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Back kitchen
the busy cook
quite out of humor
evening rain
Poems on the topic: kitchen
Poems on the topic “kitchen” on Poets.by.
Strange kitchen
a strange kitchen
the stomach
it cannot make too much
for the land
Auld acquaintance
the whole year as large
as one kiss in the kitchen
the fire is new and hot
and are we happy loving
the little death no reason
for hurry now
we bless with mouth to ear
that sudden note
After the ecstasy, the laundry?
will I keep my body
after I find myself
I know no reason for my one-eyed
solicitor and his pedantry
will I be present and able
to follow my business
like the night tide rising
into the kitchen
Unfaithful
we met in the cook house
night after lying night
at the cost of finding hate
for what hurt
all old jealousy
made worse
Chef
To make our work last
in my kitchen is
so handsome a trouble.
I have been
a prince come to court,
welcome to nobody.
Consumer
I make nothing
but order, get things
ready against the ivy,
a grave jealous of the kitchen.
I was so satisfied, I wept.
Give me a good
reason for being.
To-do list
Practice walking; begin in the yard.
Afterwards, talk to a stone.
Do nothing.
Let a black dog into the kitchen
and eat a great head,
too much to boil.
Kitchen romance
O mouth,
we set sail on a fine pudding,
made by a cook and an oven
which both please me, the first
time I ever saw my wife—
we fell
to oyster bed.
Useless
i spent hours sweeping last night
but my bare feet are still being cut by glass
hidden under the stove
and the peeling tile
and the kitchen table
and the dark corners of the fridge
and the carpet two rooms away
i guess i really can't do anything right
unspoken words.
so many things left unsaid.
so many words left unspoken.
your voice plays on repeat in my head,
but somehow i fear i'm forgetting you.
forgetting your voice,
your smile,
your presence.
until someone says "remember when"
and there i am.
9 years old dancing with you in the kitchen.
with no clue what my life would become,
and how disappointed you would be.
the only thing i knew was you chose to be there with me.
so many words were said,
but never the right ones.
never the ones that needed to be said.
The Ceremonial Dropping Of The Pills
I was always so afraid to
Walk around that corner
Many mornings I would stand in
The living room, trembling near the
Couch as the heat from
The sun slashed through the bay window
And crept slowly up my back
It seems I never felt anything
Except for the heat on my back,
Regardless of where I went
But if I stood too long, I knew you
Would find me, and if I snuck back
To my room, I knew you would find me
If I hid, you would find me
If I told, you would find me
And so I would walk into the kitchen
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