"calenders" poems
This.
This is decorating my living room, and only my living room,
With every available piece of holiday cheer.
This is sitting by the fireside, drinking apple cider and listening to the woman who can recite Twas the Night Before Christmas by heart.
This is shortbread cookies.
You may ask if you can have one.
You may, but not the one who looks like a man.
His legs have been broken and icinged back on. He is special. .
This is not enough wrapping paper.
Too much wrapping paper.
My dad will never learn how to use wrapping paper.
This is managing not to fight with my sisters on the darkest days in winter.
This.
This is skating on black ice in winter boots,
Using icicles as lollipops,
This is mittens, hat, scarf, forgotten on the snow man.
This is the fort you couldn't knock over,
This is making lists.
Breaking lists.
Writing and rewriting.
This is advent calenders.
This is candycane addictions.
This is pleasant smiles from the grumpiest holiday shoppers.
This is the reason I love Christmas time more than Christmas day.
And this,
This is not a miracle.
This is a tradition that is older than I am.
This is the family I can always count on.
This, is home.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 9:20 AM UTC
Umbrella green rain upset harmless stripped
And because of thunder children snapped their fingers like jazz enthusiasts
Milk obsessed rats rant and render their own insanity
Passing three winged' angels in the street flowing serenity
Friends are best left in the mind and in the heart
But do not stray too far from them
For loneliness is a cold touch without love or hate
We are lucky to be feeling anything at all
The dead lie still
The weak do too
The strong move
The courageous seek
The other side of
The hill
Music moves underneath the fog of the sun
Near the flower garden the tourists roam free
A minds eye is a terrible thing to waste
Getting to know yourself through sleep is revealing
When is the next time for tea?
Your gibberish speaks things to me
That nothing in this world has ever done
What is the color of genius?
What is the feeling of epiphany?
Where do the dead flowers grow?
Packaged up
Sent off
Read up
The critics scoff
Growing old near the swamp the shanty town sways
Old culture rusts blood brown and neon orange
The bills are on the fridge and being cashed yesterday
Another day passes as the clock strikes 13
A friend brushes past another in a party and they smile
They do not speak for there is history there
Marking calenders for future experiences in all planning aside
There is nothing like chaos to introduce you to yourself
As I walk down the sidewalk, pass the cleaners, I see fiction
Moving under the trees, breathing the sea, I see narration
Talking to the barista, laughing lines, I see dialogue
Shakespeare penned the highest and the lowest of us all
And I think Bukowski was right there with him too
Watch a marble roll down the street
Observe each crack and the path it takes
We are very much the same way
Define your cracks, your bumps, your potholes
And see where they have taken you
See what became of you after the hard times.
This year
Apricots will writhe in the trees
Like a worm on a fishing hook.
The sea is foaming at the mouth,
And we are children
All over again.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Glorious spring
determined to show
she gives not a toss
for calenders
arrives on her own time
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
The human body is comprised of several ‘substances’
including..
Mercury,
hydrogen hydroxide,
fountain pens,
the lost dates of calenders,
various small woodland animals,
including…
Voles,
rabbits & field mice.
Other such things as…
Misplaced birthmarks(of the brain)
feelings of remorse and regret,
the stolen trinkets of past lovers,
and of course,
white blood cells,
pesticides,
and the second hand
from a 1956 ’hamilton railroad’ pocket watch.
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 8:38 AM UTC
x
for you there are bugs clawing over the rock's body at the summer when the seagulls are switching over calenders and crackling like electric ocean slugs. i am headed into the waves, crowding and swirling in the portal where i'm swimming to smother popcorn under glass . the popcorn turns to mush in my hands like time or couscous porridge within the deep dark depths sweeping away to the air under glass.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
The empty space that sits and waits
Spaces sit so bored and cold
We left and locked up the house today
Left one way I've never known, without you.
The empty spaces on the walls
Grow more useless every day
Calenders have lost their date
The numbers are growing old (like you did).
The empty beds are in the rooms
And there's a perfectly good one
But nobody has the nerve to sleep there
So the mattress cries, and weeps- it dies (kind of like him).
