"castoff" poems
It was spring when the old things get cleared away
and I opened a drawer that was mostly closed now;
in the back was a ring of keys I hadn't touched forever
because the doors they opened were gone.
My first car, a castoff from my father we used in high school
to go to practice, or for hamburgers, or to the movies
in a time when that was the most fun we could have.
I see the boys now, smiling and singing songs you never hear anymore.
The key to my the apartment I had going to school, a little place
I shared with Jimmy Redd just off campus where we
drank, caroused and learned how to cook hamburger helper
between working and going to class.
The key to my first office and the house I bought where
some of my kids lived and I had a future
that was wasted by trusting people whose most important
love was in the mirror every morning
Then there were no keys for years when I could not unlock
the doors I lived behind in places where
the only comfort was a date yet to come as I waited
and the world turned without me, changing everything
Which turned out to be for the best
For the last unused key was to my first home after leaving high school
the place love became real and where the missing part
of me had been waiting through her own trials.
I smiled and held the keys tight then put them back into the drawer
they are not useless as I thought
because the doors they open are those I will
always be able to enter.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
finger flame
lit world
blue and orange and blue
through the fog of fever
and snorker of cold
and gristful mill of herringbow meal
single flame glows
brings us to flesh point
scintillating
tickle-ish
boasting glazed
hearth-rug hair
castoff from chocolate wrapper
and bath salts and flowed floored robe
breath in
chin up
smile and step
for best foot forward
into tinsel
out of wool
from the ****
to the blow
wary fairy
clutching hitman's soft downy
forearm hair
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 11:55 AM UTC
i don't want to read your curious looks
your casual tones, or anything they hint of
i did that once, and look where it got me
i don't want to read your eyes
or the crinkles that come with them
forced happiness hurts both ends, you know
i don't want to read your sighs
castoff glances, held breaths
waiting for something neither of us can place
i don't want to read your anger
the clenching of fists and jaws and hearts
interfering only backfires on me
i don't want to read your absences
how you don't seem to care until you're back
but i always do
i don't want to read your glares
frustration through avoidance, that's what you do
this game's too foolish for me
i don't want to read your heart
it's not written in a language i'd understand
and such is for the better
i don't want to read your scars
i might remember who caused them
and wonder why that who still exists
i don't want to read your memories
they're not the same as mine
maybe they never were
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
Without an answer you left me for dead
Alone and disturbed of what I became
My body so limp; a storm in my head
From nightmares I watched it frame by sharp frame
I wish to make you feel and watch your guilt
You are clueless to the destruction caused
My being castoff; erased what was built
Years given in service; future now paused
From blood on stone I stand on weary feet
And watch the heavy darkness turn to dawn
The birdsong is clear, they know and they tweet
It moves within me; a rabbit is born
I’ve come so far and you will never know
What I’m now made of or how much I’ve grown
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
yes, only the paper will listen when
called upon
for what is a clean sheet but only our reflection
human
it:
crinkles
wrinkles
folds and bends
yellows with old age,
can always be changed
and always constant if unaltered
it:
speaks in words
embraced with lip kisses
can be cherished
can be destroyed
ashes to ashes
just like a human
print this poem:
place it in your everyday purse
of all things valued, kept upon
your person, close by
for comfort
for reflection
amidst the haste
the paper preserves:
your glory
your memory
your secreted confessions,
an exposure of your nakedness
your innermost outermost
the paper is skin:
can be scarred
held close by
shelved to be avoided
shed cells, store cells,
can be blood stained
can keep lipstick witness
dry tears, elicit tears
when we pass:
we leave behind
progeny
objects of valuable
meaningful to our unique
and papers
papers:
of legitimacy
of illegitimacy
of recollections
future predictions
remnants scraps
full books
our product
on this earth
the paper always listens,
patiently awaits our impatience
our truest friend, confidante
who can be confidently be trusted to
reveal our confidences
the clean sheet listens
as we part with thoughts
that can only be entrusted
to ourselves, our limbs
our entirety castoff
our entirety sustained
3:47am 11/29/19
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 4:06 AM UTC
He keeps a flute in his boot.
Plays it for strangers, listens for little crashes of loot.
Sleeps on a stone bench near the ocean.
Sometimes he gets drunk , hollers, causes commotion.
Some days he ***** about
in his loose oversized castoff suit
looking as if he might fly
or cry when the sun shines blindness
across his two *** eyes.
Passersby know not
that once he brought the house down
with Ellington in a jazzy joint in Harlem town.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
My love,
the power and protection you provide me makes me quiver when I think of the world around us. Now as we lay here in our bed I think of the danger you pose to those who would ever try to harm me. And as I sleep you lay awake aware of the pain I feel in my heart because of the castoff attitude of the people I've loved and trusted before. But as I dream, I can dream only of your eyes and the warmth and comfort you provide me, the support you give me, and the love I know you feel.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
She leaves her walker parked right by the white car door, wheels locked
so it does not wander off. It gives her the support when she might
suddenly need it when she is all alone, a castoff.
Her home is small and all is in it's place, prim and proper. She
would not have it any other way. As she has gotten older and
given charity much, even her tea set and tray.
Her spouse had left her, wasn't his fault, his heart, simply got
tired, with no insurance, without family alone she faced fears,
could not keep the home, there were tears.
That was the not so distant past.
She had all she needed now, she was good at keeping neat
and clean, her clothes and a few belongings always within
reach, hung in place, nothing really new.
She slept little these days, noisy traffic driving by, even
rearranged, her bed was not as comfortable as she once
had. Times had changed.
She started her day with a wash and a walk. Brush her
white hair. There were the usual neighbours, who didn't
stop to talk to her, inexcusable!
Recent blunt reality.
Though she could not hide in plain sight,
parking her car in an empty parking lot,
every two hours she must move.
Her home a car, her closet a back seat,
the steering wheel a towel rack,
sleeping more upright helped
her breathing but not her
aging back.
Her possessions and food little
are in the trunk; one in a box
and the other on a chunk
of ice, she does not eat
much and pleasant
memories are
less and less.
Alas, make up takes time,
when the light is fine,
her friends don't
know, she does
not know if
she gets
calls or
letters,
Anymore
in these
declining
times.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
i am tired of feeling like i am in last place
i don't know how i will ever be as good as you
everything i try so hard at seems like it comes naturally to you
i am sick of how you take everything for granted
you don't appreciate what you have
i wish for once you could see what it is like for other people
you are so blinded by your own opinions
you have no idea what anyone else is thinking
or what others are feeling
you put yourself first and that's all the matters
others are just collateral damage
i am the collateral damage
i get hurt by you at every single turn
i am pushed behind you like a castoff
i am never free from you
i just want to be my own person
not constantly comparing myself to you
so just for once notice that i don't have it all
you do
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
a wisp of wind
russet castoff swirls
waves then falls
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC