"closings" poems
Too much rain for a good day
She dreams the door won't open
There's the scrape of metal again
And the face of a stranger pokes at happiness
Enough to evoke a bright smile from the dead
She's a ***** just as all of us
Her familiar gesture calling in
Sober drones who use her and run
Sarah's familiar gesture calling
Friendly, friendly, always
Dreaming of closings
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
Dear life,
Let these closings of long battles
And roads of new exploration be my new path for a new serene normalcy.
May these paths lead to answers,
Answers of who I am.
It's been so long since I've been the real me it hurts to a pain staking degree.
Trying to remember what once was me.
Nothings normal, all I once knew is now forgotten and gone.
You cannot expect to accomplish a new road in life, without having the knowledge of how to overcome its new and demanding challenges. Simply its obstacles are to great to exceed without knowledge. And even scarier to face. Not knowing the unknowing being thrown to survive in the Lions den.
As a writer I write, my thoughts, feelings and dreams.
I feel like a caged animal
At a zoo, behind glass
Looking at my once life
Now held captive
From this disease.
I miss my old life, I progressed so far.
Able to challenge my strength of mind,body and soul
Each and every day.
Now that is gone.
Grateful yes I am
Sad and ****** off?
You better bet.
Although grateful, I am not in good standing with the life I lead now.
I never asked for this change, I loved my then life and only pleaded for the healthiest body. So I may be the best I could be in all strengths from muscular to mental.
I would love to see the old me and old life I once had.
I would apologize with all my might for whatever I did for it to stop accepting me.
Then maybe I would learn how to live this new resistant relationship I am in.
It's hard to accept that your own body is fighting its every move and with its every move it is literally chipping a little by little of your life and freedom away.
All you can do is wonder why and watch it pay severe tolls each day.
If I cannot return to the past then please may my future be at a level of any normalcy that my present future lacks.
For the sake of my mind and all who are a very important part of it.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Phone calls were made, meetings were held and the new group was set to get started
There was lots to be learned and so little time for the lessons to all be imparted
The plan was immense, it was larger this time and the time was going by fast
They would all act as one, getting everything done and their goal was to not finish last
It was done every year, in the schools through the town, it was something the kids all enjoyed
But this year was tough, with all the closings and stuff and the fact there was more unemployed
Each school was set up to blitz through the town and to collect all the food that they can
But with more on the list and those who would surely be missed were the ones who set last years plan
Team leaders were picked in each group at the school, and their job was to get this all done
And to beat last years tote by at least one more pound and to make sure that it was all fun
Pep rally's were held to get the students involved and help motivate those involved
But with more needing help and less firms out to help, they had problems they had to get solved
On December the first, the kids all set out ringing bells in the malls and the stores
From there they would go with buses and trucks and collect food by knocking on doors
The school who did best bringing in the most pounds would be win a cup and awards
But to all those concerned, they had to get out and blanket the town in great hoards
People backed out from tasks all assigned, It was cold and they had too much to do
There was homework as well, and jobs on the side and alot wouldn't see the task through
But they all persevered and the food all came in, cans and boxes and crates and in bags
There was food left at school from donators unknown, just good wishes all written on tags
The goal was to raise an amount more than last and to do it in twenty two days
The total to date was behind just a bit but there was still time to make this year pay
So with one last great push the students went out and they held one last drive at the mall
If they collect one more ton, then all would be done and they could all know they answered the call
On Christmas Eve morn the principals met and they said they had all reached their goals
They shook all their hands and they stuck out their chests for they knew that they'd fulfilled their roles
The students were told at assemblies too, and the food was dropped off through the town
They had beat last years numbers by about fifty pounds even though they all thought they'd be down
So for all those they helped for the one day that month, where they had Christmas dinner and laughter
Was brought back to earth by one voice in one school, who asked "What would these families eat the day after?"
.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
Were you alive when the
bricks began to crumble
beneath our hand-held, picket line
across the parking lot in front of some
school that no one bothered to name?
Our exhaustion-mumbled whispers
skipping across lips dropping to the street
that tapered ladders on gargantuan gadflies as the summer heat
etched the tear lines into mud tracks against
our ruddied faces.
Cohorts torn into flip stands
layered toward standing political sores --
tell me how to cross my t’s and fill in scantron circles before
the suits step over brown-bag lunches
to stretch the yawning yellow tape over the students’ lockers.
We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.
The political analysts call this “The biggest school closing in decades.”
Under teeming hammer-strikes :
glasses shred to paper-splinters
before a young boy’s diploma
crying white chalk bricks
from university’s doors instead on to
prison yard orange jumpsuits.
Can we call this a school improvement project
or can we call this the Same Salem Witch Hunt
As unwashed teachers and students alike deck the sidewalks like
Either Christmas decorations on Michigan Avenue or
Inmates on the gallows platform
I’m completely unable to read the television marquee that told the neighborhood that City Hall was too stuffed with paperwork to defend the mothers and invisible fathers.
I’m completely unable to write out of respect for these children’s already-carved in stone pathway to the gutter, graveyard, and/or prisons.
In the first wink of dawn
We will all scatter
To our respective positions
Carved out in concrete before the
barricades fall
to flood the street.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
Lived the life of an artist
long before I became one.
Pressed to guitar strings
until my fingers were numb
to all exposed skin
that was not my own.
Listened to one thousand sad songs
over and over
until the pointless chords
clamoured over one another,
psalms of living
fall on deaf ears.
Trawled archives of ***********
Lauded aristocrats of cheap whiskey nights
and black coffee mornings.
Garnished my days with addictions carried
by better men
in love with real women.
Grew thin, moved about the apartment
in the graveyard hours
tacking songs to the walls.
In the absence of chains and ***
I fixed myself with neon lights
and cigarettes.
Spilt paint over undeserving paper
beneath the halogen bulb
to colour radio silences
of past friendships,
mountains I should let recede
like a ship in the night.
Stood alone in crowds
to witness the onset of a moment,
openings and closings of mouths and doors;
each one to allow another person in.
I go home alone
and sleep with my thoughts.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
Snow-day 1959
Monday, 6:00AM clock radio trips,
And WTRY Sounds off one of those top 40 hits.
I half hear the School Closings for Monday 12/12,
Sitting straight up in bed.....Was that Greenport Elementary do tell?
"Here are those school closings one more time kiddies"........
"Hudson HS Closed".... Oh Please God let me hear my city.
"Greenport Elementary...Closed" my Hands Raised Victorious..
I think I can hear Mrs Healy's entire 3rd grade class celebrating gloriously!
Just as I settle in for an uninterrupted, relaxing snow day in my room,
I hear my Mom yell, "young man come get this dust mop and broom"
"Oh snap"! "what shall I do with these dearest mother" I inquire
"Clean that pig sty you call a bedroom or your gonna feel some hellfire!"
Seeing that there we were only 10 days before Christmas
I decide Its to my advantage not to put up a fuss.
So clean I do.....pulling dust bunnies and underwear from beneath my bed
A miss matched sock and a couple bugs that were dead.
And to my surprise I find that fake dog **** I been looking for,
Time for a stealth mission to Mom's special bedroom behind that closed door.
Doing my best army crawl I make my way to Ma's special place
And put that rubbery dog **** on that bedspread made of lace.
"Hey Ma come quick the dog crapped on your lacy bedspread"!
I don't think Ma hit one step climbing those stairs she was seein' red!
And with a gasp she began to rub that dogs nose in the mess,
I'm like Mom it's just fake dog **** relax and don't stress"!
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
the home
we once lived in
with wardrobes in shambles
and drawers with clutter
is now empty.
i packed everyone's bags,
gathered the last pushpins
from the wall in the kitchen,
and went on with my life.
i made sure to grab
the books we'd hidden in the attic
as well as the photo album
you'd stashed under the floorboards.
i opened the curtains
and then swept the floors.
i made our bed for the last time
and collected the closings
of the dust on the mantelpiece
that nobody ever cleaned.
i got two extra boxes
for all of the medication unfinished.
i marked them "fragile", for they were glass capsules
containing the substance needed to keep my daughter alive.
but her illness didn't **** her.
i was well aware of the dog's bed,
and it found a place
in the passenger seat of my suv.
his quiet whimpers and cries
were all i heard that evening
as i drove away from what once was my life.
when i finally got to my feet again,
i returned to making dinner for myself.
i only knew how to cook for seven,
and i found tranquility in washing things in sevens.
now i made food for one
and washed for one.
i accidentally brewed two coffees this morning,
in hopes you were still here to take it
and laugh at me for making it too strong,
but you're not.
i awoke at noon the day before and sobbed,
for i was used to being awoken by child's laughter
and small bodies climbing into our bed.
tomorrow, i will bring your briefcase to work
and leave it on your desk.
i'll collect it when i go to leave
and frown at the fact you never opened it.
i'll dispatch you three times in the field,
but you won't respond.
i used to see our wedding day,
but now i see your funeral.
i used to see our children's births;
but i've gotten used to their bodies in morgues.
your physical features
become the trauma described during your autopsies,
and our family photos
became the ones used in the funeral program.
the home
we once lived in
with wardrobes in shambles
and drawers with clutter
is now a house;
a house with things
that even i can't pack away.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
Phone calls were made, meetings were held and the new group was set to get started
There was lots to be learned and so little time for the lessons to all be imparted
The plan was immense, it was larger this time and the time was going by fast
They would all act as one, getting everything done and their goal was to not finish last
It was done every year, in the schools through the town, it was something the kids all enjoyed
But this year was tough, with all the closings and stuff and the fact there was more unemployed
Each school was set up to blitz through the town and to collect all the food that they can
But with more on the list and those who would surely be missed were the ones who set last years plan
Team leaders were picked in each group at the school, and their job was to get this all done
And to beat last years tote by at least one more pound and to make sure that it was all fun
Pep rally's were held to get the students involved and help motivate those involved
But with more needing help and less firms out to help, they had problems they had to get solved
On December the first, the kids all set out ringing bells in the malls and the stores
From there they would go with buses and trucks and collect food by knocking on doors
The school who did best bringing in the most pounds would be win a cup and awards
But to all those concerned, they had to get out and blanket the town in great hoards
People backed out from tasks all assigned, It was cold and they had too much to do
There was homework as well, and jobs on the side and alot wouldn't see the task through
But they all persevered and the food all came in, cans and boxes and crates and in bags
There was food left at school from donators unknown, just good wishes all written on tags
The goal was to raise an amount more than last and to do it in twenty two days
The total to date was behind just a bit but there was still time to make this year pay
So with one last great push the students went out and they held one last drive at the mall
If they collect one more ton, then all would be done and they could all know they answered the call
On Christmas Eve morn the principals met and they said they had all reached their goals
They shook all their hands and they stuck out their chests for they knew that they'd fulfilled their roles
The students were told at assemblies too, and the food was dropped off through the town
They had beat last years numbers by about fifty pounds even though they all thought they'd be down
So for all those they helped for the one day that month, where they had Christmas dinner and laughter
Was brought back to earth by one voice in one school, who asked "What would these families eat the day after?"
.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
“You should write about it.”
or
I Learned to Smile at Mirrors: A Demonstration
The city was oddly near barren.
Strides hit the dimming sidewalk in two-to-one ratio.
Money looming tall above our covered heads.
When cornered into the shade
humans are unable to cast shadows.
Our path was laid clear by store closings,
locked doors ushering us down toward neon outlined water
to stare across gleaming black
while the shadowed lions bray.
Cloth turns to quarters turns
to pink fortune turns
to bright reflections across irises
while years of the same story vibrate
across our fingers.
Gears paid in hope spin warm with the smiles of
those come before.
Lamps once bright now flicker and crack,
and the ballroom dancers
don’t quite turn with the fervor of before.
Sometimes what seems a flaw is what makes the object most itself;
inconsistencies or strange logics
from somewhere different than where you wanted.
Certain hands grasped against throats are
comfort blankets to soothe the burning,
forcing skin and bones to remember that with selflessness
and love
the past will no longer obfuscate
paths where feet need to fall most.
No sparing rejoinders for improvements,
or constant encouragement in what is already done well.
Every mile and hour leading to those sea salted boards totally rearranged me.
Fought 11 hours and 771 miles of asphalt
to press my face in where I was worst.
The greatest gift one can receive:
not encouragement,
but total excoriation of the places
where I was once only limping.
Let the train cars tilt with our backs due West,
shoulders sagging with knowledge half-learned,
thrice remembered.
Two deer stand in the rearview
as my tires turn heatward.
Smiling as I realize your Country
grew to reflect your worth.
Not the other way around.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
Snowbeasties lurking out there
Howling loudly in despair.
Hidden in the drifting snow
Innocent sparkling flakes aglow.
Snow devils spinning in a flurry
Causing anxiety and so much worry.
Treacherous roads of ice and snow
Blizzard conditions with arctic flow.
Peering from the frozen window
Snowbeasties dancing to and fro.
Grabbing the cocoa on a tray,
Closings mean we have time to play.
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 6:08 PM UTC
*
An elevator;
takes you up and down
frequently;day and night;
either to heaven; or to hell;
It depends how you behave;
Sometimes upward;
other times downward;
or even to underground !
It looks like God’s own iron hands;
who orders to be carried
either up or down;
Down to the hell; up to heaven;
The Lord’s chariot; neither pulled
by a horse nor by any wheel;
_________________________________________________________________________________
An elevator takes you up to heaven;
Sometimes down to your own hell!
Also it looks like the gallows;
or a hanging tree;
or a bore-well ;
no water; no air;
like a devil's fort in dark;
once you be in his custody;
No openings; No closings;
Neither a start nor an end;
a lifeless life;
within a life !
*
_____________________________________________________________________________________
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
www.williamsji.com
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
From lip to lip your secrets transfer,
sincerely, I am sorry for kissing so much.
Love is sitting somewhere behind my teeth,
cordially waiting, legs crossed and hands folded.
Your friend reached down my throat.
Respectfully, it didn't even feel good.
Thank you for the blame and pointed fingers.
Take care to clip your nails where I don't dream and
write soon of some excellent ****** endeavors, for
my best regards are long gone, along with
yours.
I miss you when we hate each other.
Wishing the best of every moment is childish,
thinking of you is even more so. But somehow we
always seem to sleep in each other's arms.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 9:30 AM UTC
This pen and paper feeds a hungry mind. A mind that's driven by thoughts that drive the deprived. The deprived mind is a mind which is filled with inconsistencies. Inconsistencies of ideas that were never finished. Finished ideas reap rewards only I can understand. Understanding the motives of finishing ideas is difficult for me to process. Processing endings for me is like trying to get a dog to chase an invisible ball. A ball which is full of non-existent closings. A close is something I can never agree with myself on. On the end of a page is something that never occurs to my mind. A mind that is deprived. Deprived like the end of th
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
sterile pools singe clean white sheets
as we sing a dying dirge of keats
godlipped eyes in odes of closings
lifetimes in their fevered sickness
disassembled friends and lovers
numb from blue bell laced deceits
ride the sunlight as it decomposes
out of time with love's lithe quickness
fading thorns on blackout roses
line threadbare broken hearted streets
the black eyed blossoms know your name...(follow you home, step by step on)
braided bricks under crumbling feet
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
The air is cleared,
status set.
You told me exactly what I knew I would hear,
what I needed to hear.
Friends,
I can do that.
I have before,
I can again.
