by Daniel Henry Rodgers |
Categories:
love, true love, valentines day,
she walks into the room
the same way she has for 40 years—
half-asleep mumbling about the price of eggs
but crap, she still makes my heart stop.
you’re the last busted payphone
that somehow still dials home.
you’re the only damn thing
that still makes sense
in a world full of unpaid bills and
broken air conditioners.
your heart’s a busted radiator
still kicking out heat when I need it most.
The cigarette burn on our old kitchen counter—
scarred in, not going anywhere.
hell, you’re a rusted-out truck that
still starts when the whole damn world’s frozen over.
we aren’t perfect but we lasted.
and that’s better than any damn valentine poem.
by Ken Carroll |
Categories:
confusion, depression, suicide, , Lullaby,
She went to sleep
closing her eyes
beginning to dream
of broken butterflies
tearing her lovely monarch wings
on faithless love that angels sings...
She finds shiny metal in kitchen sink
in an evening absent light
she finds peace in cuts of pink
watching crimson blood flow feels so right..
Starlight shines upon her tears
I whisper darling, you cannot bleed
all of your suicidal fears
at night when you begin to cry
I'll sing you a lover's lullaby..
My love do not wish that you were dead
dreaming of an absent pulse
laying on silken sheets bleeding red
I will offer love so do not bleed
give me your knife I am all you need...
~ ~ ~ ~
by Caren Krutsinger |
Categories:
write,
Running out of ideas?
That is impossible if you have a:
friend
acquaintance
neighbor
co-worker
boss
president
king
queen
TV set
I-pad
I-phone
I-pod
kangaroo
chicken
donkey
toilet paper
monopoly
dictionary
thesaurus
computer
outside
inside
dog
cat
dresser
drum set
sibling
diary
father
mother
siblings
dragon
butterfly
unicorn
dawn
sky
stars
cosmos
moon
nemesis
goldfish
talent
team
plate
fork
spoon
blanket
bed
sun
moon
stars
spiders web
wasp
bathroom
kitchen
holiday
cousins
grandma
grandpa
car
truck
broom
dustpan
plane
bedroom
child
grand child
brain
imagination
love
life
ufo
or
space aliens
by Faye Gibson |
Categories:
grandchild, grandmother, happiness, happy,
Footsteps on stairs,
little feet pounding, running,
child faces peeking round the kitchen door,
expectancy alive, dancing in their eyes.
They know that love is always here
waiting just for them.
Each one thinks he is favorite;
in his or her own way, it is true.
Each is the most special
not for anything they say or do,
just for being.
We have our rituals -
breakfast French toast and bacon,
back rubs and funny faces,
movie nights,
ice cream after church,
backyard camp outs,
lots of love, laughter.
Happy takes me by surprise
each time I look
in my grandchild’s eyes.
© September 11, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
by Christopher Wellbelove |
Categories:
life, lost love,
The sun sneaked through the curtain,
And lightened up the place,
Where you'd normally lay your head.
And as I lay alone, beside you,
I can almost feel your breath,
Upon the back of my neck.
I drag myself into the day,
And for a second I see you in the mirror,
Sitting on the edge of our bed.
As I walk into the bathroom,
I hear you call me from the bedroom,
But when I look, you are not there.
I laugh at myself,
In the kitchen,
As I put back a second plate.
I feel the warmth of your arm wrapped around me,
As tears full of my love for you,
Fall from my face.
by Tim Smith |
Categories:
beauty, love, smile,
Singular snowflakes spread-out
blanket a dreary barren berm
that overlooks the dormant meadow
bringing a brightness to fields of grey.
Smiles overcome me as I watch
the proud red-breasted robin
pick at pieces of weathered brush
choosing just the right one
to comfort her nesting baby.
Whistles echo out of the rustic kitchen
where a steamed up copper kettle sings
waiting patiently to pour into perfect tea.
The first sip commands my attention and
wraps tightly around me, leaving a feeling
like your precious smile on a cloudy day
Quietly I sit absorbing the peaceful morning
like the baby robin in anticipation your return
by Tim Smith |
Categories:
love,
Rhythmic creaks and gentle squeaks
from the withered old wooden rocking chair
fill the sweltering late summer afternoon air
a peaceful breeze blows across his tepid brow
the old man begins to weep
as he thinks of his wife inside
Drips and drops and a little splash
fall down into the half-full sink
a lemon scent mixed with her lilac essence
warm the cozy spotless kitchen
The old woman plates coffee gateau
smiles and sits next to him
offering a taste of her treat
Rich creamy chocolate and a hint of hazelnut
he savors every bite of her love
He smiles and whispers
how lucky he is to have her
by Vince Suzadail Jr. |
Categories:
familyme, me,
I remember long ago when I was just a child
Climbing into Grandma’s arms and the way she smiled
She’d hold me close and rock me, kiss me on my head
When I’d fall asleep she’d gently put me in my bed
There was a coal stove in the kitchen used for cooking and for heat
When Grandpa picked blueberries, she’d bake us a special treat
For the little things in life, we would thank the Lord above
We had more than what we needed, we were enriched by love
While Grandma was doing wash, I would be playing on the floor
Sometimes we’d take a walk down to the grocery store
After supper she’d be tired and sit down in the rocking chair
I’d climb into Grandma’s arms. I was always happy there.
by Sunlite Wanter |
Categories:
addiction, fun,
Used on Poetry Soup 3/23/17
Sweet Tooth
She always asks for candy,
When we ask what she wants for her Day,
Or on Christmas she asks for pralines,
That come from far away.
She never asks for diamonds,
Nor an eco friendly mink;
Only some kind of truffles,
Or a gooey chocolate drink.
Jelly beans by the handfuls,
She keeps at her kitchen door,
I’ll want that candy dish in her will,
Just in case it fills some more.
We all just call her Sweet Tooth,
She never puts on any pounds,
If she did, we’d love her just the same,
For GrandMother is sweet as it sounds.
by Gideon Idudje |
Categories:
absence, care, death, mother,
She sells items of meager income,
such as;
Soap-flakes, peanuts,
soft drinks, bakeries.
Not to make profit
but at least rich enough
To feed the family of gold.
my mummy’s little outlet,
is the bachelor’s pride.
The young men,
stride in and out
at will to the little corner,
to make themselves
fit for the kitchen,
borrow for the belly,
save for the day,
and pay for the morrow.
Its chokes to notice
You re gone
Red is still the
Colours of the blood
In our heart eyes
Though skin varies
Love you Momma.
The blackness
Of your skin
Is it strength
2ND PLACE WIN
I Can't Breathe
Richard Lamoureux
5/29/2020
by Jill Martin |
Categories:
angst, devotion, hope, life, loss, love, passion, morning,
Sometimes ... there is no reason
for morning tears.
Distracted me
tangled in the debris
of a raging sea.
So very small
the moment
meant
nothing at all.
And what of that day ....
dismade bed
dirty sock left on the kitchen floor
I was going to scrub a week ago
left me crying and
cursing
falling to pieces
where is my other shoe
my toes are cold
speed bump on shaky knees
spills my morning tea.
Sometimes there is no reason ....
by Andrea Dietrich |
Categories:
metaphor,
Play me in the morning before I've time to dress.
Play me softly. I will be your lute.
Hold me to your lips. . . and lightly press.
Should you see me in the afternoon,
pick me up, and I will be your harp.
Caress my strings and hear my angelic tune.
In the evening, come on playfully.
I'll be busy in the kitchen, but a tambourine
I'll be for you as I sway my hips! Jingle-jangle me!
But at night, I want to be your fond guitar.
First cradle me; then stroke me with your passion.
Feel me vibrate with delight as I sing and glisten like a star.
Nov. 8, 2019
by Brian Anderson |
Categories:
introspection, life, lost love, love
her place smells like lavender
or violets
i've slept here many times before
but never well
never fitfully
alien atmosphere i suppose
the bare bulbs in the bathroom
kill my shadow
i'm a stranger in the kitchen
smoking weed on the couch
pissing in the tiolet
and screwing her in the shower
intimately removed
she wants me to move in
i miss her already
by Timothy Ray |
Categories:
i love you, romantic, woman,
peering out the kitchen window
you are on your knees working
afore the roses are a border
of smaller annuals
you know their names
intimate knowledge of their needs
hands that care for thee and me
so often i find myself
in this domain where your touch
permeates every aspect of existence
while i see only the beauty in color and form
i am not so devoid of this picture
as not to recognize
the touch of Monet therein
i have been given a moment with a masterpiece
that only i will ever have
one that will forever grace
the gallery in my heart, where are your portraits
where i go when life takes you momentarily away
and i am missing you
1/4/19 Kismet
by Michael J. Falotico |
Categories:
devotionday,
I walk outside on this cool October morning...
My mouth is open to swallow this cool air so alluring...
The taste of fall fills my insides for a hunger not revealing...
A warm stew on the stove, the aroma kisses my kitchen ceiling...
The day mapped out leading to cuddling on the sofa to view a movie...
Feeding my love warm apples as her eyes are a mirror to my fantasy....
With my head on her chest as her fingers run through my hair...
Our world is a painting framed in roses and hung with such care...
A day we live over and over again, and we know its written in the stars
to never ever end....
by Chris Boskovski |
Categories:
abuse, death, deep, depression, grief,
Time on and Time off
On and off and on again,
That is the carousel of life,
When it spins round and round,
Till the dizzy heads fall off,
Time on and time off,
Till those little girls grow to be old
And discover love,
And they feel so much better than before
With broken hearts,
And cigarette burns on arms
Laying on kitchen floors,
That had just been moped with red blood.
Time on and Time off,
Over and over and over again,
That drunken buffoon has nothing more to do,
But drop dead in his lazy boy chair
And die.
While his girl,
(who once pretty and pure, now dead inside and out)
Brings him his lunch,
And watches her blood drizzly slowly into the stainless steel sink.
by V. Deepa |
Categories:
emotions, imagery, inspiration, love, moon, nature,
white milky moon bloom
dazzles eyes of peace questers
oozes odium
August 23, 2020
Note:Haiku - Color With Alliteration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchen.
by Andrea Dietrich |
Categories:
happiness,
Mom in her apron
to the kitchen goes;
I watch her get out
ingredients that
she puts into rows.
Bubbling in me
is a child’s glee;
no meagerness
of eagerness!
The oven
door opens
and closes.
Love the
smell of
Pies!
by A.M. Demotte |
Categories:
hurt, love,
What is it like,
to be a broken thing?
A glass,
carelessly chipped
on the edge of
the sink;
a plate
smashed in anger.
To be placed
at the back of
the kitchen cabinet
and forgotten,
or swept out with the
trash on Tuesday.
Careful, we whisper,
ashamed.
I am sharp.
Do not cut yourself
on my jagged edges.
Until one day,
if fortune is kind,
we meet someone
and find,
their edges
fit with ours:
like your hand
in mine.
by Gershon Wolf |
Categories:
home, love, woman,
Woven into the fibers of every rug
Burnished in the grains of hardwood floors
Shining in the panes of sunlit windows
Carved into great oaken doors
Gleaming in newly polished silver chalice
A recipe of love, a woman's dearest wish
In the pride of her kitchen, aglow on each utensil
Baked into her every dinner's dish
by Panagiota Romios |
Categories:
home, sunset,
It was a very humid day.
However,the leaves are waving at the sun.
Like pennants at a football game.
The branches of the trees doing a belly dance
at close of this day.
The kitchen smells like a diner with
fresh meatloaf.
My cat, licks her jaws happily after her
dinner.
Almost time to put down my quill.
To bathe, to dream, above all, to love.
And most importantly, to be grateful
June 14, 2020
8pm PST
Poem # 1241
by Sotto Poet |
Categories:
appreciation,
Written: April 23, 2025, for contest sponsored by Tania Kitchen
************
Chocolate, cinnamon hug,
Steam ceramic mug
Creamy smiles of cozy love
Smoothy delivered
Sweetness from her lips
Ruck sweet kiss
Treat!
by Laura Lund Simonsen |
Categories:
boyfriend, dark, mystery,
His path has crossed mine several times
He can even read my minds
I tell you never get too close
He can also hear your cries
The love had has burnt a while
The devil barley sees a smile
The demon follows you till you death
He seeks your blood on kitchen tiles
Be aware his handsome charm
He only wants to do you harm
You came to close to his burning heart
You were killed with raised alarm
by Glenda Greene |
Categories:
food, happiness, hope, inspirational, work,
God bless my little kitchen,
I love its every nook,
And bless me Lord as I do my work,
Wash pots and pans and even cook,
And may the meals that I prepare,
Be seasoned from above,
As we partake of earthly food,
Thy table for us spread,
We'll not forget to thank the Lord,
Who gives us daily bread,
So bless my little kitchen,
God and those who enter in,
May they find not but joy'n peace
And happiness within
by Sara Kendrick |
Categories:
childhood,
The unpainted house with a tin roof
Which leaked when it rained_well it poured
It's known tin is tin and not rustproof
But the rain on the roof played chords
Those musical chords that were adored
Rain Lulling to sleep the occupants
Until morning when aromas floated
From the warm kitchen where parents
With warm biscuits butter coated
At this old home place love noted
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest: Home Sweet Home
Written: January 29, 2015