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"placemat" poems
Is there room for context at this table? We can move some dishes and shuffle chairs. I’ve checked all four legs and they seem stable, but choosing a placemat is like splitting hairs. I notice the candle’s flame is getting dim, and my fingers pirouette in the puddles of wax, my hair needs a cut but I settled for a trim, and I’m donating my salary and spending my tax. I’ve told you every thought in my head, except the ones that matter the most, the facts that scald my cheeks to red, now they’re burning up like charred toast. I’d promise you whatever you ask for, and I’d drag myself to deliver each time, but I’m ignoring the truth at my core, and I’m confessing to you in mime. Sit across from me with crossed legs, see magnets becomes our eyes, “come closer together” both begs, but we’re determined and polarized. There’s no world existing around us, and there certainly is no group, you listen while I ramble and make a fuss, over the death of Lipton’s Alligator Soup. We turned Heaven into a Hell, we took a skeleton and made a shell, We dragged our nails down the walls scribbled ephiphanies on bathroom stalls, and silenced a story we could never tell. And all the things that have driven us apart, in truth have only made us stronger. and my love you are actually my heart, I won’t question it’s beating any longer. If you’re stuck with a choice you should flip a coin in the air, then listen to your mind’s voice, ‘cause your answer will be there. When it comes to heads or tails, you already know your favourite side, you’ll pray for it as the coin sails, ignore the outcome but absorb the ride.
0
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
emmackenzie
The Lion & The Rose
Is there room for context at this table? We can move some dishes and shuffle chairs. I’ve checked all four legs and they seem stable, but choosing a placemat is like splitting hairs. I notice the candle’s flame is getting dim, and my fingers pirouette in the puddles of wax, my hair needs a cut but I settled for a trim, and I’m donating my salary and spending my tax. I’ve told you every thought in my head, except the ones that matter the most, the facts that scald my cheeks to red, now they’re burning up like charred toast. I’d promise you whatever you ask for, and I’d drag myself to deliver each time, but I’m ignoring the truth at my core, and I’m confessing to you in mime. Sit across from me with crossed legs, see magnets becomes our eyes, “come closer together” both begs, but we’re determined and polarized. There’s no world existing around us, and there certainly is no group, you listen while I ramble and make a fuss, over the death of Lipton’s Alligator Soup. We turned Heaven into a Hell, we took a skeleton and made a shell, We dragged our nails down the walls scribbled ephiphanies on bathroom stalls, and silenced a story we could never tell. And all the things that have driven us apart, in truth have only made us stronger. and my love you are actually my heart, I won’t question it’s beating any longer. If you’re stuck with a choice you should flip a coin in the air, then listen to your mind’s voice, ‘cause your answer will be there. When it comes to heads or tails, you already know your favourite side, you’ll pray for it as the coin sails, ignore the outcome but absorb the ride.
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41
It’s embarrassing to have too much money The make believe buddies and the fake deference Measuring your height in yachts and widescreens Kids who are unfamiliar with your touch Ever more expensive toys to overflow The ever-thinning circumference of time. Holidays can be a way of dealing with The superfluity of excess in day to day lives – The addict learns to miss his true love While the CEO goes food shopping And remembers how to set forks and knives On an empty placemat’s either side.
0
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 3:33 AM UTC
daniel-james
Work hard, Play hard
It’s embarrassing to have too much money The make believe buddies and the fake deference Measuring your height in yachts and widescreens Kids who are unfamiliar with your touch Ever more expensive toys to overflow The ever-thinning circumference of time. Holidays can be a way of dealing with The superfluity of excess in day to day lives – The addict learns to miss his true love While the CEO goes food shopping And remembers how to set forks and knives On an empty placemat’s either side.
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12
It is later than late, the simmered down darkness of the jukebox hour. The hour of drunkenness and cigarettes. The fools hour. In my dreams, I still smoke, cigarette after cigarette. It's okay, I'm dreaming. In dreams, smoking can't **** me. It's warm outside. I have every window open. There's no such thing as danger, only the dangerous face of beauty. I am hanging at my window like a houseplant. I am smoking a cigarette. I am having a drink. The pale, blue moon is shining. The savage stars appear. Every fool that passes by smiles up at me. I drip ashes on them. There is music playing from somewhere. A thready, salt-sweet tune I don't know any of the words to. There's a gentle breeze making hopscotch with my hair. This is the wet blanket air of midnight. This is the incremental hour. This is the plastic placemat of time between reality and make-believe. This is tabletop dream time.
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3.2k
Lisa Zaran
Dreams
It is later than late, the simmered down darkness of the jukebox hour. The hour of drunkenness and cigarettes. The fools hour. In my dreams, I still smoke, cigarette after cigarette. It's okay, I'm dreaming. In dreams, smoking can't **** me. It's warm outside. I have every window open. There's no such thing as danger, only the dangerous face of beauty. I am hanging at my window like a houseplant. I am smoking a cigarette. I am having a drink. The pale, blue moon is shining. The savage stars appear. Every fool that passes by smiles up at me. I drip ashes on them. There is music playing from somewhere. A thready, salt-sweet tune I don't know any of the words to. There's a gentle breeze making hopscotch with my hair. This is the wet blanket air of midnight. This is the incremental hour. This is the plastic placemat of time between reality and make-believe. This is tabletop dream time.
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33
I am surrounded by empty booths & four sides clothed in beige, highlighted by hanging globe- lanterns casting a serene aura. The swing of the kitchen door greets me, the lone patron who has placed his order for miso soup & white sticky rice. My placemat educates me about the zodiac & I can almost hear the creaking of the bamboo painted on the walls, it leaves me feeling nice inside.
0
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
jonny-angel
Transcendence in An Asian Eatery
I am surrounded by empty booths & four sides clothed in beige, highlighted by hanging globe- lanterns casting a serene aura. The swing of the kitchen door greets me, the lone patron who has placed his order for miso soup & white sticky rice. My placemat educates me about the zodiac & I can almost hear the creaking of the bamboo painted on the walls, it leaves me feeling nice inside.
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16
I have an old farmhouse inside my chest, wooden siding rotten in places and windows fractured from too many winters, the roof of which sags near the chimney-- faint smoke-clouds rising, and a light glowing yellow inside the kitchen, a beckoning invitation into the faded blue walls full with portraits of four--my mother, father, and little sister--brassy frames hung close together above the wooden table, nicks and scratches connecting each placemat like dots of the coloring book page left magnet-stuck to the refrigerator. The countertops have grown dusty. fruit-bowl collecting gnats and mold, but the zinnias over the sink flourish, replaced daily and blooming red as the teakettle rusting on the only remaining stove-top burner, the others broken, tossed into the garbage beside the back door, which leads to a forest-- rib-like oaks bent and bowed over the farmhouse, ivy vines coiled ‘round each trunk, stretching limb to limb, weaving webs tangled as the unruly branches from which they hang, caressing the slumped rooftop as if to remind the battered, tired building how, despite everything, the hearth still smolders.
0
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
mel-harcum
Foundations
I have an old farmhouse inside my chest, wooden siding rotten in places and windows fractured from too many winters, the roof of which sags near the chimney-- faint smoke-clouds rising, and a light glowing yellow inside the kitchen, a beckoning invitation into the faded blue walls full with portraits of four--my mother, father, and little sister--brassy frames hung close together above the wooden table, nicks and scratches connecting each placemat like dots of the coloring book page left magnet-stuck to the refrigerator. The countertops have grown dusty. fruit-bowl collecting gnats and mold, but the zinnias over the sink flourish, replaced daily and blooming red as the teakettle rusting on the only remaining stove-top burner, the others broken, tossed into the garbage beside the back door, which leads to a forest-- rib-like oaks bent and bowed over the farmhouse, ivy vines coiled ‘round each trunk, stretching limb to limb, weaving webs tangled as the unruly branches from which they hang, caressing the slumped rooftop as if to remind the battered, tired building how, despite everything, the hearth still smolders.
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27
Old breadcrumbs litter the placemat where my little one had sat that morning. That morning I told her she was running too late to finish the PB&J with fine pineapple pieces she had made for herself. She gobbled the thing up in seconds, and with a mouth still full she walked over and mumbled bye. I wiped juice leaking out the corner, and with a snort and a kiss to her forehead I said see ya’, have fun. And with that she was out the door, her red backpack one strapped like the baseball boys did. All that’s left are these breadcrumbs. I can’t get myself to clean them up and throw them away. I see them every day, every meal, every middle of the night as I peck on pineapple PB&Js. As much as I know these crumbs must go, I don’t regret for a second letting her eat that sandwich the way she did. It was hell to raise such a rebel, but she was never going to let anyone stop her from what she wanted, including me. And she makes me proud. I’ll clean it up eventually, but for now, my little one’s breadcrumbs stay. - Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
0
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
AlekthePoet
Breadcrumbs
Old breadcrumbs litter the placemat where my little one had sat that morning. That morning I told her she was running too late to finish the PB&J with fine pineapple pieces she had made for herself. She gobbled the thing up in seconds, and with a mouth still full she walked over and mumbled bye. I wiped juice leaking out the corner, and with a snort and a kiss to her forehead I said see ya’, have fun. And with that she was out the door, her red backpack one strapped like the baseball boys did. All that’s left are these breadcrumbs. I can’t get myself to clean them up and throw them away. I see them every day, every meal, every middle of the night as I peck on pineapple PB&Js. As much as I know these crumbs must go, I don’t regret for a second letting her eat that sandwich the way she did. It was hell to raise such a rebel, but she was never going to let anyone stop her from what she wanted, including me. And she makes me proud. I’ll clean it up eventually, but for now, my little one’s breadcrumbs stay. - Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
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26
Do you hear a little child crying? Keeper holds up a cheap, placemat With a pattern of Blackeyed Susans And says *See that pattern? You made it.* Came your birthday Black coffee, a packet of Sweet & Low I choked when the grounds touched my lips. You're feeding her and telling her *Your Mommy is the smartest, most beautiful woman in the world.* I painted white and yellow petals around the droplets of coffee. And mailed it off, My gift, se lah! It was returned two weeks later. Marked twenty years! That was the day we became friends.
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Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
atalanta-undigested
Musings on Blackeyed Susans
Do you hear a little child crying? Keeper holds up a cheap, placemat With a pattern of Blackeyed Susans And says *See that pattern? You made it.* Came your birthday Black coffee, a packet of Sweet & Low I choked when the grounds touched my lips. You're feeding her and telling her *Your Mommy is the smartest, most beautiful woman in the world.* I painted white and yellow petals around the droplets of coffee. And mailed it off, My gift, se lah! It was returned two weeks later. Marked twenty years! That was the day we became friends.
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18
Alone again in this four-room house; the wind stagnant, like water. empty beds crumpled from bodies that have long ago left. On the table there is but one placemat and eight chairs. I have turned off all the lights to look at myself reflected on the moon on my table. I wish you were here but you never are, never were. you are a ghost hiding behind words from far away. It's been days of us reading each other. letters, commas, question marks dancing into a person. I crane my neck to hear your voice but there are only faint echoes, like murmurs from distant mountains. There is a house on Trepidation Street and it is where I have often lived. You are beyond a poem you are beyond me you are my fear in human form because you are so many things I am not, talented intelligent interesting. you are what I've been looking for and more, it is this more that makes me fear the distance between us is further than my imperfection can take. My own fear rests in my occupation of this space you've given me: between loving you and wondering if you love me too. or perhaps in the realization that no good poem will come to me untilyouleaveme but I don't think any poem could be worth losing you.
