"cloakroom" poems
Bouncers can only stop and stare, maybe
get involved when their contract states
they've got to care, but up to that line
they wait on doorstops and thresholds,
looking for kisses from the makeup clad gold.
Smokers swell in the sea mist of the
open smoking area, they talk ideas
and travel plans, wave to no one
hoping they'll wave back again.
The bar men, the bar women and the cloakroom
attendants sing along to the songs
under tired, muttered breaths,
hoping the depth of the queue
subsides into something more serviceable.
And after?
Young ones with freshly ironed faces
**** into gutters and speak in
half-rhyme stutters, Morse code flutters that
translate into nothing more than, another beer please.
They yell as if they own the sky,
keep their echoes on rope tied to the
openings of back alleyways,
showing to her and her and her and him, his best friend, that he's
the drunkest of them all.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
Church bells ring of voices silenced
a darkened Moon is hanging low
crickets stop to hear the empty
as loving waters overflow
As angels call in voices singing
notify my heart goodbye
as deafened ears are opened up
no more tears are left to cry
Dying leaves, a crimson carpet
indigo ink at levied banks
waters flood my aching heartbeat
raising hands to you in thanks
Cloaking eyes, I'm in the shadows
petitioning you another dance
whispering the coming reaper
if only I could have a chance
Softly come draped in darkness
ebony casts a ghostly glow
lovely bones in alabaster
putting on a secret show
Taking off the heavy waiting
holding down my paper heart
a poets voice cannot be silenced
by ticking hands you pushed apart
Silver tears they fall in quiet
in rivers taken right or wrong
releasing me & painful weighting
and sing me as I come along
Violins they speak so mellow
calling me as I go home
morning comes a glowing ember
left for you an Earthly loam
As the leaves outside are falling
and thickened air bids me farewell
whispering of my departure
& secrets I may never tell
although in this...
you mustn't dwell
Waving you off
in slow motion
blinking lashes bid adieu
darkened cloakroom,
veiling... hiding
memories of loving you
the only love
I really wanted
the one I never... really knew.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
1. Check your courage, your humanity, your common decency, your ***** in the cloakroom of pathetic
2. Spend not a nanosecond thinking about how it would feel if it were done to you, reminding yourself how sad, justified, and relieved you feel
3. Debate tween text and email, choose text cause it is shorter, less time consuming, and packs more punch
4. Be proud of your courageous forthrightness in dealing with human problems so directly
5. Immediately (or prior) text all your friends what you have done
6. Make plans for a party so you can begin trolling the field. Of course not! (invite the ex, that would be cruel)
7. Proceed to smear your ex in person, in secret, to justify how good and kind and used you are and were. Laser focus on new target person who really turns you on
8. Show around all the ex's break up poems for laughs.
9. Shampoo and rinse your soul with lye, and repeat, 2 - 3 times a week. If you notice any self improvement, call your doctor immediately!
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
It's not time to have a crusade
Just settle down, take it slowly
You're still naive, that's your culture
There's so much you have to do though
Find a cause, totally commit
if you want you can join
Look at me, I am wise, but I'm content
I was made for this life, yes indeed
You were made for this life, with me
and I can't get enough of this life
Can you get enough of me?
Welcome to the Grand Cathedral Deluxe
Such a heavenly pad (Such a heavenly pad)
Such a heavenly pad
Plenty of spirit at the Grand Cathedral Deluxe
Very nice indeed (Very nice indeed)
You can get a feed
You may say I'm a believer
But I'm not the Holyfield one
I hope someday he'll help us
And the church will pray as one
They can't go on preaching
With deviant minds
And we can't enjoy our youth
'cause of deviant minds
Like at *******
felt for the very first time
Like at *******
when you get goosebumps [out in public, makes you feel bad]
Priest don't mind
Everywhere there sinning now
I'm surrounded by your members
Father, I can see your demon
You know you're my trusted place
You're everything I trust and adore
It's written all over your face
Father, I can see your demon
Pray ya won't mess me about
'Cause your gettin' baptised alright
And no one's gonna save you from the priest about to sin
You know your baptised, baptised alright
You're screaming for your life, inside the confession box, baptised alright
We don't need no vandalism
We don't need no higher order
No dark secrets in the cloakroom
Preachers leave them boys alone
Hey preacher leave them boys alone
All in all you're just another ***** in my life
All in all you're just another brick in my life
Cause if you liked it, doesn't mean you can put ya stick in it
If you liked it then you should've got a grown-up with a hole in it
Don't get mad, once you see that he's 'bout to blow
If you liked it then you should've got a blowup with a hole in it
Let me wait for him to get so near to me
Creepy Cardinal Priest
Drop your ******** and stop your abuse
Creepy Cardinal Beast
Bring it on
Afraid?
Pray Ay Ay Ay
Pray Ay Ay Ay Ay
Pray Ay Ay Now
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 11:54 PM UTC
The weekend revellers
hand over a half-hour of toil,
of eros, of prayers in cash,
of dizzy heights, life lived
and to be lived again
as I hand over their bottled beer,
their ice and *****
their poster boy of good times
and the erasure of all day
spent watching the wheels.
Spent watching the clock
wind its endless route
to freedom.
Legs cramp,
eyes blur to focus,
and cash moves dirtied hands,
one to the other, to the other
and back again.
Back again to the dancefloor,
to the gape of sweaty arms
flailing in catharsis,
in sweet memories
of playground kisses and
lunchtime riots.
We play sweet imitation
of black-man-blues
and toast the new day
as it comes 'round the corner,
steamrollers through
into Sundays spent
with cigarette ends and
heads in buckets.
This, my origin of misery,
their open-doored appearance
to substantial existence,
to footprints of two-time
than carbon.
To commutes of whiskey sour
and wine dry,
car left in park at home,
whilst the taxis
pick up the slack.
Poisoned in the promise
of forever-youth,
the cougars cover
the same old ground,
the same old ground
every week.
I spot them in the corners,
by the doors,
in the cloakroom
and in the fire of backway passages;
the closest hope to
human touch
they'd ever dare to dream.
And the shot girls.
The shot girls kick water
in a sea of salted men,
football hooligan,
semi-political lyncher
and the neck-tattooed reality hero
who crawled in from
some bar or other,
to condemn losses with shouts
of ***** of ***** of please.
“Please, just once,
afford me a want in life”,
comes the mating call
of lads and businessmen alike,
as young female flesh passes by
their lives,
like some unfulfilled match,
kicking up sparks
but refusing to flame.
Each day I wonder
why dread exists. Why I
cling to the bedsheets,
why stories are poured
and glasses written,
why I settle for anti-living
and artificial light,
why woman is singular
and drinks are solo;
whilst all life passes by
in the excruciating hours
spent stood behind
the beer taps,
behind the barrier
that separates me
from them.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
Betrayal in the cloakroom.
That's not your coat,
He said that's not your peg,
Move your bag,
Move your bag,
Move your bag,
Then he kicked me in the leg.
Betrayal in the cloakroom.
Don't you see,
I'm to be the groom of a groom to be.
Why would I ever want to upset you,
I only regret to -
Inform you,
I like you more than I should.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
I sense I am irrelevant through your irreverence
in the other room cheap songs of love played under the ones I choose
let me speak to you like an idiot - and that makes me smart
**** you”
softly entered -
then blurred my vision
I think I am sick
but dont know it yet
but Im probably alright
and I am glad I feel alright
dont sweat it
but sweat it out
“at the end of the day right”
with a long line of acquaintances
what are you raising your eyebrows about
with reactions like that - you shall be the subject of another bout
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Yiska maybe
dreamt of me
or not I don't know
but I sure dreamt
of her
but that was never
as real as being there
with her
and knowing she
was there
her eyes on me
her hair
fresh brushed
(in the girls'
cloakroom no doubt)
her body tingling
with being alive
and we met
on the playing field
in recess after lunch
the sun out
strong
bright and big
in the sky
and we walked together
she talking about
her morning
and lessons
and O that Mr D
what he thinks
of me
God alone knows
she said
and other things
as girls do
and I was studying
the motion of her body
her lips
eyes
language
wanting to just
kiss her
and have her
hold me
and such
but she did
kind of talk
too much
she giggled
about some deed
or then looked at me
all wide eyed
and said
maybe next week
while my mother's
out for the day
we can go home
to lunch
and who's to say?
I dreamed of Yiska
and it was strange
and things done
and kisses
all lips to lips stuff
and secrets revealed
and told and all
wrapped up
in a cuddling hold.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
At a dinner dance for dogs at
Derrybeg in County Donegal,
a sign at the door instructed
each and every species, to
undo their *** holes and hang
them in the cloakroom on
hooks provided.
This was of course, as a result
of the previous years mess on
the dance floor.
All the dogs respected the
request and everything was
going fine, without incident,
until a Dalmatian got into an
argument with a Dachshunde.
During the fracas, a kerosene
lamp was knocked to the floor,
before long, the hall was ablaze.
Smoke filled the corridors, panic
set in, barking howling is all one
could hear as all the dogs rushed
to the cloakroom picking up the
first *** hole they could find.
That is why, to this day, in Ireland,
one can see canines in the parks
sniffing other dogs derrieres in
an effort to find their own.
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 8:12 AM UTC
.*but, once upon a time...
i heard a woman say the words: i think....*
sorry, no,
whenever a woman says
the words i think...
rarely equates to
but i also doubt, and
the subsequent i exist...
nope...
i'm not buying this ****
this bollocking of a statement...
take your **** and let it stink
its' way to rot, in some other *******
sandpit for the critters in
daisy infused diaper...
what? missing lavender?!
oh no... i'm not a recluse,
old, bitter...
some kind of: shove it about,
keep it quiet,
shove it, **** on it etc.:
keep it cloakroom friendly...
i, am... puritanical... rage...
what i i see?
i see death...
i see the anger of Charon:
****** you should have been
with me just shy of 11 years!
i'm not mad...
but the death that's lucrative in chasing
me is... exponentially pissed-off
from the people and limp ****
that my accusers / perpetrators
are facing....
my wrath, and the deity's?
breadcrumbs...
sure as **** now
Shawshank Redeption: of play,
in order of the worth of tactic.
i'll die.. and justice will not be served..
hence?
theology overpowers jurisprudence...
sorry...
Eden lost the bet...
man is no judge...
man will never serve
a justification of serving the idea / ideal
of blind justice...
lessons from a "blind" god...
whatever blind justice doesn't see...
a god, that has to only take a break,
from not focusing on
a non-existence argument...
which... well... no proof... let's be honest...
and turns his attention
to man, the favor of law,
and the upkeep...
man only discovered the law
of gravity...
man didn't invent it...
the consistency of the law of gravity...
well...
ha ha...
what were all the other laws
conjured up by man?!
thought so... grey area... fuzzy brain.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 7:55 PM UTC
.
^
<^>
//// • ||
<>
)
######
/ \ / \
~~~~~~~
I seen ya thru
From the kindergarten cloakroom
All the way to the marketplace
:::
We lived !
Amid the gangs and the police men
;;;;
;;;;
The lonely tenement days
The schools and prisons and the rest
""
We lay naked on the floor
For a little while
//
hey babe
I'm still on the street
::
Looking out for the strays
///
I'm still in love with you
Even at our age
::
;;;
The world is on fire
Soon the war will come
///
Time for the graveyard
It seems
Such a failure
On our part
••
Once we died of a broken heart
Now even our minds are gone
••
I know you well
< .... Beauty ... >
Given for free
••
However the story goes
For us it will be a song
//
The whole thing
Went wrong
But you and I
Were true
//
We were so very true
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC