My dining room table has seen two marriages and thousands of meals from breakfast through dinner. Made of teak, its surface is marred by use with water rings and scratches where a cat slid across as if trying to reach home plate.
The wooden grains trace down,
ending between the spaces
where others start,
this is the table where our hands works,
where papers were laid out,
and minds drifted away from where we are,
where we were.
Sometimes, I would count grains,
tracing them down,
distracting from the work to be done,
the company to be kept.
Her deep mahogany body and delicate curves set my heart aflutter. Slowly, I let my eyes take in her every grace and then my hands followed where my eyes had roamed. I hadn’t lusted after anything, or for that matter anyone, like this in a long time. Rekindling these emotions made me feel alive and daring. I knew she’d have a price and I probably couldn’t afford her, but I didn’t care how foolish I would look. “Excuse me sir,” I asked the salesman walking by, “How much for this lovely table?”
I pour my life out on a table, and watch it spread over polished wood, drip drip drip down elaboratly carved legs, and pool around my feet. Admire it swirl in my mother’s best china, seep into napkins, slowly engulf the cutlery. And they tell me I will heal, so I take a seat and wait.
I lay my hand on its hard surface. He looked at me. He put his hand in my hand. I clutched it tight. I kissed him for a long time on the table, and after just a minute, found myself on it; him on top.
I sit at the table with my family every night during dinner. Before I can be excused from the table, I lie my head down on the chair next to it, and take a nap until my mother tells me I may get up.
In school, I eat lunch at the table with all of my friends.
My favorite table in my house is my dining room table. It is a long rectangle and it is wooden with two cow print chairs at either end. This table is only used for holidays and special occasions.
As i eat my dinner I see all the cracks in the table. I ponder how many cracks can get in one table. It’s weird because I have never noticed them before. I wonder when the cracks in the table are going to make the table break. BOOM! Oops, I guess I spoke to soon.
Break my shin you stupid piece of
I know you’re there to lean on, so I’ll lean on you
I’ll break you you foolish mother f-
You’re so wonderful, you won’t judge me
I’ll smash you, I’ll cut you, I’ll coffee stain you!
I’ll sit on you, I’ll keep you warm, I’ll name you woody
I was sitting at the table last night eating dinner. The dogs kept begging for treats as we ate. We ate yummy roast beef sandwiches and chips with dip. It was so fun to sit at the table and eat and talke withmy family.
tables are good for eating meals. tables are good and sturdy but if they don’t have four legs they’re still quite grounded. A table is not of much use without a chair, and holds a lot more that one expects it to. Tables can be made of wood, glass or any other material
table are for sitting at as you relate the troubles of your life to your best friend. the lovely thing is that person will listen to you as you dump all your garbage on their shoulders and
She looked down at the table. What is that teacup doing there? So much for random thoughts. She had no memory of what went on before she was there. That teacup looked awfully familiar. Now where did it come from?
She sat at the table in silence, her cheeks stained and red from crying. She laid her elbows upon the table with a long, exhausted sigh. Stretching she thought about the choices she now faced.
I have 60 seconds to write. The table is not big enough for the words I have to say; the timer runs and runs. My words are spilling, yet they go nowhere. The table shakes beneath their weight; the table is unaffected.
The waiter placed a large platter of rice on the table.
‘What’s this?’
‘You asked for more rice, ma’am.’ The waiter picked an non-existant crumb from the perfectly-pressed table cloth.
‘I asked for more ice.’
there was one time i sat under the table with you and watched the world go by. do you remember? do you wish we were still under the table? could we ever do that again…now that we’re older? would you ever want to sit under there with me again?
Why is your knife stuck in the table? Seriously this is why we cant have nice things. Lenore wrested the knife upwards and brandished it. This will not happen again!
The table just stood there. Propped up and stern. As if expecting to be freed from our incessant rambles about our select views on society. We’re thoughtful, so we left it in peace.
I like to pretend that in all of my life I’ve seen the tables of men being set up in front of me like a structural country limiting itself to only legs and freedom.
i wish i had a table rright now. i am balancing my bowl full of cereal on my head as i speak. in fact i am typing with my toess. are oyu impressed?
i sure could use a table right now.
There are 2 apples on the table. Is the table a blackboard? The blackboard is line in squares … The apples would be green with dots on them. Maybe the legs of the table intersect each other two by two.
On the tablewas a bottle of vintage champagne. She knew it was vintage, she’d seen the label before. She’d sold one in the restaurant weeks ago now for a thousand pounds.
My feet are up on the table, TV on, gchat and facebook chat a-buzzin’, aaand, several hours of work left to go, due tomorrow morning. It’s 1:30am. I can’t wait for the weekend. Word up.
Picnics. Gingham blankets spread before me like the different shades of the ocean, slowly rippling with every rush of wind. I wonder, where did they all go?
under the table i kick your leg, under the table where the green gooey monsters hide, and we come to play with them, climbing down the chair, tickling the serious people’s feet.
i saw it on my table. the heart. the record player. my mirror. the cocaine. the perfume. and i wondered: which of these do i need? i certainly thought, i need that heart, but maybe that’s all the same and I’m good without it. the mirror and cocaine are certainly the same so i either need them both or need them not. the music. ah yes, the music. that i thought, i need.
i slid it across the table
just for you to see
how serious this was to me
and what that look
in my eyes was supposed to mean
Table.
I once had a table in my room. It’s one of the extra tables in my father’s office. It is ebony in color. A big s
Tables are an amazing thing. They can serve many purposes. Some of these are an eating place, a storage space, and a place to do work.
My dining room table has seen two marriages and thousands of meals from breakfast through dinner. Made of teak, its surface is marred by use with water rings and scratches where a cat slid across as if trying to reach home plate.
The wooden grains trace down,
ending between the spaces
where others start,
this is the table where our hands works,
where papers were laid out,
and minds drifted away from where we are,
where we were.
Sometimes, I would count grains,
tracing them down,
distracting from the work to be done,
the company to be kept.
Her deep mahogany body and delicate curves set my heart aflutter. Slowly, I let my eyes take in her every grace and then my hands followed where my eyes had roamed. I hadn’t lusted after anything, or for that matter anyone, like this in a long time. Rekindling these emotions made me feel alive and daring. I knew she’d have a price and I probably couldn’t afford her, but I didn’t care how foolish I would look. “Excuse me sir,” I asked the salesman walking by, “How much for this lovely table?”
I pour my life out on a table, and watch it spread over polished wood, drip drip drip down elaboratly carved legs, and pool around my feet. Admire it swirl in my mother’s best china, seep into napkins, slowly engulf the cutlery. And they tell me I will heal, so I take a seat and wait.
I lay my hand on its hard surface. He looked at me. He put his hand in my hand. I clutched it tight. I kissed him for a long time on the table, and after just a minute, found myself on it; him on top.
I sit at the table with my family every night during dinner. Before I can be excused from the table, I lie my head down on the chair next to it, and take a nap until my mother tells me I may get up.
In school, I eat lunch at the table with all of my friends.
My favorite table in my house is my dining room table. It is a long rectangle and it is wooden with two cow print chairs at either end. This table is only used for holidays and special occasions.
As i eat my dinner I see all the cracks in the table. I ponder how many cracks can get in one table. It’s weird because I have never noticed them before. I wonder when the cracks in the table are going to make the table break. BOOM! Oops, I guess I spoke to soon.
Break my shin you stupid piece of
I know you’re there to lean on, so I’ll lean on you
I’ll break you you foolish mother f-
You’re so wonderful, you won’t judge me
I’ll smash you, I’ll cut you, I’ll coffee stain you!
I’ll sit on you, I’ll keep you warm, I’ll name you woody
I was sitting at the table last night eating dinner. The dogs kept begging for treats as we ate. We ate yummy roast beef sandwiches and chips with dip. It was so fun to sit at the table and eat and talke withmy family.
Sitting here, reading where I eat, eating where I read, devouring words, digesting, growing.
tables are good for eating meals. tables are good and sturdy but if they don’t have four legs they’re still quite grounded. A table is not of much use without a chair, and holds a lot more that one expects it to. Tables can be made of wood, glass or any other material
Candles, plates, forks, knives, glasses, wine, love, romance.
Right now I’m sitting by the tabel, finishing my homework.
table are for sitting at as you relate the troubles of your life to your best friend. the lovely thing is that person will listen to you as you dump all your garbage on their shoulders and
on the table, there’s a piece of CD, i put it into the player, and enjoy it in front of the table.
Flat, tall small in a kitchen house school, wooden maple oak 4 legs
It is furniture were I put things on. I eat on it and it can be wooden, or of many other materials.
She looked down at the table. What is that teacup doing there? So much for random thoughts. She had no memory of what went on before she was there. That teacup looked awfully familiar. Now where did it come from?
The table was empty, swept clean of dust and crumbs.
She sat at the table in silence, her cheeks stained and red from crying. She laid her elbows upon the table with a long, exhausted sigh. Stretching she thought about the choices she now faced.
I sit at my table
with my husband and my children
we are having a fun little meal
and sharing about our day
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. But why the hack do you prepare the table FOR them, too???
I have 60 seconds to write. The table is not big enough for the words I have to say; the timer runs and runs. My words are spilling, yet they go nowhere. The table shakes beneath their weight; the table is unaffected.
The waiter placed a large platter of rice on the table.
‘What’s this?’
‘You asked for more rice, ma’am.’ The waiter picked an non-existant crumb from the perfectly-pressed table cloth.
‘I asked for more ice.’
the table fought back with its legs, thinking, ‘i like this kitchen very much and do not want to leave
there was one time i sat under the table with you and watched the world go by. do you remember? do you wish we were still under the table? could we ever do that again…now that we’re older? would you ever want to sit under there with me again?
Why is your knife stuck in the table? Seriously this is why we cant have nice things. Lenore wrested the knife upwards and brandished it. This will not happen again!
The table just stood there. Propped up and stern. As if expecting to be freed from our incessant rambles about our select views on society. We’re thoughtful, so we left it in peace.
I like to pretend that in all of my life I’ve seen the tables of men being set up in front of me like a structural country limiting itself to only legs and freedom.
i wish i had a table rright now. i am balancing my bowl full of cereal on my head as i speak. in fact i am typing with my toess. are oyu impressed?
i sure could use a table right now.
There are 2 apples on the table. Is the table a blackboard? The blackboard is line in squares … The apples would be green with dots on them. Maybe the legs of the table intersect each other two by two.
On the tablewas a bottle of vintage champagne. She knew it was vintage, she’d seen the label before. She’d sold one in the restaurant weeks ago now for a thousand pounds.
My feet are up on the table, TV on, gchat and facebook chat a-buzzin’, aaand, several hours of work left to go, due tomorrow morning. It’s 1:30am. I can’t wait for the weekend. Word up.
Picnics. Gingham blankets spread before me like the different shades of the ocean, slowly rippling with every rush of wind. I wonder, where did they all go?
i’ll sit upon you
on a lovely day
just to stare at the sky
wooden grooves
under the table i kick your leg, under the table where the green gooey monsters hide, and we come to play with them, climbing down the chair, tickling the serious people’s feet.
i saw it on my table. the heart. the record player. my mirror. the cocaine. the perfume. and i wondered: which of these do i need? i certainly thought, i need that heart, but maybe that’s all the same and I’m good without it. the mirror and cocaine are certainly the same so i either need them both or need them not. the music. ah yes, the music. that i thought, i need.