The empty closets once filled with doodles
With hearts and names and numbers
The numbers from my mothers childhood
That are probably disconnected (like yours).
The empty fridge that held our meals
Endless containers of coffee creamer
And seemingly reappearing bologna
Contains just a solemn old fruit cup (kind of like us).
The empty chair that was your space
I sat in about three times today
Where you sat and we did crossword puzzles
Quiet yet interesting puzzle books (just like you).
The empty house that sits and waits
Watches the garbage bags being taken away
Watching us discuss prices and family problems
Watching us secretly mourn in our own silent way
Of cleaning out your already empty house.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
Innocence,
is irrelevant.
With bleeding eyes,
we look up at the skies.
We're waiting,
and waiting,
and waiting.
Waiting for the sky, to finally die.
Gentlemen,
ladies and gentles,
please take a seat,
we're starting the show.
It's about,
the end of the world,
which was predicted,
many years ago.
Thousands of years ago,
we predicted the end of the world.
We stopped making calenders,
thinking it was over.
Somehow we could predict,
the end of all mankind,
but we could not create,
electricity.
Gentlemen,
ladies and gentlemen,
we're now waiting,
for the show to start.
It's about,
the end of the world,
which was predicted,
many years ago.
Thousands of years ago,
we predicted the end of the world.
We stopped making calenders,
thinking it was over.
Somehow they could predict,
the end of all mankind,
but we must remember,
they thought the world was flat.
We've waited,
and waited,
and waited,
so long.
Waiting for the sky,
to finally die.
Somehow we, could predict,
the end of all mankind,
but we could, not create,
electricity.
Somehow they, could predict,
the end of all mankind.
But we must, remember,
they thought the world was flat.
May 9, 2011
May 9, 2011 at 5:42 PM UTC
They say it's been weeks
And by they
I mean all the calenders
constantly reminding me of your,
although undeniably different,
no longer painful absence
The goodbye I never actually received
reminds me of a slow growing tumor
that hugs to your bones
It quite literally grows on you
and while I never saw it
and most certainly never heard it
I felt it in my marrow
And now I feel it's presence so strongly
that I can almost begin to convince myself
you said it
I can almost hear the words
readying for attack,
hiding in the Trojan horse of your heart
that I so foolishly believed
was an unreturnable entity
of the timeless love that you promised me
forever with
It's been weeks
but has it really?
I'm already beginning to forget the sound of your voice, the color of your eyes, the weight of your hands in my own
And while this is a shame for the sake of memory,
I cannot say with honesty that I wish
I could remember
I don't even recognize you anymore
Your innocence has since been replaced with malice
You are no longer the same boy
that I fell so irrevocably in love with
at an age so young
you have to wonder
if we ever really even knew what love meant
at all
If anyone asks,
I won't deny the space you occupied in my heart for so long
I won't lie about the way you made my stomach turn with something I dare say resembled butterflies,
I won't pretend that you never made me smile so hard it felt as if my face was about to tear in two, and that I wouldn't have complained if it had
I won't excuse the existence of the love we shared
for the sake of your ******* conscious
But with the same token of truth,
if anyone ever asks me about that password I never quite got around to changing;
how my fingers fly over the keyboard with equal parts ease and elegance;
typing time and time again that same string of letters and numbers that served as our initials and the date I'll never be able to ******* forget; they will stop me and say,
"That must be significant. What does it mean?"
I will turn to them and say that I have absolutely no idea
It's all just nonsense, really
I've practiced saying it so often
that surely it must be true by now
as the words are dancing off of my tongue
buzzing like children with sheer excitement at the possibility of getting caught in a lie
I may pause for a small moment
and remember my favorite parts of you
hands, lips, neck
candy laughter and sunset eyes
But you aren't that boy anymore
and I couldn't love you again if I tried.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
Mark the day
In your calenders
Tell all of
Your many friends
Of the day Ellyn flew,
The beginning of the end
The end of the bullies
She threw out her fears
Ellyn cut out the negatives in life
The change drastic and severe
Ellyn decided that it's
The beginning of the end
She tore apart her monsters
Faced the voices in her head
She cleared out her closet
And checked under her bed
And by the time Ellyn was done
The end was quite near
The girl decided her past
Did not define her
And tomorrow is a new day
He mistakes would not recur
And now Ellyn is happy
And her new beginning glows
She faced down her demons
But there will still be cons and pros
Life is not a straight path
Obstacles you will face
But if your perspective is positive
Then you will find your place
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Better than what I got there
is every single thing or thought that I can
from here touch or recall right now with
a no other way kind of freedom called
Memory. You know what I mean.
When you touch a thing only for the reason
you want to retouch a whole situation metonymicly,
when you want to remember a moment only to remind
you that that moment happend and you find yourself
around old calenders where the workdays do not
match your current deadlines, it's memory I know
you know what I'm trying to say right now. Again.
Apr 15, 2010
Apr 15, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
I take my straight lines and curve them for you,
Latching onto a tomorrow obscured from view,
'Cause as long as your empire towers over the days,
I'll mold to the ground to make this route one way.
My heart is matted for all your fist sized questions,
In a clean fashion, color coded answers are my defenses,
And my head twirls through volcanoes till it's desensitized,
A kind expression is all that your pleasantness comprises.
My memories are calenders unfurling with ink,
Cardboard supports my back for when the pages are flipped,
Hand gestures and one-word replies designed into loops,
So that the automatic reflexes start after a reboot.
Backgrounds have lost their intensities to a lone figure,
Every slip on a thin distraction calls for a trigger,
Stained-glass windows tell the story of a shadow in motion,
And the interior swears the remnants of a soul will never be awoken.
● ● ●
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
Once the calenders are up and slow January has melted through to July,
we will be the ribbon in the clearance bin at a craft store after Easter.
You and I and everyone, we are the sky-blue silk that,
having finished doughnuts and lemonade
I'd run my sticky fingers through, slipping under cellophane wrappings and unraveling rolls as my mother pulled me through to the felt.
Cut straight we fray, taken to flame we change,
and on an oak table in the kitchen of some suburban household,
we will succumb. By the hands of a grade-schooler, our God,
we will harden to plastic and by candlelight, our means and ends
will unravel no longer.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
I figure that a lot of people feel like they live in a world that is collapsing, or getting worse, or is full of evil.
All current world problems aside, a vast number of human beings live a similar life: wake up in the morning, go to work or whatever, go home, go to bed, and repeat. There will always be something that will happen during the day that will bring out a reaction in them or make them think. That's life, perspectives change sometimes. But in the end, their life doesn't change much. They're just reaping what they've sown is all. And life goes on. Calenders are still being printed on paper. Polar caps and icebergs are still melting. And people are still fighting.
When you see or hear something that makes you feel like **** just do your best to remember that there is extraordinarily good tea to drink out there; and that mother earth has seen loads of **** that would make people feel like jumping but it's still there for you. You can still stand in the sun, listen to the rain, make footprints in the sand, and walk amongst trees.
Today.
So, just do your best really. Plant some flowers or something.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
Its 31st night .. 11:59.
in no less than a sec,
calenders will be turned,
candles will be burned,
a new year will take over and 2017 won't return....!!!
Neither the beggining, it is
nor the end.
Coz, o my friend,
there's still to witness
a thousand bend. !!!
The clock on the wall !!!
does it know anything.....anything ?
I guess "no".
Coz its tic-toc is so-so.
(unlike one in my heart :P)
Aah, its 12:00 !!
the end as well as a beginning.
a new year has taken over...!
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
The question that is asked the most; we hear it everyday,
“What time Is it?” they want to know, and then they go away.
It's time for bed, it's time for work, or time to feed the fishes,
It's time to take your medicine, or wash and dry the dishes.
Time in seconds, time in hours, so many freckles past a hair,
depending on the zone, or whether daylights savings there.
Time is measured many ways from minutes to months,
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once!
A time to live, a time to die, a time for having fun,
Clocks and calenders alike, all scheduled by the sun.
Intervals that cant be hurried, will not be denied,
a season that we know that's coming, as surely as the tide.
If there ever comes a time when time will be no more,
I wonder how we'll know to quit, or when it was before.
Do we hurry? Do we loaf? It depends upon the time...
Had we started earlier, we'd be finished with this rhyme.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC