"creaked" poems
It was early morning when she descended the steps
to the porch side, teacup in hand, dressed in her nightgown.
Steam billowed from her cup, and with a swallow
she examined her garden of weeds and unexpected peonies.
It was early for blooming peonies; frost, like glass,
still settled on the lawn, reflecting sunrise light of tangerine.
The radiant glow of tangerine
cast amber trails across steps
covered in an icy coating of glass.
Between her fingers she tucked her nightgown
and gingerly treaded the garden of peonies
that melted the frost in one great flower swallow.
The barn swallow,
perched not far from the path of tangerine,
must have also taken notice of the peonies
as he took the first steps
to nest-building. She imagined that his lady bird, also in her nightgown,
would enjoy the flowerbed of glass
that he chose for their home. Sipping her glass
of tea, she admired the familiar swallow
lover as she folded into her nightgown
bouquets of peonies that glistened in the tangerine
sunlight. She took the steps
back to the house, recalling her own swallow’s peonies:
Peonies
placed in vases of glass,
peonies lining the porch steps,
peonies presented over morning tea. With a swallow,
she carefully, methodically lined the tangerine
trail with the peonies from her nightgown.
Her nightgown,
stained with the rouge petals of peonies,
dragged along the tangerine
terrace of glass,
blood red with the memory of her swallow
lover’s peony-petaled steps.
The steps to the house creaked beneath her nightgown.
The barn swallow, quieted by the rouge of the peonies,
shut his glass eyes to the skies of tangerine.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
I was awoken from a dreamless sleep
By a boy with short brown hair,
Who, with an urgent stare,
Told me to head to the showers!
As my eyes creaked open to recognize,
The orange glow of this unfamiliar room’s lighting,
In front of me, in handwritten writing,
A page on the wall showed three in the morning.
When I glanced around a room of shared bunks,
I saw all sorts of people and things,
Running around with things to bring
To these showers I had yet to see.
In a winding line down a high ceiling’d hall,
I stood with so many,
Who like me, hadn’t any
Idea what was going on.
With a whirlwind flurry of commotion
Steam crawled from the showers and water sprayed,
As we were told in a big disarray,
To wash off the place from whence we came.
In a neat little stack, I was handed my clothes
A tunic, with a sash
And a captivating mask
To “celebrate our exciting return home.”
Down dark rustic stairways, I watched like a child
The vibrant light and affinity,
Radiating with enchanting divinity,
From the otherworldly people and creatures below.
Through that noisy, jolly crowd,
We were led as a group
And the boy said with a whoop
That we were all to stand up and dance.
His eyes glinting with excitement,
The brown haired boy explained
That our spirits would be ordained
Through a celebration of our inner light.
Onto the stage I was led
As I stood with my class,
Nervous amongst the mass
Of silent, numerous spirits before us.
As the boy hit the music
I felt something from deep inside
Rush out like a tide
And through tears of joy, I danced.
It was at that gleeful moment
That my friends and I,
Realizing we'd died,
Knew we'd returned to the forest.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,
She looked so limp and bedraggled,
So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,
Or a wizened aster in late September,
I brought her back in again
For a new routine--
Vitamins, water, and whatever
Sustenance seemed sensible
At the time: she'd lived
So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,
Her shriveled petals falling
On the faded carpet, the stale
Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.
(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)
The things she endured!--
The dumb dames shrieking half the night
Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,
Me breathing ***** at her,
She leaning out of her *** toward the window.
Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me--
And that was scary--
So when that snuffling ****** of a maid
Threw her, *** and all, into the trash-can,
I said nothing.
But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week,
I was that lonely.
3.9k
I remember the Big Red Man,
Oh, I remember him well,
The house was filled with holly and pine,
That fragrance, that smell.
I had to get clean
And dressed for bed.
"Go to sleep, love,
or he won't come,'' my father had said.
His was the ultimate voice of authority,
but I couldn't obey.
During those nights,
I would hear a bump, and not a word I would say.
The Big Red Man had arrived,
I knew.
My eyes were shut.
The boards creaked beneath his shoe.
I wanted to yell, to call out to him.
But I knew I couldn't, for, during those nights, he was the law.
Then when he was gone, I would be so full of excitement,
I had to clench my jaw.
Presents galore,
My family would wake.
We'd play with our presents,
then after church and dinner, tuck into cake.
I remember one time,
after the holidays,
these girls brought in his glasses,
I was amazed and jealous, for I could only gaze.
Though, now, I laugh at those times,
An age ago.
That Big Red Man,
How I miss him so.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:26 PM UTC
There you are, structure, bones
standing tall in the sunlight
all of the personality drained away.
Oh, goodbye to that twinkle in your eye
Goodbye to that thing we couldn't put our fingers on, that thing that sparked passion
Because all you are now, is a skeleton.
A skeleton with so many ghosts, war veterans, teachers and teenage girls that I used to know,
even me.
That old version of me who skipped, smiled and run her fingers through her hair
she dances through the corridors when no-one else is there.
Along they came. Dress you up, ready for business. That's one thing I learned from this, patch yourself up, make yourself look okay and no-one will realise how broken you are. No.
No, they won't notice the graffiti marks of those who have been,
on your skin.
No, they won't notice those damp patches,
in the corner,
of your eye.
They didn't notice how your ribs creaked as you let out a sigh,
your final goodbye.
They certainly didn't notice when you closed your eyes to die,
my skeleton...
I remember when you comforted me from the world with soft, warm arms and friendly words.
I remembered how you nurtured us and watched us grow.
A loving kiss on the cheek and off we go, but I couldn't let you go.
So here I stayed to watch you drift away with each passing day as they measured your waist,
for the suit.
Pull it in tighter.
A stitch here,
a stitch there.
Tighter.
Iron out the crease.
Tighter.
No room to breathe.
The suit may not cover your face, but it is a mask, covering up mistakes.
The mistake of your missing heart, the drive, the ambition.
The mistake of your missing eyes, seeing goodness in the world, giving beauty to the hopeless.
And the mistake of your missing smile, inspiration for lost souls trying to find their way home.
But you, you were home to me, my skeleton.
Now however much you lose or decay, you will never go away.
You will always be there, a ghost in my memory.
My loving skeleton who is now in a suit.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
You,
you cried
it hurts
to write
that tears
they fell
from leaving eyes
waving once
twice
more tears
on stairs
that creaked,
"Goodnight."
Your word
a sword
my throat
my legs
went out
fell down
and you
were gone
you left
me there
with darkened stares
that night
no more
would stars
streak skies.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
You came to me many times
In distress and in shambles
I held you close and gave comfort
I let you sadly ramble
I was there for you
In loneliness, grief, and success
You were there for me as well
When life gave me the hardest test
But what I could not see
You hid behind a veil
It distorted what I saw
It corrupted that which I felt
This veil of sorts
I would call it a mask
Allowed you to take things from me
As you creaked in from the back
You snuck up behind me
You defiled what I confided
It wasn't my friendship you were after
It was the one that betrayed me in which you were guided
This mask it so blocked
That which I could not see
Your eyes of deceit
And your face as it gleamed
For the one that was not
For the one that was coarse
It gleamed for the one
That one to whom you showed remorse
Of all the time we spent
Bonding and growing
It is with her now
Her now with which you are moaning
In the bed which her and I shared
Many a heated and passionate night
To where my unmentionables were stored
In her body so tight
Live your life with one eye
As it looks out far and beyond
For it is I that will be creaking
Creaking up behind you one morn.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
Boudicca, long hair tangled and bunched; fiery flame red hair.
Warrior queen of the Iceni, daughter of these isles of tin.
Defender of freedom, leader of men, slayer of legions.
Through the mist the Britons, Celtic in origin; saw the legions.
Row upon row of tightly packed troops, shields locked together!
Flanked on either side by cavalry. Above the silence orders could
Be heard echoing across the field, the leather harness’s creaked
Metal chinking, horses stomping and snorting, in the stillness.
Through the mist came the first rays of sunlight glinting on sharpened
Swords and spearheads; horns began to blow as the steady
Stomp of the legions moved forward in formation.
Boudicca’s eyes peered out from a face of blue woe. Bow strings
In turn began to creak death, as archers pulled back on their bows.
A slow chant from the Iceni, slow at first, began to build into a crescendo
Of noise, as the boom, boom of sword and axe rapped against wood shields.
Boudicca flame haired warrior queen stood proud and fearless on her chariot;
Daughters on each side of her, defiant against Gaius Suetonius Pauline’s
And the might of Rome.
Oh what a sight it must have been!
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
This one time, my mom
and I said goodbye
to Juan's mom and we
walked from her apartment
to wait for the elevator.
Mom didn't like it
when I wouldn't stand still-
sometimes she'd smack me
upside my head just to
make sure I was there
(accompanied by her
motherly calls of malcriado)-
so I'd look in any direction
for a distraction or two.
Through the window a few feet
from my left, I could see two
older ladies in curler hairdresses
bochinchando like caffeinated hens
about the awfully friendly suelta
living next door to gallina #1
(they hung their hand-me-down
nightgowns and their husband's
boxers with such professional care;
if any article escaped the grasp
of family clotheslines, it was
roadkill forever).
I turned to the right
of the elevator doors,
counted the tar-black patches
of decade-old gum on the floor,
finished the half-written
sentences sprayed in *****
rainbows on the sweaty walls
by the zig-zag flight of stairs.
A boom and a click,
and the door creaked open
with the sideways grace
of a crab.
My toddler's impatience
boiled past the brim, I
exclaimed "FINALLY"
and began to walk forward.
Not a second later, I heard a
"NO" behind me, my mother
grabbing the back of my
cartoon mouse t-shirt,
letting out an ay cono, pendejo
that echoed eight stories down,
past the empty space substituting
for an absent elevator shaft,
soaring down that rusty freefall
at ten thousand times the
speed of a human boy's body.
Letting out a long exhale,
my mother did not allow
her emotions to brim over
the barrier-she recomposed
herself, all the while silently
chanting hymns of gratitude
in dedication to fate
and her reflexes.
We decided to take the stairs.
In my youthful oblivion,
I noticed a toy store
right outside the building
from the corner of my eye-
I plan to start begging when
we're at the bottom,
if we ever get there.
My mother took her sweet time
walking down those many steps,
reveled in the scratchy bristle
of the concrete against her sandals,
cultivated a newfound admiration
for my atonal imitation of a
Washington Heights car alarm-
it was a sign I was still there.
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC
I'd walk out across
Even if
There was nothing but water on the other side
Where the lamps break and explode on the surface
And the night birds swoop low, near me.
If you were never there and
The cloud behind your silhouetted frame was complete
Without you
Full in its colored whiteness and
Billowing lines
I would still look and maybe
Smile.
If the wooded planks, missing here or there
Below my padding feet and scraping jeans
Creaked half as much, silent under nothing,
Quiet with no feet behind me
Yours
I would walk forward still
Crisscrossing here or there and meandering
around.
I would
And I wouldn't
Between the glass of the bottle and the asphalt
In the sound of
Their touch
In that moment when the music turns stale
When I know I'll soon
Want for home
I wouldn't.
And in that place
Where soft and quiet
In know and understand
I would, and I would not.
Hereafter, I deny.
Hold me home
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
{~~~}
With every throbbing moment
I can hear you sing
Don't sing as loud as my heart please
I've been chasing my tail
The space between has never been so daunting
Let me close it
Zip Zip
The colours
Dripping off voices
Sweet and Salty
Come back as you were
Like how you are in my head
I'll sing with you
To the silver
Awhoooooo
You say ice had lists
Fire had regrets
What remains of littered bones
Break
Break
Snap like little bones please
You don't know how lovely you are
Can you answer me in the dark then?
Fade like my sorrow
Rush back to the start
The start of loving
Back to when I had taken a drink
Of youthful water
It tastes like metal
Metal and blood
Dragon scales
Night prevails
Black and white wings
Creaked with wood
Cracked with suffer
Come up and tell me
What do you hear?
Sweet
or
Salty?
Oh
This is how I feel when I'm with you
You are my Drug
{~~~}
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
I walked a lonely path once,
through mountains and valleys,
through deserts and woods,
till I stumbled upon a crooked cabin.
You sat on the front porch,
silent.
Yet you're smiled screamed,
"come in."
And so I did.
The floor was shaky,
and creaked with every step I took.
You offered me a bed,
my own little nook.
I smiled and accepted,
and quietly, I rested.
When I woke in the morning,
I found your on the porch yet again.
You smiled and stared at me and I stared back,
then you asked if I'd be you're friend.
We spent years in the crooked cabin,
painting walls like waterfalls.
Trickling down to the ground.
We planted flowers,
and trees,
and watched the bees,
as they thanked us the flowers,
with golden honey.
I could never leave,
I was at peace,
until one morning,
I opened my eyes...
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
The flames were so high, Byron was fighting hard against them, to no avail."Megan"!,"Megan"!, screaming her name, he felt engulfed, and light headed.A thousand thoughts raced through his head, panic, seering pain with every breath he took, call an ambulance, Megan,s screams cut through him like lasers, she was trapped, scared, how must she be feeling right now?
Wood crackled, metal creaked, echos, lights, sirens!
Byron jumped, bolt upright in bed,"O **** SHIT",another nightmare, each one bringing his memory closer to what happened in their cottage they had built together.
Byron was working from Leeds, commuting to Killough, his favourite village in Ireland, well, it had to be, it's where he and Megan had met. He'd planned to run the architecture business from home.HA!, home, where was that?, he wasn't sure anymore.
As Byron strolled into the bathroom, turning on the shower he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.Almost forgetting the scars he had aquired from the fire, those visible reminders that his electrician was skimming from the funds, cutting corners, greedy little ******* The sight was gone from his right eye, and his face bore severe scarring right down to the collar bone. A small price to pay, at least he made it out alive.
He made a mental note to get back to Killough, this very night, to see Megans grave.He'd settle for anything, any reminder of Megan, she was slipping away from him, he couldn't have that, ever...another reason for moving to Killough.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 7:11 AM UTC
Pink Hotel
and behind some bitter, white picket fence
she sat
actually, she stalled.
Tapped her feet on the pavement, cuddled the curb in her ripped dress.
She wore pink in her hair,
little slivers of an innocent, chapped lip.
a dying pink.
The fence creaked with the interrupting wind.
and she stood, danced across the street.
cracked hands gripping frigid door handles,
come on in.
Torn garments, wisps of pink flying from her head,
she felt pretty in pink,
third grade, mother-just-bought-a-new-bow pretty,
innocent, dad-bought-me-glittery-shoes pretty.
Painless pretty.
Sane pretty.
No more
he-just-wants-to-see-me-bare pretty,
he-gives-me-lots-of-drinks pretty,
Worthless pretty.
Lost pretty.
Pink matter that drips onto a glass floor,
everyone can see through it,
through her.
What is it, woman?
she gave her hand to a solo cup,
So alone.
Pink drink, it’s good for you,
good to me.
To the third floor,
and lay down.
do you like the pink?
He always said I looked good with pink.
-C.M Aldecoa
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
**** you.
All of your
b r o k e n
promises,
And stupid lies.
I sat there many nights, calling
And wondering where you were.
I hoped that you were with your friends.
But, God, I knew you were with her.
You smelt like her when you sat by me
And the floors creaked Cheater, Cheater
I thought that I would get over it,
But then I was able to see her.
Greasy face, and stringy hair,
Oh my, is that the best you could do?
But those yellow gapped teeth come back to me,
I guess she deserves you.
So you left and went to her
And I thought it was because of me.
Is it wrong that I can't stop laughing?
You're betrayal has given me glee.
She ****** another in his bed,
While you waited around for her.
So I guess the sides have been turned.
Tell me, Darling, does it hurt?
So, Sweetheart, with the fire red hair,
Whose name makes my stomach churn,
Tell me, did you ever think that
A ginger boy could burn?
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
i peed in the attic because the stairs creaked
and your roommates were asleep
your hair licked your earlobes
and your mouth was rough
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
I went back to that bookstore last Friday
Because I told myself I missed it
I was always so fascinated by the secrets
hidden between splinters in the old wood bookshelves
And the fleeting thoughts scribbled hastily
onto the ripped pages of old romance novels
That bookstore always reminded me a lot of you
In the way that it went practically unnoticed its entire existence
Yet it was still so fascinating inside
The floorboards creaked with every step
As if trying to remind you that they exist
And all of the good books hid on the top shelves
Just out of reach
Those shelves seemed to hold more mystery
more love, more passion, more life
Than any human being could ever comprehend
The lights would flicker just as your eyes did when you woke up in the morning
and you could hear their soft hum
Filling these halls with life
It reminded me of your shallow breathing
As you used to lay asleep so gently beside me
And I used to come in everyday to read new books
But there were so many
And if it took the rest of my life
I was determined to read each and every last one
And I went back to that bookstore last Friday
Because I told myself I missed it
But maybe I just miss you
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
Last night,
meant to
loosen
the bulb
I wrapped
my hands
in woven
cloth, and
coaxed the
moon down
instead
It creaked,
blushed,
and fainted
slipped into
my palm,
like a lover.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 4:01 AM UTC
Meet me under the 'Clock Tower'.......’you said’ cold....
The missing sun hibernated, could not melt your denial
Your promise smudged, felt its docile absence
And I knew....gathered in moss, under the stone of lies.
Mistrust hung itself, swung above the entrance....rivalling
My happy cove. It creaked to a heartbeat....b-bump, b-bump
Shelling out memories like peas. I recalled the very first time
I captured your eyes, the hesitation we felt......to blink and turn away
A thief stole and robbed the essence of you ......no stone
Unturned...I absorbed the waiting, dragged my heavy soles
Where is your foot print? Your imprint prescribed for my wellbeing
Two to be taken each day....preparing the cradles that rock my feet
Absurd, now I look back, that your word of promise...pretended
You named her "Constance", or was that the 'She woman'
I glimpsed you attached to last week. When huddled
Together under your 'love' umbrella, soaked in one another
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
The steps still creaked
Even though the breathe on my neck has been stale for a week
I miss you more than ever
Severed by ties uncompressing measures
I just want you to come back home
I can show you how much Ive grown
So much I can show
Im a different person,
I learned from my mistakes and less will be made
Without you
Is like driving on the fumes of gasoline
From which has become empty
Right before you drove to end of the earth with me
We’re different from other couples
Without all of the ********
Without any titles
Were just homegrown lovers caught between the cycles
Of peace and suffer
Life or death
Love or Hate
Its not that the world is a bad place but sometimes Im left with a bad taste
In my mouth I can still feel your tongue ever so soft rolling around
As does mine
Feeling your heart beat as we disregard the oh so punctual time
It doesn’t matter when Im with you
We could drive with no destination
Talk with nothing thought of as a conclusion
You know what I mean?
Something about you changes me
Like the sun when it sets on the trees
Do you remember that day?
It was perfect
Everything Ive ever wanted
Just the two of us watching the verses of the world change
Into a symphonic chores blowing our minds to an oblivion away
If only you could see what I see
What crawls in the bed with me
Just to feel my ever rising heart beat
I miss that
I mean,
I miss you
I miss you more than ever
The way your smile crinkles your nose
Your eyes so bright when we used to get ******
Together!
Soft meadows of apple blossom skin,
Just a touch and Im off on a binge
I can’t get enough of the way you make me feel
Your love is truly my drug
Im sorry for yelling
Im sorry for telling you all of those things I didn’t mean
In a way that made you slam the door and leave
Me alone
In this house, just a haunted memory of a door being closed and you’re gone forever
Nothing but the memories to make me better
Only for a moment
Like a cigarette you think you’ll just have one
You think it’ll be fun
But then your hooked
I know this seems crazy
I know I wouldn’t say it
I was scared you wouldn’t believe it
I was scared you might forget it
But I love you with more of my heart then I can handle
I feel myself slipping away as though the sedatives have finally found my still so sober veins
I might not wake from this
I might not see you again
Just promise me one thing
Love with all your heart, and soon birds will begin to sing
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
amid scurrying feet
in the whirling humanity
with divided aims
and sizzling brains
she paused with singularity of purpose
never in a hurry, more at peace
on a park bench, alone
bent and weird, she sat.
when she moved
her bones creaked
on rusty hinges!
ragged in dress, torn in body,
face scourged by Time,
its contours deep like ravines
her withered *******
hanging like nests of tailor birds
hair lying disheveled,
with eyes shrouded in mist
she looked out into the sinking sun,
never dreading the darkness that falls
the park bench was her temporary halt
she sat there every evening
determined to live on,
with the coins habitually dropped
into her outstretched hands
by those sailing past her
unobtrusive self.
like a monument of patience
she sat.
sat, so alone!
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
I miss that place
Where I used to be:
My childhood land
With the lilac tree.
I miss that grass,
And those golden fields,
The times we used twigs
For our makeshift shields.
I miss that pond,
With the brand-new deck,
Where we’d use a canoe
To make our trek.
I miss that barn,
With the musty stalls,
Which I never minded,
Never minded at all.
I miss the house
On the big, tall hill
With the dark green shutters
Above the windowsills.
I miss our swings
And the climbing tree
That stained our hands
And feet and knees.
I miss the horses
And their comforting smell
With sparkling eyes that
Held my secrets well.
I miss the path running
Through the woods
Where I skipped and laughed
As lively as I could.
I miss my grandfather
and his good ol’ dogs
and doing chores
and catching frogs.
I miss my grandmother
And her sweet smile
As I sat in her kitchen
And did dishes awhile.
I miss those strays,
The cats we had,
Whose kittens we’d catch
And get scratched real bad.
I miss those days
As we lay in the sun
Soaking up all the rays
And just having our fun.
I miss those cats,
And their colorful fur,
Especially Buttercup,
My favorite, her.
I miss dear Grandma
And her warm hugs
And her talent and her laugh
And her homemade rugs.
I miss ol’ Gramps,
And his mischievous ways
and him talkin’ fast
and us balin’ the hay.
I miss that path
That meandered in the trees
Where the branches creaked
And whispered in the breeze.
I miss the horses,
And the bridle leather
And feeding them oats
In all kinds of weather.
I miss the swing,
All knotted and worn,
And the mulberry tree
Where our clothes were torn.
I miss that hill,
With our little house,
That held just us
And sometimes a mouse.
I miss that barn
With the stalls and hayloft
Where the sparrows gathered
And the hay was soft.
I miss the pond
Where my favorite horse died
And I sat next to the water
And I remember I cried.
I miss the grass
That grew thin and tall
And hid all the bugs
And stole our baseballs.
I miss that place
From my childhood,
But I’ll never forget it.
I don’t think I could.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 5:57 PM UTC