop oneself
and eats it like a mad-eater

It’s the taste, the taste that makes it different
the taste that’s beyond description
Hence chocolate is and will be and will always be meant
to be:
THE WORLD’S GREATEST TEMPTATION

poem by Hansika Subramanian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Making Plans

Monday morning - Nine O'clock - coffee going cold
Just sitting here thinking about our plans for growing old
We dreamed that we would travel more to places never seen
We’d take long walks along the beach and watch the waves roll in

We'd stroll back to our little home flower garden - picket fence
Then my thoughts return to now and nothing's making sense
All those years of making plans and waiting for the day
When we would start enjoying life - it all just slips away

Last weekend we had dinner out – did chores 'cause we were off
Sunday morning I went to church - you played a round of golf
I'm trying to remember now - what was it that we said -
Memories and so much more are spinning in my head

You said, 'Honey, what time is dinner', and, 'Don't worry if I'm late -
Oh, and just-in-case I meet a friend, Could you set an extra plate? '
You put your arms around me and looked into my eyes
We never ever - ever dreamed that’d be our last goodbye

All those years of making plans and waiting for the day
When we'd spend time together - it all just slips away

The table was set for three, the cooking was all done
There was nothing left to do but watch the setting sun
Just moments after darkness fell – someone at the door
A man in blue was telling me you won't be home anymore

All those years of making plans and waiting for the day
When we would start enjoying life - it all just slips away
All those years of making plans and waiting for the day
When we'd spend time together - it all just slips away

-Monday evening - Nine O'clock - Got through my first day
And just like all those plans we made - time just slipped away

song lyrics - 2004

poem by Marquita Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Behaving Like Monkeys!

revolution, evolution...
the lid to the mayonnaise jar,
contemplates.
blackberries, strawberries,
and blueberries mingle on a plate,
perhaps plotting upheaval.
the leaf from the oak
blown onto the needles of the pine,
his brothers yell, 'dont be too long,
you might be converted.'
rainwater running from a rusted gutter,
repentance, absolution?
the leaf being formed, an unseen bud,
on a snow covered limb...
DNA?
the stray cat lays down with the dogs,
neath the spider's gigantic web.
the grass runs naked in the dew,
we know! moonlight saw them!
and mountains embrace whichever cloud comes,
with unadulterated passion!
while men behaving like monkeys,
dress in suits, and eat with forks!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Smorgasbord

(words & music by tepper - bennett)
Some like their women short, some like them tall
Ill take them any size cause I love them all
Im just wild about smorgasbord
I got a cravin for smorgasbord
A little kiss here, a little kiss there
Thats smorgasbord
Mmm
Some take just apple pie, some take just cake
Ill take the dish I please, please the dish I take
Im just wild about smorgasbord
I got a cravin for smorgasbord
A little kiss here, a little kiss there
Thats smorgasbord
Mmm
Some like just southern belles, they got a one track mind
I go for all the belles except the wedding kind
Im just wild about smorgasbord
I got a cravin for smorgasbord
A little kiss here, a little kiss there
Thats smorgasbord
Some like their women short, some like them tall
Ill take them any size cause I love them all, mmm
Some take just apple pie, some take just cake
Ill take the dish I please, please the dish I take

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Mama, Mama You Can't Catch Me

Running wild across the sand
holding sea glass in her hand
yelling 'Mama see what I have found.'
She approaches yet I make no sound.
I'm lost with memories in my head
Times of laughter, times of dread.
She lays the sea glass by my side.
Still my thoughts are occupied
with happier times when we were three,
my husband and myself and she.

She has no memory of these things.
She runs in the sand and happily sings
'Mama, mama you can't catch me.'
I hide my tears so she won't see.
At the sound of her voice my heart skips a beat.
I rise up and feel the sand on my feet.
I run and chase her. I see his face,
mostly his features, mine just a trace.
I hear his voice.'Love her my dear.
love her for me like I was here.'

Together we run across the sand
holding her treasures in my hand.
In time to come I'll tell her of him.
But for now I let the memories swim
inside my head for she's too young.
It's her time for running with songs to be sung.