I will admit it's going to ache for a bit,
but I can still do passing waves,
quick hugs,
and friendly smiles.
I guess I can finally start accepting
all the reasons everyone said
you were so wrong for me.
I don't need your issues,
I have my own.
I will still be a shoulder to lean on,
a ear to listen,
a mouth to speak words of encouragement.
I will still come over every weekend
for drinks and music.
I will still be there to watch you disappear in to your misery
as you pour more alcohol down your throat.
But I do owe you a thank you,
you have given me the inspiration to write again,
to create again.
You have introduced me to many talents,
and quite a few good times.
And I could never thank you enough
for showing me what your poison does to people.
And why I will never touch it again.
At least not like you do.
So it may not be the normal thing to do,
but thank you.
I know you will always be a true friend,
and I can only offer you the same in return.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 12:24 AM UTC
Summer once again almost over for another year of winter.
Cold weather, dead plants, snow , and hibernation as well.
Slippery roads, cold beds and closings on account of snow.
Christmas as well as the new year hearts breaking at Christmas.
As well as thanksgiving making people whom alone now sad.
Missing love ones whom had pass away, now they all alone.
Still the Good Shepherd created winter as well as spring and summer.
Heavy coats, snowball fights, hot cocoa to warm the inside.
Turkey, mash potatoes, sweet potatoes, and dressing as well.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
remember, ,Dear
my always
fingers
through tousled
coils of sunhair
rainlight and
damp moonmusic
fold foiling
with heart
to imbue
each crisp
limit of your
breast with
darkness–caving
(in even hollow stress
wear my ardorous dress
though my neat closings near
as like even's purpl'd tress;
moves mouth:
A song through silence peer
immutable sound by guide
to ship of cloaken choler steer
toward harbors safe an' placid tides )
–i shall that lives though but only an instant of bright health
live by light that speaks
sing saying
a chord struck
by divinest stroke
resonating through all your earthly sphere
that and though
i shall die
in your chest
my immortal pulse
will ever lie
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
To me for all my sadness, to me for all my dread,
To your hands for touching mine,
To your eyes forever searching, to your lips that do not lie,
To I love you's that may,
To a heart that loves divine, to a window partially open,
To a heaven always closed, to a thought for which there is no escape,
To a child so exposed. To them who work their choosing,
To the right and wrong of ways,
To the length of night and the light of day,
To the peace in silence broken, to ****** sadly wrought,
To the me so enclosed,
To words and rhymes and riddles and times,
To which are lost and such cost,
To nothingness,
To time,
To idleness and,
To crime rendered just, to all things under the sun,
For which we have become, my thoughts fly to thee,
For them who cry in barren lands, for them who stir with mighty hands,
To them who bleed, to them who share, to me, to me, to thee
To seeds and weeds and all things glorious, to the ones of air and sea
To the threshing floor and fire,
To the harp and the lyre, to the ones with wings and eyes to see,
To the ones who deliver hope to me, to thee, to me, to me
To dreams I cannot escape, to fancies I cannot fulfill,
To burdens I never cease,
To amaze, to **** my thoughts belong to thee, to lonely hearts,
To starting anew, to fear of losing, and loving, and you,
To thee, to water and fire and steam and iron, to forging the path,
To me, to heavens gate, to late, to late,
To a loss and to a point, to names,
To a soul without respite, to a soul without breath, to a soul with righteous rage
To wisdom, to knowledge, to right and to wrong,
To blind and to justice,
To duty, to people who need us all, to smiles not yet broken,
To burdens yet lifted,
To hearts yet shifted, to whispers at night, to hands in moonlight,
To hearing them say,
To I love yous that may, to disbelief, to chaos, to voices of dismay,
To find a new place for you may no longer stay, to find the lost,
To find the me, to find the one thing that we need, to find the right track,
To walking the whole way, to hidden and unspoken, and fearful to say,
To thoughts far flung and scattered, to the east and to the west,
To endings and closings, to fear for the rest, to you and the things I want,
To you and the things I say, to me, to me, to thee
To me, to thee to thee, to the colors and shapes, to the many and the few, to the young and old,
To the loss and the gain, to her and the child, to the **** to the destruction, to the emptiness,
To ones who stand, to ones who gain, to ones who say my name, to me, to thee, to me,
To the loss I felt, to the gain, to the times we passed them off,
To upright, to the magnitude of faith, to the strength, to when she draws off her blind,
To when she draws her sword, to wisdom, to fury, to knowledge, to tears well spent, to things resolved,
To things I should have said, to things I should not,
To broken promises, and broken oaths, to what I failed, to what I lost
To smile, to light, to smile, to light, to me, to me, to thee, to light, to smile, to light
To me, to me, to thee
To lighter loads, to freedom, to breathing easy, to being more open, to being,
To friends, to life, to love, to release, to friends, to feeling, to love, to being
For the life, for the blood, for the right and wrong of it, for the chances to live, for the chances to love,
To love, to being
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
We’re sailing on a cloud of
Fog, dense grey
A sleek bullet speeding
His town has four stop lights,
And school closings due to fog
In the late spring.
In the mornings when we wake
Tangled up, drool stains on the edges of
His smile, I hear the dog next door bark,
And watch the sun slowly pierce
Through the thickness of the sky.
His big hands, full of sleep find my eyes,
And slowly graze my eyelashes,
The sun slowly hums in morning groans into
Each of my pores.
Even in the heat of summer, we drive with the wind
Whipping around us,
So loud that even our voices cannot break through.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
trespassers
shoot themselves.
your son gets hired
by city
to illustrate
a book on mirrors
for households
with one
adult.
my son
dies
before the machine
that keeps him
alive
turns on.
a doll in doll country
burns its nose
trying to enter
the future
museum
of racist
oddities.
my hand tries my hand at forming
firstborn
erasures
using only
redactions.
god is exiled
for bringing
the animal
its childlike
behavior.
I am far too animated.
your body is the notice
eyes
give.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
They always say every story must come an end,
every chapter must, well, embarks on its closings,
and every memory or scar must mend!
But, whenever I hear the winds in the canyon,
resounding vows of years ago,
back a decade, maybe more or so,
I find myself tangled in recollection,
a life time of win and woe...
Of much promise and imperfection!
And time passes... As it should...
They told me it would!
The animals are gone now,
they have left me to my sorrows...
To the stories your kittens, and you, would know...
To emptiness and many tomorrows!
I lay; ponder a sigh,
it must take its time, you know,
before I let it by...
Still, the midnight sky lingers,
to a frozen stop...
The days would pass, and flee,
but the starlit darkness,
is often atop!
Have I been a sinner?
Would you have been a saint?
Would there be a place for my corpse to rest,
without torture, prize, or the slightest complaint?
I find myself staggered, with my parting role...
How else will this chapter be sealed?
How will my pages fold?
My story is an aging one;
centuries and eras old!
But, whenever I hear the winds in the canyon resound,
I feel I have been longingly wintered,
in this barrened, unholy ground!
A.r. Bazian
Written for a Writerscafe.org contest in 2012
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
why when we compose
on matters urgent
oh my love
are we not provisioned with
beginnings and endings,
opening and closings?
We know what needs to be said,
the symmetry of butter and bread,
but how to begin and how to end,
these difficulties, not easy to comprehend
how to get
to the heart of the matter,
the door to the hallway
leading and departing
to
the front door entrance,
to the front door exit,
don’t know the words to begin,
the words to end,
which way does
the door open or close?
so read this, please, sit beside me,
while you place your fingertips
on my lips
and encourage me to
just say it!
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 10:32 AM UTC
this *****
inspiration
this look it up
fenestration
with a flashlight
and a crowbar
after openings
invariably
come closings
this stops me
except for
more openings
aren't we
distracted
by now
and the needle
has been
slipped in
and that's ok
in numbness say
I found a way
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 12:41 AM UTC