#chairs
Plastic chairs, shaped in
such a way that I can't help --
but think of buttocks.
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 3:38 AM UTC
Right on 490,
The raised turn to 490 east.
There’s a hill,
And on that hill sits a lone,
Lazy Boy recliner.
Two folding chairs,
A table,
Two men,
And one sign.
“F Trump”
Boys will be boys,
Guess that’s it.
Jan 13, 2025
Jan 13, 2025 at 8:46 AM UTC
Steel chairs
They’re steel chairs
They’re still his
And they’re still yours
They’re a steal
They stole your stillness
And still it’s not theirs
Can you care to sit?
Can you stand to sit?
Can you stare at what sits, instead of steps, and not stop by the stairs?
They fold into
They fell in two
They feel in tune with who would dare
Never to kneel near the silver snare
There, there, they’re all there
Their wooden chairs
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 4:51 PM UTC
Once upon a time,
there were 12.
12 filled chairs.
1 full table.
12 full hearts.
Then, there were 8.
4 empty chairs.
And suddenly I blinked and---
10 empty chairs.
2 empty hearts.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC
The unscrupulous cavalry shuffled aboard narrow lanes,
Cutting in line towards Jager Bomb's tether,
Cluttered duffel bags concealing cheap champagnes,
Passing cruise ship commuter's ruffled feathers.
With their fake, "excuse me's" en route to the bar,
Coercing the conductor who's been under the weather
With smug smiles and counterfeit Cuban cigars.
Leaving the harbor three sheets to the wind
The cowards commandeered Grandparents pool chairs,
A little past midnight with no foresight of end,
An abrupt brawl broke out, fists flying through air.
A sightseeing whale trip turned into a ship from hell,
The assailants now held in a South of Wales cell.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
All I
Am
And
Who
Ill
Be
B
a
l
a
n
c
e
d
On a
C h a i r
Hung in space
Silence
And
Tranquil Peace
Frozen
In the air
Then a
Shift
A slight
Movement
From the
L
e
g
And my, me, myself, I,
Ends-up-turned
On the floor, ego dead.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
Sitting on my thrown... A thrown of highly stacked orange chairs, all lined up in rows...
I looked down over the world, I was higher then even the tallest of my youth. I was no show
Simply claiming my kingdom of independence. Sitting up and watching like a lioness in demand
In demand of discernment and wisdom, for she can't afford failing... Visitors came unplanned
Tense...unprepared for this surprise attack, my heart leaped, shock forced my body to jump down...
Down to a lower level where I rightfully belonged... The third chain of a story broke promise, the ending of one of my neck's crowns
I ran, my feet punching the ground, not noticing the trail of scatter beads that followed my every foot step...
Too tiny for anyone to notice...black..and blue.. rolling away to hide.. not knowing these people's love had no depth
The jewel of the story flying away into a corner of a memory filled hall... the chandeliers crystal whispers were heard
Ignoring the callings of my fake name... I ran into the heart of the church... rows of pews starred at me... I didn't speak a word
More beads scattered behind me, as my emotions and feelings scattered along with them.
The silence never felt so dead as I ran towards the back, my soul singing a surrendering hymn.
The two left over neck crowns mourned for their lost friend, as I mourned over the lack of knowledge of the future
Again I heard my fake name... depression devoured my hunger in one swallow, the beginning of a tumor
"I... I just want to do your will... other may ask for love... or comfort... or wisdom... or answers... and that isn't bad..."
"...but all I ask and beg... is to have Your will be done... use me in anyway you see fit... it doesn't matter what I must suffer... I'll forever praise you and be glad..."
"Show me your will and way..." I confirmed... not caring if people saw me as fool of weakness and hopelessness...
I heard two sets of foot steps behind me, my skin on edge, my small cold hearted hands revealing their recklessness
Running out of the back exit, I heard my nick name again, freezing I turned around to see them panting from exhaustion
Two of my fellow followers if you will, took me captive, and reintroduced me to the loud company of people in motion
Only meaning the best, I followed them and lined up with the other Christ fighting soldiers
Hand over our hearts, I didn't feel the comforts of the third crowns jewel... my eyes scattering around the hollow gym... I saw beads roll of my shoulder...
Embarrassed... I back away from the line to wonder off alone... I left without being questioned
The beads on the floor shared with me their fears of being crushed, and loneliness. Telling me to ignore the session
Seeking around my thrown for answers... I found nothing... so off again I ran... plunging my self into the silence
My black rose laced arms cross I looked around for that bottled jewel. To it, I am a giant
More then a charm... more then something that hung around my neck... It was a story... a story that redirected my path...
The tiniest things can have the most incomparable meaning... like one of the five cities of the Philistines where Goliath came from; Gath...
Such a small detail we don't often recognize... But such a butterfly effect can create a rip the space time continuum.
I found my jewel... hiding alone in a corner in that hall that contained many beautiful moments that are anything but a residuum.
Filled with relief, I gently picked it up and hide it tightly in the palm of my hand
A little bottle filled with bird seeds and rock dove feathers, indeed it's vanity, but meanings should be scanned
Walking back to my piers, I couldn't help but to catch some of their eyes lay on me.
I don't blame them, I made a spectacle of my self over wanting to be alone and a charm, but I had to make a plea...
Entering my self into the group, I look towards the shining silver bleachers where my two chained necklace and bottled charm laid...
Silly of my to say... but someday the third chain will be restored... but it will have a new story to proclaim...
I still could see the scattered beads, they surround the people I claimed as my home, I know each face
Yes... My emotions are in a scatter, but at least they are scatter in the same place...
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
With lofty airs and
folding chairs
we formed our grungy rule,
we grew from weeds and
broken swings
into a pungent cool,
Our reign is ***** decadent
more indulgent than your dreams
for we lost our morals
and our hope among
the broken things.
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
Rielly on Wheelchairs:
"Now those are my kinda wheelz"
Me on Wheelchairs:
"The hardest part to eat when eating a vegetable"
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
I've left behind what was once in line,
Countless demeaning remarks,
All forgotten, except "I'm done trying."
Words won't leave you dying,
It's whats behind them that sting like poison darts.
Every morning on my way to see her, and everyone I knew,
I passed two chairs, translucent, that you could barely see through.
Looking back on it now, after all this time
I can compare the curiosity, compassion,
the peak, and downfall, line by line.
Those chairs endured the most beautiful of days,
to the days where I felt as if I were in a maze,
Lost, dazed
One day a chair ripped, from the foundation.
I threw away the second one along with it,
One chair was wrong for every situation.
Hours become minutes, when you embark
on each second with no intent on finding out
where you'll end up, without a doubt.
I wonder when I'll get lost,
because I'm starting to regret the price I had to pay,
by refusing to stay, would be the ultimate cost.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
grey and worn
the lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to it
its one bent arm an expression of pained indifference
mud clings to its feet
and a single vine like a thin snake
wraps its way across its frame seeking the sun
i pull at it to set the chair right
to seat myself
and **** at the breeze from the open field
marvel that a cow stands not five feet away
silently watching my every move with a wary eye
lunching on the grass and ****
but the chair now uprooted from its long held position
seems more than ever a proclamation
of mans intent to be seated here on heavens lawn
clear illustration of the intent that you are supposed to
take this bent greasy seat
sit at your leasuire
in the bountiful sunshine
it is one of a dozen in the field
in this beautiful slice of heaven
the lawn chairs
litter the field like broken teeth
set in a line that wanders across the wilderness growth
each having suffered from years standing in the open field
two almost completely consumed by bushes
one had been tossed into the tree
where time had swallowed it into the bark
this broken and brutalized fence of chairs
these lawn chairs of heaven's field
sit in this beautiful place some would say eyesore
i say artwork of life's randomness...
what party of fools once sat here
dressed no doubt for the occasion
perhaps celebrating
perhaps mourning
then got up from these plastic seats
and left them behind as testament
to that forgotten day...
so i sit in heavens lawn chair
a mute salutation to my unknown compatriots
who painted this pastoral scene
of plastic in a field
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
"I just can't even"
no you really ******* can
I pinky promise
that is is more than possible
for you to finish
your ******* sentence
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
Fill your heart, fill it as full as you can.
Fill it with memories most warmly hued
and remember them well
in all their glorious, sweaty,
kindly brutal
minutiae.
Remember each drop,
each bite,
each individual dust
mote dancing
the still, hot, sunlit
February
Thursday.
Remember how different
places all have their own
unique elusive
smell and how
it is impossible to describe this to anyone
who has never lived
anywhere else.
Fill your heart with all those memories
of the best kind
of home grown hell.
Fill it until its tears are forced out.
Fill it against the long, cold dark of parking lost.
Fill it against mysterious hate.
Fill it against misery and mud and hard
frozen
bottle
glass
lies.
Fill it so full it can't ever sink far down.
Burden it with buoyant stories
and weigh it with
hypnotic winter flame.
These are the things of which
the cold terror to
victory apocalyptic will be born.
There are no second prizes here.
Fill it with the certainty of the worn places
where the chairs met
the table
each night.
Fill it with the truth of
the gnarled and sun-warm roots and
the indisputability of a Beetle motor accelerating and
the violent pirouette of each spring
and the ozone smell and
the way wet wood screams at the sky and
the way the sound
hits all ears the same
regardless of
their color or
what side of Line Avenue they’re from.
Remember what line you’re from
and to hell with the rest.
You must mind your own.
There’ll be water
if God wills it.
You are never too far lost if you still know
your father’s face and can still remember
getting milk from the tubes
in the
silver metal cooler
and the red cookie jar
lid as the
adults smoked at the green kids’ table
and everyone mostly had blue eyes
and red hair and there was always a phantom killer
lurking
right beyond the only hope door
before you were ****** into the mirror
world and
******* but
kids sure do have to make some
rough choices
before nine o’clock.
Keep remembering and when you remember,
remember even deeper
remember in yet greater detail and
practice that remembering until
you
ARE
the dust motes
the milk tube
Thursday
roots
sun
until you ARE each drop of sweat
until you ARE the phantom killer
and the red cookie jar lid
the straight line of smoke rising out
of the ashtray and
the motor and the
scream and the
ears and
you ARE all these things
and you ARE
and you can’t really say where these things begin or where
you end because you’re not sure that
anything really does end or
begin
anymore.
Beginnings and endings
haven’t much meaning after
everyone has
shown their cards and the worn places on the chairs have
met the table
one
last
time.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 4:14 AM UTC
I sit upon an impossible throne,
The world's most comfortable chair.
It's all I'll ever wish to own
Though I forget it's even there.
My chair is ergonomical,
Conforming right to me.
Whatever I find desirable
It suits every want and need.
I feed it everything I have
But it never is enough,
Everyday my fingers bleed
Stuffing it with fluff.
I only see in front of me,
My chair it does not turn.
And as far as I can see
My chair is the whole world.
My chair is all I'll ever know
I seldom choose to leave it.
It scarcely ever lets me go
It's all I can believe in.
I don't know what I'd do without it,
Perhaps get up and get a life.
But instead I'll sit and stagnate,
Dying in my own delight.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC