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Ayodeji Oje Apr 14
Since covid paced in
Hunger lingers
In this skinny land
As many arms are folded
During a lockdown
Void of spoons going to the mouth
To further widen
The red sea between
The highs and lows of the land
In Nigeria, the poor suffer more during this COVID19 lockdown. In fact, what is being distributed as relief package is a chicken feed. Political elites seem not to feel what the poor feels.
this **** quarantine
is keeping me from getting
my daily dose of cuddles!!!!
i miss my love :(
Poetic T Feb 8
She was the ****, I was the crystal
addicted to each other the moment
                                              we meet.

But every high has a come down,
                I'm the ***** needle..

She was the spoon, warming up on
               another's sleeve.

Tided tightly ready to overdose on her.

                     She was the chemical bliss
that could  be taken anywhere,  

                                         I thought...
that we were something special.

But I was used,

I was useless to her, as I was unable
         to pierce the vein..

Used to many times.

So she found another way to find
              a way to make her self higher

than she was with me.

Now I'm in a come down

                   and I'm struggling.
when his arms are wrapped around me
it seems like for once
everything will be okay.
Grace Haak Sep 2019
Head of a silver spoon hanging in the sky
Reaching down into the midnight cloud bowl
Scooping up spiced stars scattered in a soup
Shiv Pratap Pal Jun 2019
Mac and Bloom
Went up to the Moon

With a Spoon
In search of pretty Alien

They looked here
They looked there

No Alien was found
And time was bound

They returned to earth
Only with some dust
Let's Enjoy Childhood.
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
The other day, I
Tried to eat a
*** of yoghurt.

Lacking the tools,
I called up
To my mother:

"Mum! Where
Are the spoons?"
The fatal words.

Now, every time I
Go online, all the
Adverts are for cutlery.
A poem about advertising.
#22 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Salmabanu Hatim Nov 2018
We have been married for fifty years,
Seen many seasons,faced many fears and tears.
What was mine and yours,
Has become ours.
We are a pair,
Everything we share,
Equally and fair.
One bed,one blanket and a hot water bottle between us,
No complaints, no fuss.
We share a spoon,
When we have soup at noon,
A sip for me,
A sip for he.
We share the spectacles,
I, to read aloud the bible,
He to read the newspaper which he is able.
We both listen to each other,
He sometimes affectionately  calling me mother.
We share the dentures too
For solid food that needs to be chewed.
He wipes my face and I his,
As sometimes tears stain the cheeks.
We hold each others hands tightly and pray,
We stay together as long as the Lord may.
an oar
that her
canoe bade
by spoon
when park
saw the
river boat
upstream and
she was
saddle the
bridge then
transfer ride
near edge
with my
pickup nudge
her but
seasons end
Shadow Dragon Jun 2018
Your mother spoon-feeds you happiness.
But at some point
the happiness becomes rotten.

So she cuts your meat in pieces
and feeds it to the therapist.
In hope of answers.

But she will never find the knifes
cutting slowly in your mind.
For you are hopeless.
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