"chandler" poems
These city lights look for all the world to me
like some spellbound amnesty
but in reality
they are the building blocks that bring the nights
so I can see
what is to come and what will be.
Like ships at sea that head to port
we're caught
and cast upon the waves like bread to be dispersed
saved ,reborn and nursed by those well versed
in maritime and chandler's stores and sending those back through revolving doors to drown again,
and how the night pours down on me
slipping quickly through the city light where the building blocks become another knock,a twist of fate,and being cruel would stand and wait,while I, the traveller stand and hesitate
to go on
to stay?
an end to an end or a beginning that would send me some hope,no pope here to bless me or you,just another city night to fight and fit tightly through until the morning comes and runs my fears away.
I stay and am obliged to those contributors,interlocutors who saw me,spoke, and watched me as I broke upon the morning shore,
score one to me and city nil
until tonight
when we will fight again.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
Add
Add
Add
my
Addictions.
dictions (diction's) lost
my addiction's dictions (diction's) lost conviction
excuse that last part, it was intrinsically self-involved
because advertisements
tell me to want.
everything.
Add
Add
Add
all my addictions
then divide by whats left.
Chandler says you can't divide by nothing.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
I'm scared, okay?
I'm scared I'll never be loved,
I'm scared I'll never be held,
I'm scared I'll never be wanted.
I don't know how to change this.
I'm not one of feelings,
I can't express them.
I'm scared my thoughts will push you away
I'm scared my bones won't hold me straight
I'm scared I'll never find a way to
be loved.
"Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?"
is something like Chandler would say
But what if I can't even make my own
defense mechanism protect me?
What if you don't like my jokes;
the only thing that might be good in me?
But that's not even the problem, is it?
I can't even find strengths to tell'em out loud
I can't even let you decide if you'll laugh or leave
I can't even
I'm scared, okay?
I'm scared that no one will ever know me,
will never want to know me
I'm scared I'll never find the words to fool you,
to make you think I might be interesting
I'm scared no one will ever think I'm worthed
of spending their whole life with
Why would they?
I'm just a quiet dull girl
I'm scared, okay?
Because
I love myself, okay?
I do.
I'm scared I won't ever find anyone else
that will love me as much as I do
I'm scared that's all that's left for me
Keep being one thing only:
unlovable
as I've always been
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 9:59 PM UTC
Acquainted with Mark,
I walk to the bookshop;
not the one with the *****
instead the neon green nightmare
where there’s nothing good to read.
It’s not so much that I’m searching
for anything in particular, but the sun
has gone down and there’s a need in me
to get out of the house and walk around
someplace that feels like someplace.
Walking past the skateboards,
(Why the **** are there skateboards here?)
I start looking for Mark.
“He doesn’t live here” they say, “He never has.”
No, he doesn’t, I gather.
The King does though,
and if I wanted to fall in love
with a vampire there, I certainly could.
But, Mark is nowhere to be found.
The Laureate of Drunkards has a room
there, but he hasn’t moved in and the
staff cannot remember the last time they
saw him.
Dr. Lovecraft and Chitulu have been known to set
up a lemonade stand now and again, but they never
stick around very long, their product is too sour
for palettes around these parts.
Regardless of this, my search continues.
Mark is not here today, but Robert Parker
has rented some space and is rooming with
Ray Chandler, down the hall from Larry Block,
sometimes they cook up some pasta and mussels
in white wine, with good bread.
Sometimes they pan fry steaks, and make home fries
drinking rye until it’s all medium rare.
It’s mysterious, how Mark became an afterthought
and we all hope he hasn’t been murdered, kidnapped,
or met with some other form of foul play.
It’s poetic really,
how Mark will come around now and again
he’s not lost or forgotten,
he’ll be waiting for me when I get home.
We’ll sit in the dark, under the lamp,
together well read his poem titled: “Poem”
and I’ll tell him that he’s better at this noir stuff
than all those other hacks.
But, for now, Mark remains…Stranded.
