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Maria Mitea May 14
At the first encounter,
I thought that he stole my mother’s tablecloth, and
called it “great”, while she turned the flour into bread.

After I thought.
What if they were lovers? and shared the same tablecloth, while
my father was sweating in his shirt, and they called it “great”
when the mother was sipping wine from her fields,
and he was writing a desperate song as he could not have both.

I shake away my childish thoughts and doubt even more.

What if they were traders?

trading the tigers, the bread,
the tyrants, the grim teeth,
the wine fields and hard eyes,
the lamb, the onions,
the hunger and the thirst,
the hours of eating the strawberries
and the blossoms on the great tablecloth.

I am childish, and  jealous, and curious, and
can not stop the thought of stolen tablecloth.

What if when desperate and lonely he put a spell on her?
and he spread a tablecloth
for those who never eaten, and
those who never loved,
for those who never cried and  
those who never turned the flour into bread.

for those who never let their hearts be
Neruda's great tablecloth.
Pablo Neruda was a Chilian writer that wrote  "The Great Tablecloth" poem. I have had this poem in my heart for a long time. It feels great to have it written in English. :)
Maria Mitea May 11
and childish
who cares? as
long as
the golden
still rolls on the ground
how? steps enter my voice
and heart murmur
in quiet
"Oh no, not another three weeks lock down!" moaned Mr Ketchup.
"Twenty more days in the dog house.
I have reached the ripe old age of seventy plus seven.
Oh Tabby, what ever shall I do now?" sighed, Mr Ketchup.
His friends  were really worried about him lately he had a very dry cough and his face looked red as a beetroot.
He certainly  looked  a bit under the weather. It meant that he now had to stay indoors to stay safe.
Nothing else for it Mr Ketchup  was used to being out, he loved to galavant all over the place. Shops were he liked to go.  His belly would rumble  loudly and off he went to the cafe. He couldn't be bothered to cook. Mr Ketchup didn't  like washing up. He often got scolded for leaving heaps of ***** dishes in the sink. As for trash  can it smelt like rotten eggs. Upstairs  in cupboards  were stacked all topsy turvy.  Everything came flying out all over the floor. Washing piled high. Complete and utter chaos. Poor Mr Ketchup he really got himself into some muddles.
Mr Ketchup  felt a bit peckish off he went to the cupboard.
he sighed old mother Hubbard went to the cupboard  and it was bare. He opened the fridge and a ghastly smell of soured milk filled his nostles. "Puke,"  he thought. until he lifted the bread bin, lay mouldy old bread.   "That's torn it now," he thought, "I haven't a thing to eat but porridge and I hate it."

Picking up the the phone he dailed his friend .
"Haggis, I am in a bit of a pickle. I need you to go shopping for me please."
"Okay." Ketchup  replied Haggis."
"My bread has gone mouldy and the milk is sour." coughed Ketchup."
So off he trotted to the kitchen to look for a
scrap of paper and a pen. But to his dismay he couldn't find anything to write with. He tried a drawer, it was jammed tight. He heaved so hard that the drawer came off its hingles.
Mr Ketchup went flying up in the air and landed right on the trash can.
Poor Mr Ketchup he looked like the cats dinner he smelt awful a bit like fish stew.
Oh fiddle sticks why does everything go wrong.
Cough cough he splutted all over his cat. The poor thing ran for its life.
Mr Ketchup slowly recovered from his fall he scrambled to another draw near by he wasn't in the mood for anymore mishaps. Mr Ketchup scribbled a long list of shopping  in bright red lipstick  but Oh dearie me it sounded like a lot of Gobbledygook.  Moments later Haggis appeared and looked puzzled.
"What ever has happened to you?"
"Nothing!" snapped Ketchup."
Mr Ketchup  couldn't help but notice the expression on his friend's face.
He went indoors slamming the door shut.
It was the worst day of his life and now he wasn't looking forward to more weeks of the lock down .off he went trotted up the stairs to the bathroom.
Oh dearie me the day hadn't ended it had only just begun.

Mr Ketchup  slowly dragged  himself  upstairs put the plug in the bath leaving it to fill up.
Something caught his attention. Mr Ketchup became distracted.  He started sorting out his clothes, but O dear they had peculiar holes in them.  He pulled out his favourite pair of tartan trousers.  "Oh crumbs what has happened to my trousers.
Well as you can imagine it wasn't  a pretty  site.
The moths  made a right meal of Mr ketchup's trousers.
He wasn't amused. He was annoyed.  Mr Ketchup tided his clothes away .
hurried into the bathroom to find his bath had gone very cold..
Oh Mr Ketchup what are we going to do with you!
Mr ketchup has several friendships and is a funny and awkward character at times he often gets himself into muddles sometimes requires  the help from his friends.  Haggis Neaps his wife Sweetheart  Sweet potato face. also Ruby The Rude Raspberry. His cousin mr chips his uncle and Tornface tomato.
Shane Leigh Apr 25
It echoes back
like childish laughter
staying with me
long, long after
The memories of the cave I'm in
will cry
and then consume me again.
It's a work in progress ... I just had a jumble of words and put them together lol
Steve Page Apr 25
Steve the poet sat at his desk
Steve the poet made a great mess
All of his pencils and all of his pens
Couldn't help Steve make a stanza of sense
A response to Humpty Dumpty.
Lee Carter Mar 27
Is this a question worthy of an answer?
I'm sure the sane answer is "no."

Is there poetry in farting into a milk crate?
Maybe not, but I'd very much like to think so.
TS Mar 5
I'm 25 and my shirt glows in the dark. A skeleton rock on symbol lights up as the world darkens around me. That's always been me though, never growing up fully, and I would never apologize for that result.

Responsibilities ****. Showing up every day only to do it all again tomorrow can get pretty **** tedious and is constantly boring. But when we find the little things that bring light to the darkness, who are we to turn them away. Of course we can't always have the light because we wouldn't appreciate it nearly as much. Sure, we will have those things that take up space, the things that we have to do in order to live, but that is not our definition. Our dreams perpetually change - we have no definition. Our best bet in this world is to find those things that bring light and hold on to them.

So wear that glow in the dark t-shirt, wear those dinosaur footy pajamas, jump in puddles, watch cartoons, eat sweet cereals, draw horribly, sing innocently, get excited about the little things. Because life isn't one whole big thing - it's made up of millions of smaller pieces - collect the good ones.

Sylph Jan 21
They keep telling me
To open my eyes
To the world
To Reality
The cliff I will be dropped from
The monster lurking in the darkness below
ready to swallow me whole

I will never live that life
I wont be pushed off that cliff
I cant say I will be prepared though either

This life though
Its mine
The world is simply what I want it to be
My reality will be A lot of what this world isnt

My reality love isnt free
but it doesnt cost pain, Only time
My reality theres no such thing as a bad person
Only someone who makes bad choices
My reality the cats talk
My reality stars tell you stories and the wind kisses your nose

My reality
My thoughts
My wonders
They may seem childish
But whos to say its wrong?
I wont be a mindless slave to the world I will soon be left in, If im stuck here why shouldnt I make the best of it?
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