"cubbies" poems
I. the smell of sad
odorless colorless like ***** similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling sadding, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will S’s),
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,
still stink
don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger ****** your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I,
who has your sadness smell into my skin cells creepily crept
waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face
there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can **** all
this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present***
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
With Lackey and Heyward both turning blue
The Chicago Cubs scored a mighty big coup
Kind of a payback for Brock, comma Lou?
What, oh what are the Cardinals to do?
We’re pretty sad, say the fans dressed in red,
That both of those guys chose Chicago instead
But a person would have to be daft in the head
To give up the St. Louis Cardinals for dead.
Yes, the Cubbies think that they have enough
But the whole NL Central is pretty **** tough,
Which team do you think will have the right stuff?
To win in September, when winning gets rough?
2016 will be pretty fun.
There’s quite a Division race to be run
When game 162 is finished and done
We will see which team, the most games, has won.
Yes, next year the race will be closely contended
During the season you might have me un-friended
But in winter time, our rivalry suspended
We can cheer for the Bears till their season is ended.
Phil Lindsey 12/12/15
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Summer’s time has come and gone
The walls, floorboards release a yawn
With nine months then to recoup, recover
From being a home, just for the summer.
Eloquent memories freshly remain
Of friends who nestled within her frame
A cabin of bunk beds, cubbies, fresh air
Where girls unwound with little a care.
Her crevice now holds a left-behind letter
Whose parchment hardens with winter’s weather
Yet the season’s sleet knows the warmer reflection
Of late night secrets and encouraged imperfection.
Spring has sprung most slowly for some
The evergreens exclaim a harmonious hum
Her wooden steps defrost, and patiently await
The coming of campers to the cardinal state.
Fall, winter, and spring all pass
Warm rays have woken the mountains at last
Each cabin’s frame stands taller, *****
While girls, all ages, reconnect.
Anna Blake
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
O, mosaic of my oft marveled at Mosie
You fade away as swift as the windstorm enters
Mosaic, I've built you up in my mind's cubbies
And you permeate through my brain's centers
Every experience boiled itself into me
Constructing a picture of you that I could see
Which I could consult when I reached difficulty
Or whose answer I could envision in monotony
O, Mosaic, you quickly go, as hurt intrudes
The pain pervades all points of space
It destroys you and ceaselessly protrudes
Gone are the days when I'd see your face and caress it
Gone are the prayers we'd hold up our relationship and bless it
And now gone is your magnificent mosaic
Even though it pains me just to say it
O, Healing, come faster than your predecessor
May you permeate the place we made and become its successor
And, God, can You be real and continue to bless her?
As your mosaic fades away
Dreams of tomorrow thus can't stay
As your mosaic breathes its last breath
Let us exhale that last sigh
The one we always talked about before our death
This time, drifting further and farther apart
This time, holding our aching and breaking hearts
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC
There's a temperamental rainbow
he's seen, peeking out now and again, when
it's not shyly hid in cumulus cubbies.
He might, he can, win its sparkly trust,
luring it to him, between rainy bouts,
with promises of mood-altering
medication. Then, clapped with a lightning
clout, he'll stuff it in ten-gallon tubs
to struggle, bawl, and futilely fill
his deviant's plan. For in that muffle
of tinted pleas, its droppered breath will
condense against lids clamped-down tight,
and bottoms can collect sunny flavors
he needs to slather on the lolling
tongue of his too humdrum day-to-day.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
Doll house sized window
with voices passing by
weaving in and out
of consciousness
sleeps a losing battle
in cubbies like these
you crawl into bed
bury yourself beneath sheets
and forget the noise outside
forget the the things that crawl in the walls
forget the *** you hear next door
forget the chastity belt you locked yourself
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
On December 14, 2012
Children hid in cubbies,
They hid in shelves.
Teacher's surrounded
And spoke them kind words,
For out in the halls,
The shots could be heard.
Just an elementary school
Filled with laughter and joy,
Was stripped of its fun
All because of one boy.
A tear fell from America's eyes,
As we heard the news,
For now twenty-six angels,
Our country did lose.
Newtown, Connecticut
Will never be the same.
Engraved in its heart,
Is sorrow and pain.
Twenty children,
Six adults.
They didn't deserve it,
They weren't at fault.
Now all of our hearts
Are filled with sorrow,
We never expected
They wouldn't see tomorrow.
Twenty-six angels
On a friday, flew away.
Rest easy, sweet angels.
In our hearts you will stay.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
This might sound like a thing, but it's absolutely true.
The library is the perfect place to get away from all the noise.
Sure, the front desk can be a noisy spot.
And the computer keyboards might be loud when you use them.
But the private cubbies that always have your back turned.
So you know you will always have your privacy.
You don't have to worry about someone talking to you.
Everyone is here to studying, read, or just get away for a while.
And as I sit here, with 13 minutes of computer time left, I am happy.
I know that when this is over, I would have been here for 3 hours.
Well, not quite, but about 3 hours, I got here around 11.
And once my time is up, I will text my grandmother, and she'll come get me.
I know this, because that's the plan we made when we first did this.
Yesterday, I didn't have a plan for the library.
I just knew that I wanted to come here, if not the animal shelter.
The animal shelter is where I'll be going tomorrow.
But that's a different conversation entirely.
As I was saying, I came into the library at around 12:10 yesterday.
I didn't know what I was planning on doing.
Well, that's not true, I came here to get some Japanese studying done.
I sat down at a cubbie, put in my earphones, and turned on Spotify.
I played through almost a full playlist, and filled out almost two pages.
After that, I decided to put my library card to good use.
I found a few books, started to read one, and decided to check them out.
I wasn't even close to leaving, but I wanted to get it out of the way.
The self-checkout wasn't working, so my anxiety was tested.
I had to go up to the front desk, and talk to someone.
Now, I was very nervous, but the person was very nice to me.
I ended up getting a new library card, then went back to the self-checkout.
The first two books worked, but the other one wouldn't go through.
So I had to confront my fear of people for the second time.
I did, and finally had three books to take back to my cubbie.
I started reading a book on Anxiety, and started making notes.
Then I read my other book, then the last one.
Then I checked my social media, played on some apps on my phone.
Then, it was time to go, and I wrote down the order I had done it.
I went with that order today, but instead of the phone games, I came here.
I now have four minutes left, so I have to get going.
What I'm getting at here, is that I also wrote down this plan today.
And I plan on doing this every other day I come here.
What I'm trying to say, is that I was able to plan out my time here.
And I was able to do it on my terms, and I got things done.
The library is a really useful and friendly place.
Okay, I'm gonna go now.
Two minutes left, I'm gonna sign off.
The library is a nice and quiet place.
Enjoy the time you spend in whatever library you go to.
Okay, bye.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
We lived in an old home
with a
big fire place
Perfect for our children
who could run and play
in its big open space
Their laughter wonderful
as they rode though the bush
They'd climbed tress
build cubbies
go camping
do whatever they wished
You could even drop a line
in the dam
and try to catch a fish
Bush out the back
Orchard out the front
The kids would canoe
Dive off the pontoon
Even go on a big frog hunt
Life in the hills was perfect
an awsome place
for our children to play
Days swimming
and snockling
Wanting their friends
to come and stay
It's a place they hold dear
to their hearts
It was really sad to leave
and make a new start
But they have wonderful memories
of the old house in the bush
I'm so glad
our children grew up there
and could do
whatever they wished
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
today
all the little yellow cubbies are full,
and i cannot breathe.
i'm walking
quickly
knees bending
boots scuffing
head down
my throat is closing
constricting
choking.
i can't remember how my face looks
i'm afraid the panic inside me
is creeping out
everyone
is looking
at me.
some kid
is sitting in my cubby
playing a game on his phone
not caring that i
NEED that cubby
i am lost
without it.
i want to pick him up
throw him out
run
away.
i go down one isle of books
up another...
trying to look
like i belong
my chest is a black hole
******* in all the faces
shoes
clothes
hair
multiplying them
until i cannot breathe
i can't ever just be me
i have to be
what they want to see
help.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
In elementary school
we had
cubbies
We were small children then.
Now we put stuff
in our
cupboards
We pronounce that as cubberds
Now think of how many times
you have added "ies" to a word
when speaking to a small child
Do you have your sockies?
Where did you put you stuffies?
...
