"tablespoon" poems
---
I've done some research
On cancer's cause
Western medicine, Dr Oz.
They don't have answers, I'm afraid.
And the cure is in what GOD made.
Cancer's vector? A simple virus.
A parasite and a fungus.
Candida overgrowth.
Radiation. Stress.
We all face this in the West.
So are there answers? Well. Let's see.
Tell me if you don't agree.
Sodas should go down the drain
They have sugar or aspertame.
Sugar feeds cancer. Cut it out!
I KNOW that this will make you pout
But you can find nuts a tasty treat
Find some that you like to eat!
Say NO to coffee. All caffeine.
Eat kale and other leafy greens.
If you want nutrition saved
Cut the cord on your microwave!
They watered plants
with water nuked
They died. Nutrition down the tubes.
So no TV dinners. Processed foods.
No fruits or veggies grown GMOs.
WHEAT is bad! And on it goes.
So it may cost a little more?
Shop your local health food store!
What does it matter?
What's cancer's cost?
And your life will not be lost!
If you tire of reading this
There may be important
things you miss... READ ON!
NATURAL REMEDIES FOR CANCER
Blackstrap molasses. 1 tablespoon
Baking soda. 1 teaspoon
Mix with a glass of water and drink.
(Baking soda should be found at
a health food store)
Blackstrap molasses can also be used
topically for skin cancer.
Tincture of the husk of the
Black walnut nut. 2 drops
Tincture of clove. 2 drops
Tincture of wormwood. 2 drops
Mix in a glass of water and drink. Add lemon and honey.
It'll taste better.
IMPORTANT!
DO NOT USE TAP
OR BOTTLED WATER!
Get distilled water and add
Minerals in liquid form.
Your health food store will have this.
There are many herbs and spices
Which help.
There's iodine in common kelp.
Turmeric
Cucumin
etc.
VERY POWERFUL
Soursop tea. Green tea sans caffeine
Fresh vegetables of the rainbow...
Colors are viamins!
Vitamin supplements
Especially B-17
If you can't find these in your
Health food store ask them to order.
Or go on Amazon and order.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
The first time
you said you loved
me, it was as if
I had been pulled aboard
a life raft after being
lost at sea. But
I see now that this
raft is littered with
holes and
we are sinking, but
you are convinced
that your love is a
teacup to scoop out
the water pooling around
my ankles and you will save
us, but the teacup has a crack
down one side and
do you see where I
am going with this?
A tablespoon of water
will never put out
a forest fire; I am burning
through acres.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
The recipe reads:
2 and 1/2 ounces dedication
To 3 pounds ********
To a gram of work
To a ton of cheating
To a tablespoon punctuality
To a gallon procrastination
All with a base of
Genetic Luck
Success,
Success,
**** this
What's the big idea
Of having to succeed?
I don't need to succeed,
Not by your standards.
I write my own formula
For a successful life.
One
Bitter
Shot
Of
Not dead, Yet.
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 2:01 PM UTC
This is for the father that does not consider to be a whole in his creations life.
This is for the mother who chooses to 'opt out' of being a giver of love to the fruit of her womb.
This is for the one who has chosen to be an absent parent..
This is for you...
WAKE. the. **** UP!!
What are you doing?
What is wrong with you?
It seems to me you may not fully understand the ramifications that your chosen absence will play in the life of your child.
So I will spell it out it for you..
Your child, your gift, your delight, the one who was created from your very own dna, the one that you willingly gave life to and brought into this world...
will remember everything you have not done.
And they will carry this as a load upon their back for quite possibly most of their life.
Each will carry it differently, but carry the load they will. Some will carry it with forgiveness, some will carry with resolve, some will carry with the added weight of a heavy heart. Some will carry defiantly and will never truly forgive.
And no matter how they position the weight you give, by choosing to be absent, they will still carry that load...
because of you.
And you will continue to add weight to that load every day you choose to be absent from their life.
Each missed opportunity will be a pound of disappointment that your child will carry... for you.
Each broken promise will be a pebble.
Each late appointment will be a handful of sand.
Each missed birthday will be a tablespoon of gravel
to fill their pockets.
And every achievement they experience, that you have missed, will weigh upon their mind and their heart.
And because of this, throughout their life,
they will continually try to win your love.
You hear that...??
They will try. and. win. your. love...
Because... it is not given freely...
so they will try to win it.!!!
because, bottom line...
let's face it...
you're a selfish ****
And because of your self centered behaviour, everything that they need, want and have to experience without you will be tainted with your chosen absence.
Every tear and heart break, every grazed knee, bad dream, smile, whisper, secret, colouring on the fridge door, every clay model, every needed word of advice, comfort, support and encouragement, every exam result, every moment of despair, loss, grief and first love...
each and every lost opportunity to say 'i miss you'
each and every unuttered 'i love you'
will be carefully, silently and invisibly weighed,
measured
and carried.
And i promise you this..
the weight you have placed upon them will be keenly felt
when it is their time to fly.
This is not to say they will not fly, because they will,
and beautifully so..
And with wings that you did not help to fashion.
And, because of your chosen absence, your creation, your child, your very own delight will always carry the weight that you have placed upon them.
And the weight of your absence is so much heavier than you could possibly imagine.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
2 cups of insecurity
4 ounces of comparison
1 cup of dinner not eaten.
5 cups of a mind in shackles
6 tablespoons of incomprehension
2 ounces of oblivious peers
3 cups of dinner not eaten.
3 teaspoons of phantom numbers
2 cups of anxiety
4 cups of mirrors smashed to bits
1 pint of self-hatred
4 cups of dinner not eaten.
1 tablespoon of depression
6 ounces of anger
2 pints of hopelessness
3 cups of self-inflicted scars
4 teaspoons of ribs in the mirror
5 cups of fainting on the stairs
1 gallon of dinner not eaten.
6 cups of grieving families
4 tablespoons of words unspoken
3 teaspoons of tears unshed.
2 cups of dusty belongings
4 gallons of friends never made
3 teaspoons of kisses never stolen
a lifetime of words left unsaid.
Melt insecurity and comparison and mix thoroughly with dinner not eaten. Mix a mind in shackles, incomprehension, and oblivious peers and add three more cups of dinner not eaten. Crush phantom numbers and anxiety and sprinkle over batter. Take each piece of mirrors smashed to bits and poke them carefully through self-hatred. Mix with four more cups of dinner not eaten. Melt depression, anger, and hopelessness and spread them thoroughly throughout the batter. Meticulously place self-inflicted scars visibly on top of the mixture. Cover with ribs in the mirror and fainting on the stairs. Mix with one gallon of dinner not eaten. Haphazardly toss in grieving families, words unspoken, and tears unshed. Mix with dusty belongings, friends never made, and kisses never stolen. Gather a lifetime of words left unsaid in a separate container. Take it outside and bury it. Do not mark the grave site.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
My heart is a boiling cauldron stewing with
A pinch of kindness,
A sprinkling of hope,
A dash of hate,
A gram of generosity,
A dram of charity,
A tablespoon of despair,
A measure of temperance,
A teaspoon of patience,
And a shake of faith.
Now, simmering on the element,
I can ladle out bowls of love.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
A monotone voice
and a downtrodden persona
a cup of tears
a tablespoon of PTSD
a teaspoon of bullets
a bucket of camouflage
a sprinkle of hope
a mile of death
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
A coffee on my right side
With a teaspoon of brewed coffee,
A tablespoon of creamer to make it fuller
And a teaspoon of sugar to add a little bit of sweetness.
A bread on my left side
With overflowing nutella
That I can't control
And I just smile to the fullest.
A notebook and a pen in front me
Mixing it all together to fill up my soul
To reminisce those pain that I had
That turns into a memory now.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Knead your problems into dough
none of them can survive
at 375 degrees Fahrenheit
When you wake up late
add one chocolate chip
for every minute of morning you missed
take out one chocolate chip
for every time you are unkind
A teaspoon of sugar
for every crumb
that he left on your eggshell heart
a tablespoon of salt
for each time you’ve missed the way
his callused hands felt on your voice box
Drift away on clouds of flour
float down rivers of vanilla extract
a dozen cookies for every time you’ve flinched
at the sound of your own breath
On your knees
burn your throat
watch the cookies resurrect
flush to decompose.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Help yourselves dear poets
if you have fever use filtered martinelly apple juice or any brand you got dilude it with water a glass every hour
it has boron it heals cutting fevers fast I used in my children tylenol can harm liver.
~~~~~~
for the stronger health users go
organic carrot and (beat juice-
-optional) if you only want water distiled is best one gallon add 20 drops of oregano leaf oil
and only drink this is antiviral.
fir one day or two
~~~~~~
If you tolerate take on raw garlic two or more Clove's blend them in filtered, or boiled or distilled water or even Gatorade electrolyte or smart water
add cayenne pepper or any hot peppers you have like cayenne it's good for heart
( no halapeños they irritate intestinal lining ) add sea salt to taste cilantro if you have add two yellow lemon juices freshly squeezed one hole mandarine or small organic orange
add ginger root fresh a finger size slice
add turmeric fresh root
you have apple cider vinegar with the mother in
add some one tablespoon
optional
add multivitamin mineral
and vitamin C ascorvic acid
8f no lemon available.
if you feel anxiety check thyroid it controls brain chemicals add a thyroid supplement vitamin to shake open capsule and blend all these and drink five onces
every 3 hours.
it's anti virulent immune system booster
200 mg of vitamin B complex nightly in powder form will stop your restless leg syndroms help nerves and good sleep add but D3
If you dear find milk thistle it heals detox liver tastes great open one or two capsules in glass of water I drink this daily.
~~~~~
Stay blessed all poets visitors friends you are much loved.
by Karijinbba
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 4:32 PM UTC
anger pie ingredients:
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes and frozen
4 tablespoons vegetable shortening, in small pieces, frozen
8 tablespoons very cold cream cheese, in small pieces
1/3 cup ice-cold water
3 skinned kittens (preferably still kind of alive)
1 cup dead Armenian tears
1/4 cup potato starch
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 tablespoon butter, in small pieces
1 seven year old, lightly beaten
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar
directions:
1.Take ingredients
2. Stare at the until the scorn bursts them into flames
3. Force feed it to a dying cancer patient
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 8:50 PM UTC
here is a cup of fog
mix it well
with melancholy
spoon in a bit
of saccharine ---
indigestible sentiment ---
and blend it all
together
take this tablespoon of
creative fire
douse it with
unrelenting tears
repress it into a ball
then let it stand,
covered,
that the yeast of
sorrow may bloom
when doubled,
punch it down to
bloom again
punch
bloom
punch
bloom
work the dough of Life
to death
form it into a blob
put it into the cold fire of the ego’s
oven
leave it there to burn away
to nothing edible
serve it in hard chunks
on delicate china
and --- wait
trust that the teaspoon of
Love added at the last minute
will be enough
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
A runaway
ducking landlords
just back from timbuktu
containing
wild
wild
and some rite of
some protective voodoo
dialing for
d
o
l
l
a
r
s
I don't have
I just gotta get through
Beggars call collect and the alms are anyone's ears,
anyone
will do
The receiver,
eternity's choir
Singing
soggy
sorry
gloom
The preacher man's a liar
Just tell God to let me through
My tongue
becomes
a sublimated jazz singer spitting
my soul impromptu
some
R a p i d f i r e
c o n f e t t i
At a party where everyone is mute
Their silence unsettling
the space between rings, music
I'm going to
lose it
stop
traffic has gone bebop
Outside the booth
While the rain is trying at the blues
But I know that song
and I know me
it's way
out
of
tune
Singing, Hey mama!
I'm so sorry I flew the coop
I should of changed from my pajamas
But I still had some furious flu
So I got
down
with
the
sickness
Because the cure won't
fit in a tablespoon
Even still,
I hope to get through
the kind of hope thats put me
At the
bottom of the
booth
Bi t i n g
ankles
moon
Howling
at the
Giving
up
to
a
gambit.
Who am I even talking to?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Partner has been told
For far too long
A partner who’ll be her
Till death parts.
A partner that consists of
A dash of terror
A capful of brain
A hint of stubborn
A tablespoon of looks
A teaspoon of anger
Mixed with envy.
A sprinkle of approval
You can let be.
Mix it all up
You get a partner
Oozing with reality.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
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Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
What's in his mind?
One cup of labor
Two scoops of pain
Three scoops of lust
Issues with trust
Four cups of distress
One more for the rest
And five milligrams
of pessimism at best
**What's in his heart?
One tablespoon of pride
Two teaspoons of shame
A spoonful of ambition
One third expedition
Two-thirds of abolition
A half a cup of absentee
Another half depravity
What's in his soul?
A recipe I have yet to know
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
Amid the glory times of darkness,
Sitting on the edge of the white tablecloth,
Brilliant white from bleached soaking, and stained with yesterdays
Clouds and air of desperation, was the cup, the coffee cup,
Its broken flower coloration, its yellowish hue,
Half full of what was once blistering hot, now the juice of warmth
And the morning begins its wakening time.
Four burners atop the gas stove, each with its black *** stand,
Covered with blackened skillets, grease from the bacon, popping
And sizzling and bringing the best of the day together,
With the tablespoons of lard, from the five gallon silver bucket,
Covered in white stained T-towels, and the shallow bowl in which you washed your hands.
You dried your hands, loosely, leaving each damp and warm,
As the biscuit dough was rolled, and broken up, and pinched into the skillet
And then placed, with ringing noise,
Deep within the ovens hole, no light there, and you could smell
It all cooking, and see the hands that made it,
With their wrinkles of days of and months and years,
Making the breakfast of today, just as if it had made, no; it had made
For many years.
Bacon grease taken up on the tablespoon, and poured into the other skillet
Black, and hot, and making that little sizzling noise, as the bacon fried,
The biscuits backed, and the flours was spread in the skillet,
Browning, hard little clumps; stirred around, spoon on the pan,
And the milk poured from the quart jar, which was left on the porch this morning with four others,
Before life as we knew it began, and the spoon turning, the heat from the stove
Almost too much, and the gravy was stirred and turned, and stirred,
Thickened up, burner down, and a dozen eggs cracked into the fourth skillet,
Bubbling and popping, bacon taken up, put on a plate, the gravy stirred again,
Biscuits pulled, placed on a potholder, their greasy tops looking fine and brown,
Fresh butter, salt and pepper, breakfast was made again.
For the umpteenth time in this umpteenth world.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Shape of figure;
strength, courage, love,
Curved into masterpiece; a fiery heart,
fiercely burns my eyes in the wake of desires.
A dream? I hope not, for angels don't
belong in such a place. I'd choose not to wake.
Wishful thinking. I wish to have that I cannot,
that perhaps all do not. That I can't truly love.
Anguished; underfed passion, yearning the taste of tears.
Beautifully falling like rain that has blessed the grounds.
I'm on the grounds under your weight, the weight of your
desire has to my heart.
Sigh! I'm tearful at night; pillows that hold oceans,
drowning. Drowning in my vivid imaginings spent
with you.
A paint brush,—wet as lips shaking from a kiss,
it must have outlined you with I in mind.
All things I like; to experience them into love.
A clutch pencil,—clutching my heart, piercing through
my paper thin weakness towards you.
A tablespoon,—sprinkled into a dish, baked in
a maturity's time in the oven of growth.
Funny how I've kissed a thousand times those
skins of savoury lips. But wailfully, woefully,
wretchedly, and painfully you don't exist.
_Just an imaginary Miss._
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 9:57 AM UTC
My mother orders a smaller size
for my leotard so I ***** in the gym
bathroom, in the last stall.
Later, I put on the outfit: small, shiny,
with cutouts for a fashion statement,
but I draw red circles around those patches
of flesh--mistakes to fix.
Every day in the car, Mom gives me a lunch
she packed: two rice cakes, peanut butter measured
to exactly one tablespoon, carrots and ranch dip.
Accepting her boundaries seems weak, so I never
eat at all, my only spot of control set against
the nightmare of a needle spinning around
numbers in a sickening game of roulette.
She kneels in front of the stage during
all eight routines that thinned me into a figure
worthy of her photos, immortalizing
me with vague curves, a slim face replacing
pink round cheeks--
but that was enough for my mom
because I know she sets the scale
five pounds above zero.
Inches disappeared, until that needle,
sharp like her eyes, aligned
with the big 85, causing mine to
open in a room with blank walls
and sterile-smelling sheets, the place
of rest.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
I'll cast my spell, a witch's brew, stirring black cauldrons of sweet revenge.
One drop of pain added, a tablespoon of resentment, blowing out the candles that leave their scent.
A warthog 's beard, a sliver of grudge, and the dose is potent, with lethal intentions.
Drink slowly, let me watch the last sip trickle down your throat, I've called it something natural and you never minded. I'm sexually tranformed by your GASPING FOR AIR.
Lovers beware of this cursed and scorned woman, whose hatred runs deep and wide. She patiently waits at her crooked door, with a one sided smile to lure you in.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
I ran out of vanilla beans & rock sugar.
The porcelain bowls were left with this peculiar mush of bitterness.
An odd sharpness shuddering down into my empty stomach.
My fingers slipped:
I added a pinch too much of regret
&
a tablespoon
of sadness.
One day, airy concoctions that taste like summer memories will flit in and out of the kitchen window.
It's okay, & maybe if I am lucky someone's knee will playfully bump against mine.
Flour on noses & cheeks.
One day.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
Yield infinite possibilities
Ingredients
A pinch of “I don’t give a crap”
A dash of “respect”
A cup of “alone time”
2 sprigs of a “peace of mind”
A heaping tablespoon of “some good lovin’”
2 gallons of “go **** yourself”
Directions:
1. Pour half of “go **** yourself” into a saucepan and mix it with “I don’t give a crap.”
2. Place the sprigs of “a peace of mind” and stir constantly with “some good lovin’” and half of the “alone time.”
3. To finish it off, add “respect” and then place the saucepan over medium heat for 5 to 10 minutes, or until it is very hot but not boiling.
4. Remove it from the heat. Add the remainder of “go **** yourself” and the other half of “alone time” if needed. No need to pour it into mugs. Keep back pocket and use all the time
Nutritional Information:
Amount per serving
Happiness and self worth: infinite
******** absolutely none
Years gained in life: too many to count
*Knowing that you don’t give a **** because you’re happy:* PRICELESS
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
THERE IS NO MORE ROOM FOR HEART ATTACKS HERE,
says a sign up above your head in a crowded restuarant,
somewhere south, somewhere wrong, somewhere that doesn’t seem
clean
you were reading american ****** in an abandoned parking lot when it hit you
you didn’t call
she was riding her bike down the street two blocks down from hers that you used to reside on,
she puked on the side of your house where your car used to be parked without a purpose other than thinking about your hands
you don’t think of her unless you’re hurting
you don’t think of her unless you start remembering the summer heat
and how, for someone so particularly young, she had way too many
lines in her face, you wondered, you always wondered, where they had
come from
because the coffee cup breaks
you don’t live here anymore
she isn’t she no longer, she is a woman now
full bodied, bigger ******* yet still hiding in shadows, those shadows
you created from babysitting all the demons that possessed her and
then vanishing along with them
you ask yourself what she asks herself
where is the line?
where is the part where they come back and clean up the dinner table and let you rest outside on the swingset, with your hands in the air, with flowers in your hair, forgetting that the moment you stop and look is the moment you realize you took way too long to
keep it lasting longer
all you were saying was this wasn’t a test
it wasn’t something that you could beep a red light to and say NO
there was eggs, there was razors, and there was a small walk to and from the store that took longer than an entire war,
yet you picked this route
yet you decided to keep the scars and wash your hands
the waitress picks up the broken glass and smiles
hands you another empty coffee cup
you fill it up the way you used to fill it up before you couldn’t
black coffee, a sugar packet, one tablespoon of cream
you look back to the sign above your head
once again, reading the neon sign,
THERE IS NO MORE ROOM FOR HEART ATTACKS HERE
now,
do you smile or do you scream?
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 7:45 PM UTC
I compare myself to silverware
because both myself
and your shining collection of forks and knives
let people use us over
and over again,
never asking for anything in return.
Though sometimes I wonder
if the tablespoon ever tires
of the same old routine
because I think that,
possibly,
I do.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC