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God scans through the texts of Tolstoy
For the secrets of the universe
While the archangels at the table
Dispute loudly, who is worse –
Was it Van Gogh, or Picasso?

“I was far worse than both of them!”
Says a self-righteous Mozart
While Beethoven starts spitting.
“Oh, don’t you two start!”

Warns a tipsy-stern Gabriel
From behind a tall lager
While Plato scrawls circles
Like a half-a-dime auger.

“Silence!” God booms,
Though his eyes are quivering
With unshed tears,
And Dickinson is shivering
With the draft of early evening.

St. Peter is resting,
Feet propped on a chair,
Before returning to his post,
And God lets them all stay there

By his side as he thumbs
Through War and Peace’s last pages
While the fire burns low
And the storm outside rages.

Wilde laughs uproariously
At the news while he cooks.
“How was it?” Michael asks
As God closes the book.
God takes a moment
Before his answer, confessing,
“It wasn’t too bad, I think,
But far too depressing.”
Anmol Mago Feb 24
As a family,
we always
had our supper
in perfect silence
for
the luid language
of cuttlery, clanking
helped us to convey
what words
could never
have said
To my dear family,

Howso ever obnoxious
may I otherwise seem,
but I really love all of you
dearer than me
Megan Hammer Feb 22
I’ve had too much wine in the mountains
The clouds are getting in my eyes
With your chin in your hand, looking at me so
That’s why I get up, take the last sip at our supper
Before the bells begin to toll

Pick me up, carry me to the bed
Some cabin shouldn’t mean so much to me
But I’m in my head about how long it’s been
So long that I start to think about it now
Moving back and forth, lost in thought

I've had too much wine in the mountains
The frantic ramble begins
And now, I'm a mess on the floor

Because there’s a church outside our door
The bells toll and it’s all I can hear
All I see when I look out the window
And I told the priest we’d come back tomorrow
I know what I said, but -

I change my mind about Gibraltar
If we leave tomorrow, could we make it?
I didn’t mean it, I don’t want to wait
I was wrong and that ******* bell and
We’ve got to leave, how many miles is it?

Grabbing the keys -
******* it, how many miles?

But you take me into your arms like a child
Moving back and forth, lost in thought
Smooth my shake and clear the clouds
"This won't go on like this anymore"
“I'll get it squared away”

Some other day in time
I find myself full of wine in the mountains
Wondering what would have happened if I heard the bells sooner.
Somewhere outside Tarragona Spain, July 2017
Sara Kellie Jan 2019
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
burnt.
I don't pray
to those
few
high school gods.
I betray the
teachings of my mother.
I pull out of
my pocket
a pack of cigarettes.
my silence is
lost.
I talk like antibiotics,
but
tell me
can I still feast in an abnormal modesty?


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

Hate me
Because I am good
No!
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 clichés 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
Plunk...plunk...plunk
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.
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