"serviettes" poems
well that was lunch which
was preoccupied with such
thoughts of the typical poet
eg why does the world want
to cheat me..
what is the point and what
is for tea..my lover´ s eyes are
burnished fields´ of wheat
i thought of love
and lily..
a small blue bowl of vague
reminded of a broken heart
and since stopping smoking
marijuana has my art
suffered unnecessarily..
or is it better some clue
must tell the difference between
the placid and uncontolable rage
the compatability of lasagne and rice
the oxymoron..
the pollution of serviettes..
with our destructive urges
laced with inexplicable
flat cola and
creation..
not unlike hunting for
searching salt to will
made in our own likeness
cold soup to chips
to explain..
what is this thing called man
chapatti and jam..
we have to have to tell
we have to work
and then stack
to clear them..
begin again
the thoughts
of a typical
poet and soooo
end..
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
Slim- Where is my T-shirt May?
May- I pegged it on the clothesline yesterday...
Slim- No wonder I couldn't find it!
May- After you'd spilled tomato sauce on it, I thought I'd wash it.
Slim- The next time, I have sauce on a pie, I'll have to be careful not to get it on my shirt...
May- You may need a serviette around your neck....to ameliorate stains on your shirt.
Slim- Have we any serviettes in the cupboard May?
May- Yes! I bought some at the supermarket earlier on to-day....
Slim- No doubt, I'd be lost without you May!
May- When you married me, it was most certainly your lucky day...
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
Time for pecan divinity and sassafras tea , for golden garland decorating mantel-shelves , hand stitched doilies and holiday serviettes , candlesticks , candy canes and peppermints .. German nutcrackers and Christmas tales , warm wine and sleigh bells ...
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
shoot all of your flesh
away
from years ago
say to the world
it’s here
make shapes from serviettes
when the service is slow, don’t worry about the crowd and
shower – quite literally
in the company of your dinner mate
let the cars roam as animals roam
let all of your lips cascade
into one floating hole
that waits before dinner comes, brought by some stranger
removing the day
from the plate
i am the sequins of your dress
your are my sleeves
rolled up
and reaching for
bread;
i refuse that you should sit opposite me this table – so i pull your seat
over, and instead of just waiting for the food
i pull you nearer
the staff and the clamour of utensils die
tonight there is nothing but us, passing
“how come you don’t like sitting opposite?” You ask me
that’s weird!
Aye and the table is white
and we’re dressed ready for the world
as
(s)he salutes us within our eyes;
nothing can take me away from your dress,
we’re frozen in flux
as the waiter comes;
and the city shifts
outside.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
today you'll glide your cursor
past this poem,
like it's nothing, like i'm
nothing
but tomorrow
or maybe the day
after
after
after and then,
serviettes may pile up
our strangership coexists with
friendship,
and bucks and bucks'f starbucks,
and 'good evening' might become
'Good morning'
'Good night'
'Good day'
if that day comes,
when that day comes,
then good day sunshine
i would have found the light in my life
again
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
When the kitchen staff did the washing-up
They could not but notice, among the bowls
And serviettes, spoons, knives, pitchers, and plates,
One of the best silver trays, blotchy with blood
And scraps of vertebrae, ruining the shine
“Oh, bother; these stains will never come out,”
Muttered the old woman in charge of such things
But she scrubbed and polished, did a good job
With that and with each costly silver cup
When the kitchen staff did the washing-up
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC
perch on stools
too high for short legs
elbows resting askew on
sawn wood table top
the smell of dill pickles
pefumong the air
we wait for the bagels
to arrive......
heaped with pastrami and onion jam
crumbling half melted sharp cheddar
dill pickles sliced acroos the top
a mountain of foodlove
on an old china plate
old time root beer floats
and a mound of serviettes
let the **** begin....
as we snarf and scoff
our way down to china
don't forget to buy
some bagels for breakfast either
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC
*Food lacking taste ,
bland piles of paste
Steaming mounds of dead -
animals and plants served -
on a porcelain platter
Painstakingly hand stitched serviettes , glowing candelabras and chandeliers
A fork for this , a spoon for that
Silver ladles and oak tables
Sharp knives , brass covers ,
spatulas and carafes
A prayer before the vanquished are -
consumed followed by the highly
choreographed dance of the plates
The dinner ballet begins
Utensils clinging , bowls clanging -
Ice cubes striking glass
The music of the feast , the consumption
of the beast
Blood collecting in the corners of -
the mouth
King Protein controls the conflagration -
of gluttony like the conductor leads -
his orchestra
Voracious ramblings
Pining for more and more* ....
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC