forks scrape against plates,
along lips, along tongues;
those moving things
that seem to go and never stop.
strike right through the quiet.
the mind is futile to create
quick, cold prongs
into that special-occasion steak.
words come out,
lips curve upward,
and the laughing pressure's on.
it's automatic.
"ha, ha,"
a grind of the knife,
or a stroke of the napkin;
applied knowledge is
purely reactive.
home is a sort of movement,
a sort of laughing.
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Canary word: Present
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125,003 Literary Works • 672,791 Reviews
Hey there! I hope that you're having a fantastic day. I decided to stop by and leave you a review for this wonderful poem of yours. Let's jump right into the review, shall we?
Right from the very first stanza, this poem really resonated with me. I was blown away by your vivid imagery and organization style right from the beginning. I like how you describe these different objects, like forks, then moving to lips and tongues. I also loved how you described so many different feelings, like textures associated with each of these things. For example, when you talk about the forks, scraping against the plates. I can really imagine that texture and feeling and sound of a fork moving across that metal. You describe how these "moving things never seem to stop" which I really love. And is a super relatable feeling as well.
This poem really relates to how I feel when I met a group event. I feel like I'm observing all these things and just watching them go by, like a constant rotation, like a script, like the same thing that happens every single time, yet it is unpredictable, even though I should know what is about to happen. I like the words that you use, like automatic. It gives us robotic sense to all these actions, as if they are just moving forward without a lot of thought, but you are this one true observer, watching it all. I like the last two lines in this poem, as well, how you describe Home as a movement.
Overall, I loved your organization and description. I felt like I related a lot to this poem, but also that everyone who reads it could find their own interpretation. Thank you for writing this, and have a wonderful day!
Your friend,
Ellie Mae
Maisie!! Hai :3
This poem totally captures the dissonance of everyday scenes, and I love it!! The social commentary here is spot on!! The automatic reactions, the forced laughter, and how you describe these actions of going out to eat are so mundanely poetic ~~ It’s like everyone’s just going through the motions, right? This paints such a clear picture of social interactions being performative, just reactions we’ve learned to display. That's such a powerful topic to write about!! It's not too nuanced, but it's still deep.
I love how many sensory details you've written too!! This isn't just about the physical action of eating but extends to the lips and tongues, suggesting that conversation is just as much a part of this relentless movement as the act of eating. It's such a robotic way to look at social interaction, but I'm loving the new perspective!! I think it's something that's less performative and more genuine, which is always great for poetry. I've read a lot of your writing, and this is a perfect example.
I love this whole stanza!! I think it could very well be a critique of how even moments meant to be warm and communal, like a special dinner, can become cold and mechanical. It’s like you’re saying even silence isn’t safe from disturbance ~~ Like, that disruption totally changes the vibe, but it also complements the poem!! It's out of nowhere, but that's the point. The diction and imagery are straightforward, but I think that pairs well with the theme. It's a new take, after all!!
^^^ Though, while this poem thrives on abstract imagery and the subtlety of its critique, I feel like it's almost too abstract at some points!! I understand the point you're making, but I feel like it becomes redundant as the poem goes on. Are these family members, friends, or colleagues? What's the underlying tension or backstory? I had some questions while I read, and I think that maybe expanding on them could make this poem come to life more!! It's a bit flat as it is right now.
!!! What a relatable ending!!
It's such an interesting contrast!! It's both warm and inviting, yet cold and unthinking. Home, typically a place of comfort and authenticity, is reduced to just movement and laughter. It's bittersweet to me ~~ Like, it feels like you're saying home isn't just a place but an act we perform, filled with motions we repeat and laughter that might not always reach our eyes. That's so deep!! I love how you navigate these complex feelings without being on the nose. Amazing work!! <3
- Payton
The poem was very delicious. It has been written with words that invoke a craving for food and knowledge. It felt right from the heart and driven with emotions. A consistent rhyme scheme could be added to add to the beauty of the poem. Good job and keep it up. Looking for many more poems from you!
Hello dear fellow...
The clatter of forks scraping against plates echoes through the room, mingling with the motion of lips and tongues. These subtle movements seem endless, like a perpetual rhythm that never ceases. In this space, silence is easily broken by the sharp, metallic strike of utensils. The mind, eager to create meaning, is instead overwhelmed by the cold prongs piercing into a carefully prepared steak meant for special occasions.
Words flow effortlessly, and lips curve upward into automatic smiles. Laughter follows, as if by routine, driven by an unspoken social pressure. "Ha, ha," rings out, a sound that feels more mechanical than genuine. The knife grinds against the plate, and a napkin is casually wiped across the mouth—actions driven by habit, not thought. Everything feels reactive, as if knowledge and experience are applied without true intention or emotion.
In this mechanical choreography, home becomes not just a place but a kind of movement, a routine filled with familiar gestures and predictable laughter. There is comfort in the repetition, but beneath it lies a quiet sense of detachment, as though the rituals of home life are carried out on autopilot, with meaning slipping through the cracks.