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Boi Jul 2018
My chair is annoying.
Its support is no comfort,
makes my backache worse.
Also the wheels grew old.
They don't roll like the good days
anymore.
It's blue, but the lame blue,
the **** blue.
Can I get a better one ? Yes.
Will I ? Probably not;
after all, it's mine..
and




I'll probably overthink it and stress too hard over a new chair.


This one does fine.
keep writing about misery everybody.
*I actually changed the chair last night
Darren Wall Feb 2016
Creeping up, a silent foe,
Breaking him down, nice and slow,
Crushing all his hopes and dreams,
Bravery fading, silent screams,

Fighting on, war and peace,
Just to get, a partial release,
A little confidence, suddenly lost,
One step forwards, the ultimate cost,

Walls built, a safe distance,
Hiding the world, from his existence,
A man in a cave, keeping away,
Building the courage, to battle today,

Invisible injury, a runaway train,
Mental illness, significant pain,
Weakness, it's how it's percieved,
Colleagues find...It hard to believe,

Lack of remorse, absent support,
Pushes him, to obvious thoughts,
Attenion seeking, he was no more,
Discovered today, by local law,

Tears shed, guilt ridden hearts,
Talking history, picking him apart,
Realisation, lack of due care,
Former colleague...

Empty chair

  ----

Trying to find the words to explain the poem. The message is there. Think about your actions to those you see every day. The ones that annoy you, for their quirky behaviour. There is an untold story behind each of us. Some suffer in silence, some try to seek help. Compassion and understanding is within us all. The unseen illness is a killer.
s Dec 2017
some people get
half a heart
tattooed
on the edge
of their wrists
that come together
to spell
something symbolic -
greater than themselves -
a gesture of love.
perhaps
this red chair
is my half heart -
an identical pair
sitting several miles apart.
each parked
at something sacred -
symbolic
of the love for
something -
greater than ourselves -
our work
and all it validates,
- the divine power
to create.
Lynn May 2018
I'm sitting in the big chair
Taking my fingers and tracing them over the patterns
I'm making shapes and scratching into the fabric
A thread or two tug and make a noise as they cling to the tips of my nails

I'm looking at the wallpaper
Slowly moving my eyes and counting every stripe on the wall
White, blue, red, blue, white
I count 136 before i lose my place and have to start all over again
i notice a flaw in the pattern and move on


I'm closing my eyes and resting
Trying my hardest to ignore your gaze and your difficult questions
I don't speak
I don't listen
I don't feel
I just sit and rest
136 stripes, 208 triangles, 2 flaws- one in the wallpaper, the other is me

That's why i'm sitting in the big chair today
With the lady i don't care for
Listening to questions i don't know the answers to
Ignoring her cry for some sort of reply
therapy adventures
Bella Nov 2017
I’m sorry, I thought you were joking--
I forgot you don’t joke
I just
I don’t mean to hurt you
But it’s so easy to do
I understand that
You passed that trait down to me
And I’ve done my best to hide it
But it doesn’t work
Not completely

I don’t want you to think I’m rude
Were from different generations
Different ways of speech
Words don’t mean the same anymore
Language doesn’t mean the same anymore
My sarcasm isn’t to be taken to heart
It isn’t something meant to be taken at face value

I used to cry every time we fought
I can’t let myself do that anymore
I’d never be able to pull myself together
And I hate that
I’m sorry for that
I’m so
So
Sorry

I really do love you
I’m sorry if sometimes it doesn’t feel like it
I really am
But I don’t know how, not to fight with you
How not to argue

You’re alone in your room right now--
Depressing into your chair
As you do so often
I’m in mine
doing the same
I can’t bring myself to talk to you
To walk to you.
I wouldn’t know what to say
I wouldn’t be able to look at your teary eyes--
I know it would be better than just to sit here,
But still,
I can’t do it

I’m really sorry
Please believe that I am
L B Jun 2018
Later at the same address
A storm of words reaches flood stage
A couch is bobbing in the currents
towards its mangled ruin-nexus
of matchsticks in cyclonic flow
among the renegade
trash
hanging
from the limbs like tinsel

Meanwhile
chair heaved through her door
Like the river
I am not above my rage
at this stage
of more than enough....
Clever daughter's got my goat
Turns my words on dimes
Lays into me
her score of blame
Each blow to drop me further

presses all my buttons at one time
despite the flashing
Warning! Warning!

“Fine! Fine!”

She blows-out through the afternoon
right past me
in a torrent of curses
A stubborn perfect storm
of words
has taken out parental dam
and blown out toward the Bay of Freedom
to the sorrows of her day

The river may crack its whip
But its got nothing on her

nothing is left standing
in her way
RAO Aug 2018
2 Liters Width this Bottle Neck had her Thirsty when i Pop Off.
"Hes Got a Unique Meter!"

Thinkin outside my Thoughts Manipulate Face hands off my Clock Box a Movie Theater
Soft Drinkin my Equilibriums "DAnkh"...
Hook up The Bracelet of Anubis Call it my I Watch
Achilles Heels turning red and blue takin on a Dog WALK
no roads better to cross Sapphire bird " Call that a Cold ****¡!"
from a "Pacman" in Paris Pans Panning Labyrinths A Mazed running on music like Tha Rock whippin better then jimmy Neutrons Stovetopper
... Style makes Our Classic Modern Eighties cheatah?
UhDDuz(UDDERS+ADIDAS) "GODDARD" "SkyWalker" Call that Harry Potter at the Roboxer smoking bud from jimmy Wonkers GobStoppers.
give that a D +
Oh Gosh *** in CVS / HoMâge/ Po-ca-hon-tas chair gifted like Op-rahs-Hola-no bras vuela-ar tuoi o-Yâ aur-revior no-mas Veteran Indi-En Sit-in on ma stick shift of Mua Cö-Brâ..... engine Knocking sicker then Jehovah with pneumonia
Can we get every Ticket so i can load the Super Bowl Comon!
Makin her Jaw Drop ready to turn Dragon Rude into an tan Dra
Dolph-in ima RAOBAWT fly fishin Santa Cla₩§ Idle Hands Examined n Exposé Gods
lips im here to naturally Lift I'd Volunteer for Slavery if the Hills were rich like Jessica Albas Exposed ***

yo problems in the street
I get hi on Florida Keys You a Hero Touch Down!
Stranger Danger in my End Zone
Lol
CK Baker Mar 2017
lady craighead played the blues
on a stand-up samick
in the ***** room
along side the parsons project
and squabbling dogs
and night moves

stairs creek
up the mezzanine trek
wool sheets slide
on finished floors
little angels
play late into the seventh
(a closing match nearing
the midnight hour)

croaking toads and cicada
sing in the blue moon
musty smells and mothballs
settle deep in the vault
the kettle boils
and cat coils
as the pump house rolls
its heavy drawl

the red phone rings
and bird clock sings
(behind the ruddy stall)
a sleeman variation of the ruy lopez
employed heartily
by the incomparable master jack
marble toast burning
wringer wash churning
chris craft running
near the old carp canoe

rooster calls
and west wind squalls
rustle through the porch screen door
chicken *** pies
and rogue flies linger
a rocker chair placed
near the  sepia face
(softened by the intricate frame)

donkey in tow
(with a fastened ***)
maggie in her dreams
of green tambourines
the nocturnes
reflections
and whispering gospel bells

tractors pull on
the grinder stone
horses lay still
in the mid-day sun
a trump card is fingered
at the furnace click
(crosswords and puzzles are next!)
while the sparrow
and that **** rabid fox
are drowning
deep in castles well
laura Sep 2017
midriff cut from the universe
and diamond rings look good on her
every finger except the i'm-married-one
perky ears and silk smooth skin

adept and endearing accent
even when she's mad at me
and the way her shoulder blades curve
she's good at math and ***;

things i like more than the usual
triple threat, face, ****, breast
personality of an office chair.
Peter Gareth Apr 27
I miss you
Rocking in your rocking chair
Watching that lame talk show
Staring at me obliviously
You barely even talked, to be honest
But yet you made an empty house feels like home
Some simple lines I wrote about my grandma. Lately I've been missing her so much...
writerReader Mar 2015
the flowers that we grew together have died now
that you've been away so
long
i find myself talking to your creaky rocking chair
and sometimes i
swear that
it sings
Sara Kellie May 12
With leather clad hands
and old plastic sheets
he makes up the reasons
for the people he meets.

They'll feel nothing's wrong
for he sings a sweet song
where false promises are made
with a smile from a blade.

And on a cold knife night
he'll extinguish their light
as they struggle for air,
for their pain
is longer than
the chair.
For seconds in the electric chair.
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
King Panda Jun 2017
I could not accept you—star
incarnate, carved and swollen
in the trunk of a fustic—

*****-yellowed and preened—risen
and alive I strap my
saddle to your back. My heels
dig to the dark side of

a price yet to be paid—an eye
of a coursing, being scrubbed
into the spots of grain—heat
eaten by earth. Star set.
Star rise.
Star be

livid and leaven


whispers the cowboy
sitting in a lawn chair on the
front porch—his hat falling
off from crowning, bald-headed

tilt. space and all its wonders.
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