0
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 8:01 AM UTC
fuckyoupo
murmurs from a distance
Alone again in this four-room house; the wind stagnant, like water. empty beds crumpled from bodies that have long ago left. On the table there is but one placemat and eight chairs. I have turned off all the lights to look at myself reflected on the moon on my table. I wish you were here but you never are, never were. you are a ghost hiding behind words from far away. It's been days of us reading each other. letters, commas, question marks dancing into a person. I crane my neck to hear your voice but there are only faint echoes, like murmurs from distant mountains. There is a house on Trepidation Street and it is where I have often lived. You are beyond a poem you are beyond me you are my fear in human form because you are so many things I am not, talented intelligent interesting. you are what I've been looking for and more, it is this more that makes me fear the distance between us is further than my imperfection can take. My own fear rests in my occupation of this space you've given me: between loving you and wondering if you love me too. or perhaps in the realization that no good poem will come to me untilyouleaveme but I don't think any poem could be worth losing you.
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50
Little lashes Bopping on heads Off goes one In drool and Headphones The big green monster The mousey placemat The heavy breathing of congestion The one lullaby The one mother Your little boy world I love him through You
0
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
KingPanda
Untitled
Little lashes Bopping on heads Off goes one In drool and Headphones The big green monster The mousey placemat The heavy breathing of congestion The one lullaby The one mother Your little boy world I love him through You
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13
I invested too much for the bet i never placed I never asked for a placemat to be set for the spills i didn't know i would make I never asked for these wrinkles on my face for the time i spent not missing you I never asked to feel so much in common with a speck of dust I never asked why to me the moon shines brighter than the sun at its very best I never asked why happiness to me was a shooting star beautiful too look at but hard to grasp I never asked a lot of things all because not everything has an answer not everything has to make sense not everything is anything you want to hear however all I do ask is that someday when you people decide to blossem babies into this perpetually doomed earth planet we call home all I ask is that you have the decency to tell your child with its eyes so wide that its not going to be easy cheers to the loners who wear masks too big or too small to fill the very shoes they never put on to go anywhere to do anything with anyone.
0
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
june-west
Title (optional)
I invested too much for the bet i never placed I never asked for a placemat to be set for the spills i didn't know i would make I never asked for these wrinkles on my face for the time i spent not missing you I never asked to feel so much in common with a speck of dust I never asked why to me the moon shines brighter than the sun at its very best I never asked why happiness to me was a shooting star beautiful too look at but hard to grasp I never asked a lot of things all because not everything has an answer not everything has to make sense not everything is anything you want to hear however all I do ask is that someday when you people decide to blossem babies into this perpetually doomed earth planet we call home all I ask is that you have the decency to tell your child with its eyes so wide that its not going to be easy cheers to the loners who wear masks too big or too small to fill the very shoes they never put on to go anywhere to do anything with anyone.
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21
On this day 15,17,20,37,62 Years ago a person was born (many persons actually) And these people were created To live a life set out like a placemat before them So as the years go by and birthday after birthday passes These people endure heartache, tragedy, loss, happiness, jubilation, and everything in between But all they have to show for this is another year. Another candle in the cake Another punch on the arm Another "happy birthday" card But not everyone can share this day with the important people So tonight when I'm staring down at a cake And the light from the flame flickers across my face, They'll lean in close and whisper "make a wish". And I'll close my blue eyes as memories of birthdays are shuffled through my head Then, only then, I'll wish. I wish that I'll make it through another year
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Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
luckybones
Make a wish
On this day 15,17,20,37,62 Years ago a person was born (many persons actually) And these people were created To live a life set out like a placemat before them So as the years go by and birthday after birthday passes These people endure heartache, tragedy, loss, happiness, jubilation, and everything in between But all they have to show for this is another year. Another candle in the cake Another punch on the arm Another "happy birthday" card But not everyone can share this day with the important people So tonight when I'm staring down at a cake And the light from the flame flickers across my face, They'll lean in close and whisper "make a wish". And I'll close my blue eyes as memories of birthdays are shuffled through my head Then, only then, I'll wish. I wish that I'll make it through another year
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21
i feel like i am the only one who gets upset about how quickly the earth moves and it took a lot of time and a lot of people to sit me down and explain why i can't feel each second and each rotation like a carnival ride and i think messing with my placemat at the dinner table asking why we all don't get dizzy was the first time my family made me feel stupid. this isn't poetry as much as not being able to sleep but when you're a writer i doubt there's much of a difference. things go over my head a lot so i always ask people to be blunt with me but sometimes the force trauma hurts so bad i want to throw up honesty and i can't admit that i like beating around the bush better than knowing exactly what's happening and being able to cross off and narrow down like a game where i never learned how to deal with feeling genuine emotions for other people because there is a strange comfort in ambiguity knowing that even though things change all the time and the earth spins at a million miles an hour that's not the reason why im sick
0
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
scully
i can't even come to terms with how im feeling and i need someone to blame
i feel like i am the only one who gets upset about how quickly the earth moves and it took a lot of time and a lot of people to sit me down and explain why i can't feel each second and each rotation like a carnival ride and i think messing with my placemat at the dinner table asking why we all don't get dizzy was the first time my family made me feel stupid. this isn't poetry as much as not being able to sleep but when you're a writer i doubt there's much of a difference. things go over my head a lot so i always ask people to be blunt with me but sometimes the force trauma hurts so bad i want to throw up honesty and i can't admit that i like beating around the bush better than knowing exactly what's happening and being able to cross off and narrow down like a game where i never learned how to deal with feeling genuine emotions for other people because there is a strange comfort in ambiguity knowing that even though things change all the time and the earth spins at a million miles an hour that's not the reason why im sick
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1
The placemat said I was a boar, but I swear I'm a dragon, definitely not the rat, that's my brother. He's really cheap. He doesn't believe in such things, in eating Chinese out.
0
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
jonny-angel
Eating Chinese Out
The placemat said I was a boar, but I swear I'm a dragon, definitely not the rat, that's my brother. He's really cheap. He doesn't believe in such things, in eating Chinese out.
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8
In time I'll give a part of my heart To the one most deserving of it I'll sip a glass of wine and embrace This wonderful human being Because they understand me All those men and women who Never seemed to work out Will be left behind like mud In the placemat of a new home I sip in a breath large and wide sip, sip, sip, breathe out They are there, a silhouette being One day I'll take another And live in the moment With the other half of me In time
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Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
jacob-resendez
In Time
In time I'll give a part of my heart To the one most deserving of it I'll sip a glass of wine and embrace This wonderful human being Because they understand me All those men and women who Never seemed to work out Will be left behind like mud In the placemat of a new home I sip in a breath large and wide sip, sip, sip, breathe out They are there, a silhouette being One day I'll take another And live in the moment With the other half of me In time
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17
The back of the couch stays up There's only one dish One glass One placemat One piece of silverware in the sink One set of work shoes One set of keys One side of the bed gets rested on No one to press up against at night The wine doesn't last Trying to Hoping I can Wishing one day One day you'll figure out what you lost Hoping you Allow yourself to feeeeel something at some point Drops of water seem to have been temporarily tattooed on my face for the past month My heart hurts
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Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
lustus
Today
The back of the couch stays up There's only one dish One glass One placemat One piece of silverware in the sink One set of work shoes One set of keys One side of the bed gets rested on No one to press up against at night The wine doesn't last Trying to Hoping I can Wishing one day One day you'll figure out what you lost Hoping you Allow yourself to feeeeel something at some point Drops of water seem to have been temporarily tattooed on my face for the past month My heart hurts
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18
I grew tired of being a placemat By the door to your vacant home Will I ever be more than history Lying in the back of your mind I haven't seen the sun in days You walk but you don't run Tell me, is it better to flourish To leave it all behind Than to have lived through a passionate wish Being with you was a wasted ****** I'd flow my stream into you Wished for more than necks intertwined I punctured your rejection with great strength The pain was nothing compared to the way You left me behind at arm's length I cough, I ache, achoo I sneeze not one, but two Times as I forget you You **** fool, why did you make Me fall in love with you
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Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
jacob-resendez
If You Left Me
I grew tired of being a placemat By the door to your vacant home Will I ever be more than history Lying in the back of your mind I haven't seen the sun in days You walk but you don't run Tell me, is it better to flourish To leave it all behind Than to have lived through a passionate wish Being with you was a wasted ****** I'd flow my stream into you Wished for more than necks intertwined I punctured your rejection with great strength The pain was nothing compared to the way You left me behind at arm's length I cough, I ache, achoo I sneeze not one, but two Times as I forget you You **** fool, why did you make Me fall in love with you
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20
I don't really know you. The sparse details scattered across Days unremembered yet unforgotten Are but small glimpses to a life Beyond my knowledge. The true nature of your heart lies Between the sunrise atop bumper crops And the sky that holds it illusionary, Yet the orange glow shines through my window Every morning since our meeting. Eastward drifts my soul, Beckoned regardless of wakefulness; Foreign things kept in choice vocabulary Run away to from the moon To only be considered there of-- Do I know you...? I know how you went about your day when you Woke up with a weight in your belly, Groggy eyes squinted in sorrow and sleeplessness; A tired mind running on hamster wheels with Thoughts organized in bedhead disapproval, Feigning extraterrestrial happiness With bookwork and a cup of coffee, Topped off with a bad taste in your mouth And a blunt headache that didn't go away- I know the monotonous capital of existence, The placemat of our truths walked upon Without a sole by the hustle imposed; Drudgery felt like clockwork in the digital a.m Shining neon "Go! Go! Go!" and you go, "go. go. go..." As I have gone... As we have gone together... As we'll have come before and since, In shared moments of stasis every morning We rise- I will not forget how you greeted the day, Not to yourself or your love or your household But to myself and blessed others in those morning hours, Knowledgeable and fierce, Optimistically aware of every day past and upcoming, Guiding the times as if set to sculpture -Arisen is the phoenix at dawn, Flamed feathers spawn the day As we greet the nighttime gone; I don't know you, Not really, anyway.
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Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
nathanhoffman
I Don't Know You
I don't really know you. The sparse details scattered across Days unremembered yet unforgotten Are but small glimpses to a life Beyond my knowledge. The true nature of your heart lies Between the sunrise atop bumper crops And the sky that holds it illusionary, Yet the orange glow shines through my window Every morning since our meeting. Eastward drifts my soul, Beckoned regardless of wakefulness; Foreign things kept in choice vocabulary Run away to from the moon To only be considered there of-- Do I know you...? I know how you went about your day when you Woke up with a weight in your belly, Groggy eyes squinted in sorrow and sleeplessness; A tired mind running on hamster wheels with Thoughts organized in bedhead disapproval, Feigning extraterrestrial happiness With bookwork and a cup of coffee, Topped off with a bad taste in your mouth And a blunt headache that didn't go away- I know the monotonous capital of existence, The placemat of our truths walked upon Without a sole by the hustle imposed; Drudgery felt like clockwork in the digital a.m Shining neon "Go! Go! Go!" and you go, "go. go. go..." As I have gone... As we have gone together... As we'll have come before and since, In shared moments of stasis every morning We rise- I will not forget how you greeted the day, Not to yourself or your love or your household But to myself and blessed others in those morning hours, Knowledgeable and fierce, Optimistically aware of every day past and upcoming, Guiding the times as if set to sculpture -Arisen is the phoenix at dawn, Flamed feathers spawn the day As we greet the nighttime gone; I don't know you, Not really, anyway.
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47
How many times do I have to say “I’m sorry” Before you stop looking at me like that? I ask you if you’re even listening to me While you pick at something on your placemat. You couldn’t be bothered to ask about my day, Never mind that I don’t ask about yours. I’ll lose my nerve and twist your words in every way Before I try to settle all our scores. I hope to break the painful silence by saying, “We shouldn’t let this dinner go to waste.” You look away, like you don’t plan on staying, And it fills my mouth with a lonely taste.
0
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 12:38 AM UTC
meloncollie
At the Dinner Table
How many times do I have to say “I’m sorry” Before you stop looking at me like that? I ask you if you’re even listening to me While you pick at something on your placemat. You couldn’t be bothered to ask about my day, Never mind that I don’t ask about yours. I’ll lose my nerve and twist your words in every way Before I try to settle all our scores. I hope to break the painful silence by saying, “We shouldn’t let this dinner go to waste.” You look away, like you don’t plan on staying, And it fills my mouth with a lonely taste.
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12