"suppertime" poems
by Arcassin Burnham
flowing like the earths motion when i take a puff,
blowing out some the gunga,
could you help me up,
ambient as all things,
when its dark and quiet,
hand structures and wedding rings,
your mind is not alined,
too many ********* in this world,
suppertime,
if you find the time to pick up the pieces,
it will be fine,
hopefully,
let yourself be the host of your own enemy,
of get therapy to comfort you,
havent been right since elementary,
hoping they all turn against you,
and look!!! there it goes!!,
cant remember the first time i ate a mango.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
corundum puppies and you begin to wonder if
they’ll ever move again not
much escapes your midas touch
you used to organgrind your teeth and
nails at the dusty mayhem floors
(it’s suppertime baby let’s
**** some airtime by eating the fish right off the
CAUTIONwet
hardwood as they gasp for air so we
gasp for blood)
seashell lakeshore pumpkinpatch painting of
bugjuice spattered on the back windshield;
you’re not afraid of
a little fog.
not enough
sodium in the air (not enough
salt in your wounds) and
you begin to choke on the potassium of our
bananasplit ages ago;
if you’re eating
your own molasses words
please make sure you spit them back
out again where the children can have them
they wouldn’t say no to
something sweet
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
the sun romances the night sky
seeping its slow blue
into the wheeling starfeild
its own grandeur carousel fades
as the stars dulled by the dawn stray away
one by one they bid farewell to the day
dawn
her blushing bride endeavor
expanded to her full embrace horizon to horizon
leaves fine line lace of mist
on the water
and begins to warm to announce
the forthcoming of her proud man
noon approaches
thundering hoofs of furnace heat his stallion
his brow breaks with the sweat of his labor
pushing the sun up to her pedestal heights
so a breif rain sqaull rocks our ragtag little ship
noon throws lightening and makes such rousing appeal
but the younger sister approaches
and noon must forsake his place
the quiet seductress afternoon
with her hazy summer heat lulling
and her many sweet scents and sounds
lay with you in the grassy field and
makes love to you with dreams of everlasting summer
and remembrances of childhood carefree abandon
she calls out to her mother evening
who comes and with a mothers love cools your brow
suppertime and laughter with loved ones
gathered at the kitchen table
dream time in safe places of the soul
finally night comes
slipping in silent and swift
deep and quiet he is mystery
gathering of soldiers who fail to conquer
gathering of lovers who two by two not
only are the world but make it anew
with love and with children
now full circle we have come
on the spiral track of our days
as the sun romances the night sky
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Basket full of open doors,
Spitting image of asexual roses,
Washing away the sins kept in prayer,
Enjoying paradise,
Returning to the beauty that you’ve always been,
Suppertime in the midnight hour,
Not a right time to say I’ve seen ignorance at its coldest,
Like the saying that all humans have layers,
Unless bruised knees are kept in ice,
Don’t worry about the less passionate just look within,
Last minute discussions more like hang-ups,
All I want is cooperation from people that believe,
Forgetting where my soul went,
Then creates having lost ones self-respect,
But the emotions set to overcrowd and ……
……Perfect lack of stamina,
You want signs, but its messages that you receive,
Sitting in a room with four walls and the hours that you spent,
The only time you really have to accept and recollect,
To be admired by thousands.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
Go outside after breakfast
Come back for lunch at noon.
Come inside at suppertime
And even then, it was too soon.
Never permitted to be late
We ate dinner at six each day
Eat every bite on our plate.
About the menu we had no say.
We had baking soda submarines
Popular Mechanics magazines
And that was technology back then.
Decoder rings and roller skate keys
Shooting marbles on our knees
And playing crooks and G-men.
Those days we had three channels
On all black and white televisions.
Just the same thirteen inch boxes;
Nothing like 3D or Panavision.
Loved Uncle Miltie and Lucille Ball
And considered Korla Pandit a waste,
But we must be forgiven because
Back then, no one had much taste.
We could spell Kula, Fran and Ollie,
Said words like “gosh”, and “by golly”
And were anxious to see flying cars.
Many movies were in Technicolor
But you always had to take your brother
And he didn’t recognize the stars.
After school we played sandlot ball
Saturday were TV cartoon shows;
Dancing trees with belly buttons
And a local clown with a red nose.
We joined Cubs and Boy Scouts
Had lemonade stands by the street,
Matchbooks in bicycle stokes
And used bottle cap taps for our feet.
It seemed like days were longer then
And summer was slow to come again.
Those were the days when we had fun.
We built our forts and hooked up swings
Kids did all crazy kinds of things
Before these modern times had begun.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
In the morning,
she spins
circles around me
like a small child
gleeful.
At noon,
she's drunk on life,
swooning love.
And by suppertime,
she's strung out,
overdosed on
the sacredness
of another day.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
i wake
it is 8
i am seven
the sun floods in through the window
(late!) 2 pop-tarts and some juice and out the door in 9 minutes flat.-
r u n n i n g
recon the neighborhood. "Hey, Scott". We team up. A few of the"little" kids are out as well.
Check at Ricky's. Some sort of punishment, but a little whining and he is free as well.
More kids come out.
DIRT CLOD WARS!
seek cover
They go behind a dumpster. us, in a ditch.
we lob (never throw! ) the chunks of red clay which hit the asphalt with a puff
of puce vapor.
Some kid hits my little brother with a thrown clod,
with a rock in it.
He cries.
Honor demands a fight.
taunting , shoving,
I hit the kid in the nose and it bleeds. Crying he runs home.
(and I feel a glory Alexander would envy.)
"FELIX, COME HOME FOR LUNCH"
(5 minutes to devour a bologna sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk)
then ****** into round two. this time hide-and-seek and she . .
(the new girl ; corn-silk hair and eyes that . . ??
so i'm "it"
but even the "little" kids are getting Home
( i am way out left
because i know . . .)
- suddenly -
she makes a deerlike dash for home, but i am ready,
and like a javelin
appear between her and Home.
"you're out"
as my hand grasps her shoulder.
e v e r y m o l e c u l e o f m y f l e s h
!ignites!
and i feel as a god)
The game is over. Scott, Ricky and I spend an hour tricking the"little" kids into sitting in piles of dog ****
Suppertime and we are called home.
years have come and gone,
still i remember those summers.
with Scott and Ricky.
and the heady . . .
. . .dizzying
breathless . . .
. . . bliss
of
p
l
a
y. . .!
Sometimes . . . from time to time
I also remember the girl -
(and I still feel a tingle in my right hand.)
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
Electronic invitations are sent
to this festival of pen, paper, and ink.
No one ever shows up anymore.
I don’t mind.
It gives me more time with this notebook
and a head full of fire.
On Sundays,
the coffee is $.87 and I can have
all that I can swallow.
Today, it came black
in spite of my request
and as I made my
attempt to doctor it
into submission,
it spilled.
The next thing I know,
I have a reem of coffee-soaked
napkins and I’m hoping these
pages can be
salvaged.
After doing the best I can
I hit the john to wash my
hands.
Stepping away from the ******
is a man in a suit and tie.
He shoots me a baleful look
which I gratefully return.
He didn’t stop to wash his hands
in his hurry to get away from me
so I know that his cleanliness and godliness
are about the same distance apart.
Upon my return to my wrecked altar
of ritualized scribbling I notice that there are
heavy beads of cream hanging on to the edge,
same as me.
Instead of wiping them up
I head outside and light a
cigarette.
There is a young couple
contented with their quick,
cellophane wrapped sandwiches,
Doritos and sodas,
a fine picnic supper.
I sit so that the wind is in my face
and the smoke blows over my shoulder
into their suppertime soiree.
Upon my exit
they shoot me a baleful
look.
I earned this one.
And, I gratefully
return
home.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
We have surely lost this war
Yet we linger on
To gather what few wits remain
And fight another dark day
We are gentleman, at least,
Killing each other
Only in the hours
Before suppertime.
When the swollen sunlight
On the distant Standing Oaks
Mimics the blooded field below
We set down our arms.
One weary lad climbs to the top of the hill
(We take turns...)
And blows a Hollow Tattoo
Calling us all away from Death,
For a while at least.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 8:02 AM UTC
the meals you never met
tasted like love.
i guess,
none were ever good enough.
as clock stretched six,
entrees were placed
adjacent to one empty seat.
ahead, my eyes bore into
a suppertime reminder
of the gifted void
you’ve left us to harbor.
but, who were you truly clocking in for?
because we sure weren’t
punching your time cards.
we saw,
every night,
at dinner time.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 4:14 AM UTC
A puppy's dream
I go to bed at night. I lay my little head in my bed.
I start to dream the day away.
Bacon in the morning,oh what a smell.
The red ball I chase down the hall under the table it goes.
Then out doors are my greatest thing. The neighbors cat is my target.
Around the house and through the follows I go.
Up the tree, the cat does run.(one of these days she will be mine).
Then it's suppertime for me a stake bone might be nice.
Then to the bathroom I go. Water in the tub is just for me.
A rubber duck I find is great.
Then it's to bed I go.Oh, what a dream.
This is my puppy dream and it is GRRRReat!!!
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC
The earth calls me home
Whistles my name and claps toward the woods
Her tangy voice rings through the elms
Suppertime is swiftly approaching
The world hides me under her tongue
Raining down saliva that burns the eyes
Deeper into her cave I dive
Acid bubbling down my throat
Nature collects my body
Another trophy placed in her burrow
Burying us all further and further
She sings hymns every day above our graves
And though we pretend this song isn't sweet
Humming along
We all fall into the pit
Aug 20, 2024
Aug 20, 2024 at 8:39 PM UTC
However much fun was had
Playing catch and tag
Exploring the day away
Suppertime always comes around
Friends say goodbye
As mothers call then yell
Come home and wash up
Right now mister
And the playground falls silent
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
you must go on -
on the stage,
on the trail,
on the path,
through the scary woods alone at night.
you must go on -
in the storm,
in the calm,
in the dark,
even though you are weary with fright.
you must go on -
at morning,
at mid-day,
at suppertime,
when things don't feel right.
you must go on -
from then,
from now,
from hence,
because it's the only way you will find the light.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC
Last night I had
the strangest dreams.
I dreamed I had
three daughters (in reality I have two.)
They were all
babies, and of
Spanish descent.
My daughter's mom is
English, and long gone;
like the Beatles
and the Jam.
I remember two of the
girls names, Amelia and Alhena,
I can't recall the third one.
So there I was with these
beautiful olive skinned babies.
And it was wonderful.
I was full of joy.
The babies cried,
so I cooked for them.
When the Polenta had cooled,
I said, "It's suppertime angels."
They lined up and sat down.
I fed them; each in their turn.
they made soft
cooing sounds.
I turned around
to pour some milk.
And out of the corner of
my eye, I saw dark
shadows on the wall, and
heard the flutter of wings.
I turned back around.
They had turned into
doves, and one by one,
they flew away.
I woke up with an
ache worse than
hunger pains.
It was like the
dreams That I had
when I was a child.
I dreamed that
I had a puppy,
a girlfriend
or some candy,
and then woke up
to none of it.
Nothing but a longing
and a pain in my gut
that never went
away.
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 1:46 PM UTC