***
-JBClaywell
©2016 P&ZPublications
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
I found them cause of music or YouTube
Some of them I knew who they were
But didn't care about them when I was younger
They're the ones who I say "Top Of The Morning To Ya Laddies" or "Where's The Black Smith" with
Or instead sing Oh Miss Believer or Thnks Fr Th Mmrs with
Most of them I consider my best friends
Some of them are Patrick, Pete, Joe, and Andy
Others are Jimmy, Chris, Chandler, and Karl
They're there for me when any actual people aren't
They're the ones who don't care about the fact that I'm LGBTQ+
They just see me as another human being that's a fan of their music or channel
I try to remind myself about the Fall Out Boy lyric "You Are What You Love Not Who Loves You"
And tell myself that I'll be like Frank Iero and JackSepticEye
Some of them are the reason why I'm going to be a youtuber
I ask myself all the time how in the world did they somehow wind up being someone I consider friends
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 11:08 PM UTC
Have you ever dreamed about that one guy?
the popular guy in school.
The cute 6'4, ***** blonde
who plays baseball, parties and drives.
The guy who dated the blonde cheerleader.
The guy who walks the halls
head up, books on side, black hat on, laughing as he walks.
he looks so fun and happy.
If you had the chance to read his mind,
would you?
He's the guy every girl wants.
Don't you really wanna know what he thinks.
I mean....
He's Blake Chandler.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 10:29 AM UTC
we stared at it for a good five minutes,
children around a rope swing body too afraid of the drop, so he jumped.
One of us poked at it, jabbed it 'til its petals fell off:
thrown flowers from the overpass above,
lightly dropped, not a touchdown distance here,
well,
whoever misplaced them was distant, over horizon line, past Joey joke,
they were stumbling upon well written blurbs of people
rendering all reading pointless, we're all the same, these flowers don't matter,
or they'd seen their other tired and said
please hide your luggage, dear, it's slowing us down
then stormed out and off, flowers in tow, Elizabeth's got her Way, let's leave everything here.
For this show of all things cute and affordable from Clintons
was an IMAX, Nolan Cameron's *** crack screen-shot of despair,
another pop at the small guy
kick him whilst he's up,
don't let that year 2000 pip of pulp sitting hammock in his stomach fool you,
that's perfectly normal,
carry on,
a meal for one in a **** themed restaurant,
this evening's more pointless than a mortgage on a salami,
sharpie on whale skin, what's the point in that,
probably something.
We weren't a we, but we should've been,
that would've been fun, something to talk about later on.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
We used to smoke **** together.
Partied with fellow co workers after work.
When it come to making money we never mix it with pleasure.
A good hearted dude.
A family man who took pride in his kids.
He did whatever to make them smile.
I miss my friend Chandler Pugh.
My heart broken in 40oz pieces.
Roll my pain up in sorrow.
Smoking thoughts blowing out memories.
Pondering why tomorrow is such a tease..
R.I.P to my fallen friend.
I pray I see you again.
With my memories of you I'ma rocking out to the end..
My fallen friend.....
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
My old man
was always
neat and tidy.
Brylcreemed hair
(what was left),
smart suit,
shiny shoes,
brown brogues,
well trimmed moustache,
staring eyes.
Get your best shirt
and trousers on,
we're going to see
this new Jeff Chandler film,
Western, and put on
that bow-tie I bought you
and make sure
your shoes are shiny,
he said.
I went and got changed
and put on the bow-tie
he bought(how I hated
that thing) and shoes
buffed to a shine of sorts,
short trousers,
the next to best,
and I was ready,
kissing mother
on the way out.
We went in the cinema
a 1/3 of the way through
the first feature,
sat in the seats,
his eyes fixed
on the screen,
I looking around
to see who was in
and who was who.
I looked at him
beside me;
the neat moustache,
well trimmed,
the eyes watching
the screen,
a cigarette between lips,
smoke rising.
I recalled the time
at another cinema,
another film,
another Western,
and we were ¾
the way through,
when he ups
and leaves
in a sudden rush.
I watched the screen
and chewed the popcorn,
thinking the old man
had gone to the bog,
an adult thing
or so I thought.
Then 5 minutes after
a young usherette
came and found me
and said:
your father's with the medics
in the foyer,
he had a choking fit.
Poor guy,
I thought,
him sat there
blue and white,
not having had a ****
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
The clock ticks on by,
Sitting in your carriage,
Full of endless excitement,
The ball is calling you.
Entering, you climb up those steps,
The steps you know,
Will make you ,
Or snap you in two.
The chandler is all lit,
Just for you,
They're all waiting for you,
Descend those steps.
Step, heel, toe,spin
You've been dancing all night ,
That you've simply forgotten,
You have to be home at 12.
You can't seem to stop ,
Has the dancing put you in a trance ?
Or was it that man?
That hasn't stopped smiling at you ?
You can't see his face,
Or anyone's ,
They're all covered,
In pretty little masks,
Unlike you.
To hide their real faces,
You cannot know what they've done,
But they can see you,
For what you've really done
Oh , what's this ,
The clock chimes 12,
You're too late,
No way to escape now.
So you'll spend the rest of your life ,
With step, heel, toe,spin
Forever in your mind,
Not other routine will do.
You'll spend each night dancing with someone new,
And only then will they reveal their masks,
And then you can finally see,
What I've really done.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
To Bailey, I know you as a baby blue in the way you were just a boy, but loved me more than any man could. I thank you for giving me high standards of men, but now I am disappointed with everyone who doesn't love me as much as you.
To Sean, I know you as a navy blue, which is the starting color of a mood ring, you are always changing and each time getting more mysterious. I thank for teaching me a basic crush and helping me learn it is okay to just be friends. You were the first guy I was infactuated in.
To Austin, I know you as brown, your life was ***** and so were your grades, I was your maid. You were more like a project and you treated me like the way you treated grades; a joke. Thank you because I've blocked out everything good about you and can now only see your hand gliding across my face, from you I learned how to forgive without revenege.
To Parks. I know you as a traffic cone orange, simply saying WARNING: I AM TOXIC. You were an outcast around me, but attempted to be someone you weren't around others. I don't thank you for anything, you scarred me and I haven't been the same since you got what you wanted and told everyone I was lesbian when I realized you weren't what I wanted.
To Jack, I know you as a cloudy, soft gray, you aren't always sad, but you're not exactly happy either. You taught me it was okay to be out of the norm and doing that won't crush my mom. I thank you for realizing that love doesn't have to come out of the good times. The bad parts sometimes give you the best people.
To Chandler, I know you as silver liquid, it took you no time to fill my veins and make me feel wanted. Thank you for teaching me that if a guy is as smooth as you, he doesn't really want me. You gave me my first high school embarassment. Cause of you, everyone calls me when they need a fix.
To Nate, I know you as a dark green, your opinion on me floated around like wind through the trees. You wanted me life to be over and tried everything you could to ruin it. Thank you for teaching me it is okay to be talked about because now you come over everyday and ask for me back.
To Jonah, I know you as a midnight black, the color I see when I look at memories. I threw you away, just like you threw away my effort. Your kind aren't made for girls like me, thank you for informing me.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:06 PM UTC
Ross, chandler and joey are in central perk, when a girl walks in, they are all sitting on the orange sofa when they notice her. joey attempts the 'How you doin' catchphrase but sadly it doesnt work. The girl walk over to get a coffee
and starts chatting to Gunther, the sliightly nervous bartender who is in love with Rachel Greene who has an on/off relationshup with Ross. Gunther starts to chat to the pretty woman. meanwhile the guys on the sofa start wondering why gunther suddenly is chatting women up when he couldnt talk to anyone in 10 years
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
You sat with Fay that summer day
on the flat concrete roof
of the World War Two bomb shelter
down below the tall flats
where you both lived
and you said
do you want to go
to the movies with me?
she looked across
at the coal depot
with its trucks loading
and unloading
I don’t have no money
she replied
you looked at her
my dad’ll pay
you said
he’s always giving me money
for the movies
she shook her head
and you looked ahead
at the sun shining above
the rain tracks
over the coal depot
you had on your blue jeans
and white tee shirt
and she you noticed
turning your head
had a red and white dress
which came just over her knees
and she wore sandals
on bare feet
besides my mother wants me
so she can see me
Fay said with a sigh
she raised and lowered
her legs against
the concrete wall
her sandals making
tapping noises
as they hit the wall
and you noticed bruises
along her thigh
as she moved
and her dress rode higher
what are those bruises
on your leg?
you asked
she looked down
and stopped moving her legs
and pulled her dress hem
over her knees and thighs
I fell
she replied
down the stairs
you looked at her arms
where other fading bruises
blended into her skin
like worn-out badges
we can see a Western film
you said
I’m sure
there’s a Jeff Chandler film
so my dad tells me
but she shook her head
too violent
Mother says
Fay uttered looking away
but there’s kissing stuff too
you added
Fay looked at you
her blue eyes
moving over you
like a smoothing
palm of a hand
I’m not allowed
to go to the movies
Daddy says
its sinful and only
wicked people
go there
to be tempted
by the Devil
she sighed
and you both sat in silence
for a while
watching pigeons fly
in the blue summer sky
then she turned quickly
and kissed your cheek
and said
don’t have to go
to no movie
to see kissing
and you thought
of the boring bits in films
where the cowboy
gets kissed by the girl
after a gun shoot out
and having been kissed
by Fay
you were glad
and guessed that kissing
wasn’t at all
too bad.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 3:30 AM UTC
He made beeswax
from honeycomb caps
scraped,
distilled,
filtered
through a fine muslin sack.
Seeped liquid gathered
dark honey stays there
pure wax floats and cools in a layer
on top.
Removed with care
for the melting ***
Cotton wick
best braided flat
cut to length the strip
for the hot vat.
Dip
by timely
dip
dressed
a veil,
a shroud,
a cloak.
The chandler's
pale golden coat.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Chandler smiles
like the world depends on the warmth it emits
Chandler laughs
like today is the last day he will have to chuckle
Chandler says my name
over and over
like he will never have another chance to say it
over and over
my name forms in the back of your throat and
rolls up to the back of your tongue
Rachel
Chandler is nineteen
Diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy
Trapped in a body he cannot control
Like prison walls around his muscles
He is unable to move most of them
He uses what he can
He raises his good hand, waves, and flashes a smile
that screams flirtation
Chandler winks
Knowing he can make any girl swoon
Chandler says my name
Even when I am not there
Chandler’s hand may not fit perfectly with mine
But I will make the puzzle pieces fit
Chandler is somebody I know I will outlive
And the thought terrifies me
Knowing already that he may not make it past twenty
And while the clock is ticking
We will make the most of every moment
I kiss his forehead
He causes my heart to smile
and we shall live every moment to its limit
as if the world depends on it
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
Janice said
she wanted to show me
how well she skipped
with her new skip rope
I watched
as her small hands
held the wooden ends
and her arms
circled like windmills
and her feet
lifted from the ground
in an odd dance
the rope going over
and under
over and under
have a go
she said
no it's OK
I said
let me show you
how good I can draw
my new gun
from my holster
I said
tapping
the toy gun
at my side
a brown hat
(an uncle's trilby)
plonked
on my head
she watched me
her red beret
on her head
the lemon dress
I liked her in
the black plimsolls
touching toes
I took out the gun
and spun it
around my finger
like I’d seen
in the Jeff Chandler films
my old man
took me to see
my other hand
spaced at my side
I put the gun back
in the holster
and on the count of
1-2-3
I drew the gun
in the blink
of her lovely blue eyes
as 1-2-3
bad cowboys
(invisible to her)
fell and died
can I have a go?
she asked
sure you can
I said
so undid the belt
and holster and gun
and handed them
to her
to put on
which she did
in clumsy fashion
all fingers and thumbs
once she was ready
(at her own
female pace)
she said
count me in
so I said ok
and counted 1-2-3
and she went
for the gun
and sent it
spinning
through the air
catching sun light
on the silvery parts
as it fell
to the ground
with a clattering
spark flying
cap banging
sound.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
GETTING 22
A glance
told me all
I needed to
know.
The room had been
Chandlerised.
A bishop was kicking a hole
in a stained glass window
whilst eating a pearl onion
on a banana split
but not the angel cake 'cos
it had a tarantula on it.
Everywhere there were
kangaroos in dinner jackets.
Somehow Raymond's words
had escaped the constructs
of the language
&
similes and metaphors
had become real
realer than real.
I kept walking
in ordinary prose
each footstep
a boring report.
trying not to break
into a metaphor
or smile in simile
or anything similar.
I made it to
the last page
and dived into the dark hole
that opened at my feet
into
THE END.
I had managed to make it
through these mean pages
( it's hard being a linguistic
private **** in one's mind )
when one is falling
asleep and
the Chandler
( the studied text )
fall out of
the too tired hand
but oh no
I had somehow entered
the realms of one
Dashiell Hammett.
Me...I
felt like somebody
"...had taken the lid off life
let me see
the works."
"The problem with putting..."
( I thought to myself )
"...two and two together..."
"...is that sometimes you
get four
& sometimes you get
twenty two."
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
Riding chandlers in your home who would have guessed thoe.
Keep up with the time wow.
Lights flee for the city.
Isn't it just a tez tree.
With a angel above looking near the ceiling.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
I knew I would miss you
But I guess I never really thought
About how much I trusted you
How much you helped me through
Now I'm stuck again
Tongue tied and alone
The world keeps on spinning
And when I fall your not there
To help me up.
I guess it's good for me
To try to hold up my own
But with you I was a person
Left behind the monster I'd become
Now here I am with reality crashing down
Like a chandler over my head
You were my shield
Protecting me from words
Now they just hit me
And I haven't armor to deflect them
Never know how much
I clung onto you
But now I see what I had dragged you to
And I'll miss you.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
Slam my hip down
Hipbone a Warm teardrop
Ripples on impact
My body
Of water
The stage
Walls turn wonderland
As the pills kick drum
I am the bass drop
Hands dove letter
To my mouth
The room waves
As she stands staring
Knees locked in contrapassto
Pinstripes in my eyes
I have no need for the white eyes
Or white fabric
Purity was always
your delusion
Dreamt into syringes
Pricked into tiny faves
Fat with cake and promises from their daddy's
Or any man
With a poloroid camera
I am standing on the ceiling
Chandler trees raze
And solidify a shining icy stasis
Large and formal
Cold and towering
Tables glued upside down overhead
tiny tealights stuck too
Fire flickers down
You are a spotlight
Head
Chest
Skin
All Lighthouse
Peninsula
Ocean
Curvature of the earth
You beam clairvoyance
Shake your head.
Free of these lighthouses
You are under tealight s
A woman dances
Your hand touches your tie
Pen
Wrist muscles with fingers stimming
Champagne watch
Navy sleeve
Shoulder
Cheekbone
Soft hand on your cheek.
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
We need some zing,
call Chandler bing!
Gellers will be the tellers,
lets go for a buffet,
will you come phoebe buffay?
we will have tasty cream,
only if its rachael green.
It would be an incomplete dining,
without tribbiani.
so lets go FR.I.E.N.D.S
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
Fay and I
had been
to the cinema
to see the Western film
with Jeff Chandler,
and had ice creams
in the intermission.
We walked over
the bomb site off
Meadow Row.
Did you like
the film?
I asked her.
Traffic was rushing along
the New Kent Road
behind us,
the back
of the coal wharf
was in front of us.
It was good, but sad,
she said.
And not too
much kissing,
I said.
There was a lot
of shooting
and men
being killed,
she said.
That's life I guess,
but the good guys
won in the end,
I said,
best tell that
to your old man.
She looked at me:
he's my father
not old man,
she said frowning.
Sure your father then,
best make sure
he knows about
the good guys winning,
and not much
about the kissing bits.
She nodded;
we walked on
towards Arch Street,
then she paused,
and looked around us,
then she kissed me
gently on the cheek:
thank you
for taking me
to the cinema,
she said,
and for asking Daddy
for us to go.
I sensed the kiss
on my cheek,
wet and warm.
We looked at each other:
best not tell
your father about that,
I said.
No I won't,
she said,
she smiled,
she took my hand in hers
and we walked on
until we came
to Meadow Row.
We walked down
past the public house
and she released
my hand:
just in case,
she said,
Daddy's around
or sees us.
I walked beside her
trying to fit
the kiss on cheek
into my head,
but it stayed
on my cheek instead.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
The blinds were shut, but the moon
still shined through the thin cracks, falling
on the rising dust,
dancing like blue smoke, in the distance
of two clumsy, sleeping lovers.
It took him three hours
to finally shut up and fall asleep.
his breath, warm, hitting against my neck
I can still taste the wine in his exhales
It stings just a little.
after I kissed him he told me I had turned him to stone
I wish I could say I know every beat his heart
makes, I dont.
but I know that it does
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
Sometimes when I look at myself in a mirror,
I picture me up for bid at an auction house.
Describe the condition of the item,
All the buyers are coming out.
I am not exceptional, acceptable.
A twenty something Chandler Bing in present tense.
Look he uses jokes at his defense.
I see he functions pretty well
But the description has a lot tell,
If he should inhale a certain smell
He could drop dead.
It's like a wild card, the bids would start
Questions fired, they aren't going far.
How's his education, how about social relations?
Opening my mouth to answer,
They aren't waiting.
I heard he went to college!
Oh, I heard that he dropped out.
I heard he never misses work,
I heard that's the only time he goes out.
Does he eat, there isn't much meat on his bones?
Maybe he should grow ****** hair,
Maybe he won't.
I leave the mirror,
I have work in a moment.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 11:26 PM UTC