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Sara Kellie Jan 14
With our extremities entwined
two pairs of digits, stroke in kind.
One pair, painted.
The other, dirt.
One of us delicate.
The other, dirt.

A soft and fragrant anticipation
succumbs to an accrid and earthy
magnetic like hold. . .
Hold. . .
Hold. . .
Thankyou Sweetheart,
you were great.
I'm going,
are you *******?

Poetry by Kaydee.
Work, ***, supper, bed
My eyes are
I don't pray
to those
high school gods.
I betray the
teachings of my mother.
I pull out of
my pocket
a pack of cigarettes.
my silence is
I talk like antibiotics,
tell me
can I still feast in an abnormal modesty?

-Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
You can eat it too!
My frying pan
Is half empty

Hate me
Because I am good
Because I am great!

Michelan Stars
Trips to Mars
Candy bars
Mason jars

Drunk I am
Said the can
To the packet
Of ketchup

Baker's square
I worked there
Line cook nook
Splatters shook!

The kitchen man
Burns the water
The ******* fan
Yearns for slaughter
waffles, waffles a real great treat.
I cook them for breakfast as their fun to eat.
Buttery and light, my taste buds take flight.
In fact, I just might eat them tonight!
Today I got a new waffle iron. I haven't made waffles in almost a year. My excitement burst forth in prose tonight as I was preparing some of the fluffiest, most delicious waffles ever.
Danielle Apr 2018
Half remembered clich├ęs dance along the pier.
The divide between,
Sweet salty land and unending depths.
My talking dolphins sing a tune,
Unsettling and threatening.
Feed scraps from the dinner table
by my curly haired gambler.
I only see him at that old dollhouse,
Cracked and weathered by the Sea.
It insists on knocking on our red door
and staying for supper.
So it can beat us at throwing pennies in a cup
Had a dream and it made me really happy so I wrote a poem about it. It was a pretty weird dream truth be told.
Andre Vrdoljak Oct 2017
Breakfast for lunch,
Breakfast for supper.
Jam on toast,
I'll have another.
Steve Page Apr 2017
His words were leavened with love
as He shared His last mortal meal.

If you listened with care
His voice maybe cracked with grief
even while His hands were laced with grace
as He broke the crust
releasing the warmth into the chatter
He shared with His friends.

And if you watched closely
His hands perhaps shook a little
as He poured out His full bodied wine
intense in its dark flavour
infused with fragrance
as if ripe for an altared offering.

And if you looked into His face
you might have seen a sheen
in the firelight
over the determination
to see this through
to the last.
The Last Supper was tough.  Matt 26:17-30
JV Beaupre Jun 2016
After our loving,
drifting and dreaming;
the dog barks for supper,
and so it
ryn Jan 2016
Palms overhead sway,
nudged by the occasional breeze.
The chatter crescendoes
before dying down...
To make way for the call of prayer.

It called to its followers.
So calm...
So sincere...

People hunched over their tables.
Savouring delights that came on plates.
Wafting aromas,
mingle like the swirls on candy.
Drenching our senses...
As we immerse ourselves further
in such good company.

I looked at the eyes that surrounded me...
Only soft, kind gazes greeted back.

There are no shadows here...
No silhouettes...
Only faces I know
generous with their gift of glow.

A rising warmth
emanates from the pits within.

In this here circle,
no matter how motley,
I feel alive.
I'm drinking up to a stupor...
This lovely band of five.

— The End —