Put your backpack in your cubbies
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 8:59 AM UTC
always looking out
never looking in
availing me so,
I musn’t begin
broad smile,
not a tear to be shed
Your Mind
ever seemingly fed
what can I do?
to Force your eyes wide,
noticing the importance to see
not just for me
Jaw rusted shut
implications shading absolution
should tongue’s shackle break,
awaiting The Remark
to paint you a fool,
availing prophecy
those words drone true
heart strings ache
foreseeing
our cubbies tumble and quake
pitted muttering rings again
Consciousness lurks in The Fog
existence:
concerning not,
Purpose, a fleeting thought
a lighthouse I am,
through vessels never follow
their bellies shockingly hollow
To Fry
our alabaster shells:
Crippled,
by mankind’s burden
a miniature sun
nestled in a basin.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
through little roads tired car pokes
on the track to Ordinary Joe's
gatecrasher, purple shuttered, fort
between two white picket fence houses
tucked up half-pint box out of line on the line
in cold, squeezed, lemonade
sweet spring ambrosia to the lip
of deep green blanket children sit on, play on
running around shoes and socks
thrown on sidewalk hot as frying pan
crack an egg/hear it sizzle
dotted trees all the same side to side
rooms hide in cramped spaces like cubbies
slips of lip like butter roll off snake tongues
daggers pointed
circus act on display or an animal in the zoo
that doesn't fit in this topsy-turvy slide-show
called life
hackneyed stares glued in place on childish faces
like a match of heads or tails
cupped hands carry quarters for crank candy jars
at mall, or pick-up sticks snatched from floor
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
It is vitally important
That you find somewhere to hide.
If you can't manage it in private,
You must at least try in public.
Find all the round, yellow little cubbies you can
Pray they are unoccupied.
If, in fact, they aren't...
Wander, pointedly examining the floor,
A wall,
Your phone
Until you find a cracked
Worn
Red one.
Slink unnoticed into it,
Keep your head low
And let the grody,
Curved
White wall
Protect you.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
upon the witching hour,
the delirious stroke of noon...
i promptly
lost
my
mind.
i rambled up and down the library isles
trying to find
somewhere to hide.
all my precious yellow cubbies
were full of degenerates
texting on their phones
talking too loudly
for a library
unknowing of the fact
that if i didn't have my yellow cubby
i didn't have an anchor.
i guess i'm ok now
some odd, flightly demon
tried me on for a bit
made it hard to breathe
hard to think
hard to
be
but once i looked in the mirror
saw my freckles
my speckled eyes
my friendly nose
i knew
what i was once more.
it wasn't the one girl standing next to me, washing her chapped hands
talking to me about english class
that brought me back
it was me
all me.
i raised myself
from the dead
all i did
was lift my head.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
On December 14, 2012
Children hid in cubbies,
They hid in shelves.
Teacher's surrounded
And spoke them kind words,
For out in the halls,
The shots could be heard.
Just an elementary school
Filled with laughter and joy,
Was stripped of its fun
All because of one boy.
A tear fell from America's eyes,
As we heard the news,
For now twenty-six angels,
Our country did lose.
Newtown, Connecticut
Will never be the same.
Engraved in its heart,
Is sorrow and pain.
Twenty children,
Six adults.
They didn't deserve it,
They weren't at fault.
Now all of our hearts
Are filled with sorrow,
We never expected
They wouldn't see tomorrow.
On December 14, 2012,
One special angel
Flew away from me.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
Dear Mr. Postman,
I wonder what it's like when you see the bills.
Do you feel the urge to pay them?
Or when you see college letters,
do you feel anxious to know the decision?
When we get adverts,
do you judge us?
When you see the handwritten cards,
do you also feel the sense of home?
I know you have other homes to mail,
other cubbies to fill,
but if you looked a little closer,
maybe you'll see the life of our family unfolding before your very eyes.
I forget that they switch who gets Postman for the day.
There must be a secret meeting where everyone calls dibs on which street each person gets.
I hope that you always vote to fill our street, just so you could say hi to box again.
But I can only wish for such a thing.
I want your name to always be Damian,
but the truth is it changes from Mark to Steven,
from Dana to Christine,
and from Taylor to Lennon.
Goodbye Mr. Postman,
stop by the house one day.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing
Goes the bell flashing in the skittering crowd.
Surrounded by a ghost town, abandoned and forgetful.
Lined paper flutters through the hallway.
Empty cinder-block walls tower over the laminate,
Windowless cubbies cling onto their half-working outlets.
Irritation pulses in a scurry from jaw to wrist and ankle.
Aimlessly meandering through the tallied ceiling tiles,
Tired eyes weigh heavily on a dirtyy blackboard.
As empty seats are filled.
riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 4:36 PM UTC
The same way kids cradle colored construction paper from their kindergarten cubbies,
I grasped onto a sheet of notebook paper and began to write letters to you.
I wrote intricate messages all night,
gently painting the pages with verbs and adjectives that are brighter hues than the ones I've been wielding for years.
There's foliage in my heart where I thought it had perished.
Darling, you are the one that continued to nurture the garden when there were pesticides pumping through my veins.
I never seemed to notice how much I adored the rain.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC