the shops were
packed out to-day
everyone was on
a shopping foray
all I wanted
was four dining chairs
but the furniture store
had none of these wares
the shopping experience
is oft fraught with distress
especially when one can't get items
which bring happiness
I'll have to resort
to shopping online
at least there
I can obtain what I so pine
it is time for me
to do a Google search
to find four dining chairs
made out of birch
The trip complete there’s nothing left
Save for the souvineirs.
It was a blast, a welcome rest
I’ll think of it for years.
But here I am at LAX
No dream, no cardigan.
I’ll have to wait a hundred years
Just to lift off again.
Don’t get me wrong the airport’s nice,
The smell is odorless?
The chairs, the chairs, Oh god, the chairs:
The source of my unrest.
I’ll sit and sit and try and sleep
but always: no avail.
The strangers stare, don’t offer help
They watch me as I flail.
The pillow doesn’t offer rest
The armrest pokes me, merciless
My mind white-hot and furious
Just calm down.
Relax your self.
It will all be over soon.
Denied: my only boon.
The music always reminds me of her skin
so gently tender
she invites me in to feel the notes,she plays
upon her heart strings and she lays herself to strum some more,then in these lonely moors of melody
I sing to keep her company and to be at one with her,we share the staves and octaves,enslaved to what becomes desire and the music that she plays defies the laws of gravity where we both float in that ecstasy that only lovers know.
There is little time to feel the rhythm,hear the rhyme but I will stay,I want to watch the play of fingers over frets and let's do it once again.
I watch as the evening of the last day rolls on in and pin my ears back to listen and try to understand,
where did the music begin and did I know how fast or slow to make those moves?
I want to go back to the start and restring the lonely heart or play symphonies across her keys
and if only this could be,
that I could find the music man in me.
In the middle of the desperation sea
miles from land
you torture me
with sadness rising up in tides that carry me across the scales,
and as my confessions ,declarations sail into port fortissimo
I want you to know
that now I know and can we play the music one more time
before I go.
Reckless could no longer describe us.
Our movements become a pattern, a series of gives and takes.
We've taken comfort in the creak in the floor.
We look for stability in the reliability of each other.
We have forgotten that this is where we started,
but found its never to late to return.
So we may have become
and returned to each other.
Our lives have been worn by the break of each new day,
but we count few ways
to waste our days
There are ghost chairs
dancing shadows in my kitchen
it's a division of demons
creeping into the limelight.
I hold my fists tight.
I am riveted in this breath
staring at the darkness;
the lines on the walls;
I am re-walking dark halls
between men legs.
I can't break my eyes away.
I reach for pictures.
This is a trigger
in full blown affect.
so they'll understand
how unexpected flashbacks
wait lurking in corners.
and movie scenes
in case I'm swept in reverse
to the times I was hurt.
Bruises never go away.
They're right here
dancing in the shadows
cast by the day.
I'm stuck in ghost chairs
missing fistfuls of hair.
and I'm there again screaming.
The memory echoes like
thunder in my head.
Don't travel there today
But you see
makes the minutes go slow so
it's best to write a poem
and let it seep
to keep it from whispering
I don't wish to recall
yet I long to fill the holes
sift through the dirt
and dig up the bones.
Someone's gotta pay atonement
for the innocence they took,
but death has come to greet the swine
and they're almost off the hook.
One day they'll return
to where the fires burn
and in the middle will be a chair
for the wicked fan fare.
I hope they splay their wrists bare
and eat it with the twine
like they did mine.
All I have left are the pictures
the sunlight makes in halls,
when my mind decides to recall,
an ink stained bed sheet,
a thousand journeys
written on lined paper,
and a ghost chair
dancing on my wall.
copyright @ dbv publishing
Worst than someone pulling you down a ladder.
Worst than not having a liver to filter your bladder.
The enemy of enemies is your lover when night falls begins.
Wash away all that is not true in the morning forget your sins.
Toast to highest and dash past the library with less knowledge.
Tip the stripper as she dance and wish to get your balls polished.
The last to sit down will stand forever lost in a typhoon.
Keep turning a blind eye to the obvious life will past by soon
I was sitting in a blue chair,
rough against my skin
but strong and soft against my body.
I felt supported,
weighed down by the knowledge that I could stay here
if I wanted.
And I felt pulled,
compelled by the idea that somewhere
was waiting for me,
tapping their foot in time
to the seconds that passed,
as if they really truly cared
about being on time.
And in turn,
I tapped my fingers on the arm of this chair,
in time to the steps of others passing by,
in rhythm with the music that played in my head,
still echoing from this morning,
when I stepped off the train
stuffed in my ears,
and I was playing a song that made me happy.
I tapped out the rhythm,
deep into the confines of this solid chair,
and finally ready to stand up.
One last tap,
one final fear to go;
and I pulled myself straight,
stretched myself thin,
breathed in the oxygen of a new day,
arranged my scarf around my shoulders,
gathered perfection up around my arms,
set my smile in place,
and made it there on time
just for you.
He rested his walking stick by the corner
having stubbed his toe,
overseeing the cat grass grow.
Outside he would stoop only for wall flowers
refusing politely to enter stately homes,
for he wore but one Name, his own.
Under nocturnal happenstance
he would fend for the stray Marmalade cats
their gratitude matching his deciduous cloak.
I realized tonight that you don't really care about me
And you spit out words and aim to please
But you don't take into account that we are people
We live and we talk and I know
I have feelings! And you can't just play with them!
Say what you think I deserve and disregard the truth?
Is that what you think friendship is?
Is that what you think love is?
I feel like some old sofa
That might have gotten you through your glory years
But just has one too many stains for you now
So you move on to the next shinny new toy.
And you leave me on the side of the road
Hoping some poor guy who has no idea what he is getting into
Picks me up and takes me away,
And if someone doesn't
Once I've spent a good amount of time on the outside
looking in on the warmth I once knew
You will take me to the dump and get rid of me once and for all.
Is that all I am to you?
Stability and a blessing?
I got you through this year?
Is that all you want from me?
Are you done with me now?
I will still give you everything
I will still give you all of me
Because I will never meet anyone I love more
At least I hope not to because I never want another person
who will be able to rip my heart out by saying nothing.
I knew it was too good to believe
I knew you'd find someone better
So why am I so upset that you did
Once again you lived up to my expectations.
Empty promises and empty bottles are all I have left of you
And I wish I could lie and say that's all I want from you
Because that would make this poem end in a nice neat bow
But that's not true.
I want more of you.
And I don't want to spend the rest of my life as your lap dog
I want you to live up to your words
Or take them back
Or just do something with them
Because as they are right now
They are reused and old and bled dry of any real emotion
They are rung out and left out to dry on the cloths line of my inbox
Hoping one day they will mean something more
But no longer having faith that things will ever end up the way I want them to
I can clean myself as much as you want
But I will always be scared and flawed
And that will never be good enough for you
I will never be good enough for you
At least that's how you make me feel
And no one should have that power
I want to be over you
But I'm slowly realizing that will never happen.
You told me you will always be in my life but I'm not sure if I want that
I just want you to tell me that I will be okay
But you can't
No one talks to their old couches
You tried to fix me
You tried to sew on patches to my broken heart
But I ask too much of you
I don't try to but it always seems like too much
It always seems like something else is more important
But you are the most important thing to me
So can you promise me something?
Instead of leaving me on the side of the road
Just leave me in your basement
Because that way maybe I'll think you will come back for me
And I will have something to live for
And I won't even care when you never return
My heart wont even hurt a little
Because sofas don't have hearts
And that's all I am.