"earmuffs" poems
Clinking of ink bottles
Scratching of quills
Rustling of paper
Pouring out knowledge
Sweating students
Angry teachers
Swatting of fleas
No more patience
Old mad bat suddenly
Shouting
"Bring me the earmuffs!!"
Laughing, crying, farting
Interupting the quiteness
"Why would you ask that?"
Principal Harpy asks
"Surely it isn't winter"
"Goodness me, have I said that out aloud?"
"I take it back!"
"Kindly continue with your exams"
But no matter, nothing was the same.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
With a wide demographic of *******
There's average, massive or missing
There are ******* to nibble and tweak at
And cleavages perfect for kissing
But I'm of a practical nature
And with just a little persistence
I'll give you a host of good reasons
To justify ******* existence
They're perfect for warming your hands up
When the gas meter's run out of gas
And there's little that's better to look at
When there's no chance of seeing an ***
Elasticity makes them ideal
For displays and arrangements of flowers
And if you find yourself short of your bus fare
Then they radiate magical powers
You can use then for counting in binary
Or a pillow with mild central heating
And they're perfect for holding a bottle
To keep safe while you're busily eating
As a pair of provocative earmuffs
You'll be envied by all of your friends
Just be sure to take optional tassels
In case one of the ******* offends
You can hollow one out for an ashtray
Or a skullcap for cutting edge Jews
You can throw them about like a Frisbee
There are just so many options to choose
But they're useful right where they're located
And not just to tickle and tease
Just give them a couple of decades
And you'll find them protecting your knees
MWAH! x
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Ray LaMontagne - Hold You In My Arms
"I could hold you in my arms, I could hold you forever."
In this hidden corner of my world
Anything
could happen
woven Guatemalan Frisbee
with a lonely older man
talking about dank and his ex-wife
sweet vanilla coffee with a shot of something fruity
smoking in the wind
bot support Ashe
I use a trackpad
fingerless mittens and fuzzy knit earmuffs
they double as headphones
metal and country and sappy romantic pop ballads
gauges piercings tattoos flannels beanies band tees and scene girlfriends
gossip about the bar next door
bashing the outer world
this is utter peace
catching the eye of an attractive stranger
in the mirrors behind the bar
My stomach feels tender from too much coffee
my head buzzes with nicotine
caffeine
My purging week of healthy choices ended
with hash browns, french toast
too much ketchup and 6 packets of sugar in my coffee
Denny's
skeleton string lights and chalkboard walls
abstract photography and everyone plugged in
this is my escape
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Merry go-rounds
Twirl around the sky
Shut down ice-cream posts and
Repressed flower petals
Crisscrossed hands and
Popsicle sticks
Loitering the salt-stained pavement
Glints of late-night squares in
Skyscrapers which brush the clouds
The crunch of diseased leaves and the
Distant honks and whistles
In chaotic, zig-zag traffic
Snow falls silently
Its fingertips landing on
Windbreakers and cotton mittens
Of children
With red cheeks and
Exasperated smiles
Chasing after frozen-pond ducks
With tongues extended and catch
Soft white water
Winter dampens the sidewalk cracks
And chills the abandoned earmuffs
But winter will not
And can not
Dampen or
Freeze or
Abandon the spirits
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
The first time you hear a gunshot in person is a coming-of-age event. Where were you when you heard it? Standing behind your dad, wearing earmuffs and protective glasses while he showed you how to brace for the recoil of a 12 guage shotgun? Going into a shooting range to learn self defense and studying everyone else because you're too nervous to ask how you're supposed to stand or how you're supposed to hold it? On the street in the dark with your friends, walking through the rough part of the neighborhood to prove how big your sack was? Blam. Bright light. Blam. Total darkness. Blam. Bright light. Three shots. A total of 2.3 seconds has gone by. You are suddenly years older, because of how much those 2.3 seconds of time ages you. Your friend's injured. Blam. Get down. Blam. Go home. 1.8 seconds. Everything is silent now. The only sound is the ringing in your ears, followed by the peeling tires of the vehicle. Smoke hangs motionless in the air. In your head, in your room later that night, in the hospital to bring one of them poorly stated "Get well soon" cards and in the graveyard to bring the other one flowers, you only hear one sound. Blam. Four years later. Training on a range with soldiers. Have the drill sergeant scream in your face that you don't know what it's like to watch your best friend take a bullet in the battlefield. Compose yourself. Two years later, walking to work through the bad part of a different city. You already know it's going to happen. This time, it's not to you, or to anyone you know, but you hear it anyways and you think of the first time. Unfortunately, it's not the first time we all like to think about, which is usually a backseat, or your parents basement, or in the school bathroom, no, this one's a bang that's much less enjoyable. We're told not to talk about it. We live in fear of it. A constant fear. You start to feel unsafe where you live. Better go by a gun.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
My head on another desk
Grandpa’s words echo between my
Ears – somewhere – spanning tired
Fatigue
‘listen to your teachers’
Traffic, static mumbles somewhere
Beyond the glass walls of this
crucible
Quiet civilians desensitised
To the sound –
Reminds me – of the sound of the
Urban sea
Through a conch shell.
The carpeted walls muffle my mind –
Like earmuffs absorbing my
Words and thoughts
Jumping electron shells in an
Excited state of bored
Releasing the light of light –
Light-hearted scribblings.
I confer with an open page
He offers lines and I typeface
The space I need in solitary
Confines of the brain.
Soon I will be called – and
Questioned in expectation –
What crime have I committed?
But heavy exhalation
[I wonder how many modest
Strangers I could irritate with
Heavy breathing?? Maybe but I’ll
Try another day, alright? – awake]
Right now the sigh is in my mind
As I consciously start myself again.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
I would suggest
Staring blankly at the wall
Matching socks or playing cards
(Something like that)
Something important
Until I'm gone
I would suggest
Turning your heart over and over like a turkey on a rotisserie for three days
Until it's burnt all the way through and the nerve endings are too charred to feel anything for me anymore
I would suggest knitting earmuffs for the antennae of your tv
Because it gets cold at night
And I want you to get reception to your favorite Portuguese children shows
Maybe I'm a saint for wanting you to be happy
Maybe I'm a martyr for wanting to be the one that makes you happy
I don't think happiness and my soul can co-exist in your heart
I was made for something a little bit darker than the stars of your eyes
I think that much was proven when I fell from grace into the hell-scarred arms of another
I am a creature of darkness
Because you are light
And I have been driven away
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
I placed the sheet music against my side
The hot iron of the notes beat their way inside
Every strike of the mallet crushing it’s way in
Such a sad song, what a terrible tune
It hung in the pit of my stomach
Held by the fluttering of two song birds
Both with wings plucked from their bodies
They read aloud the music like an anthem
Knew every tap in the ivory and stroke of the clock
I dream now with earmuffs,
Anything to lay to rest their somber songs
Watch the ceiling as it spins and shakes
The eggshell cracking with every blink in the night
I’ve forgotten what it is to breath, the taste of a sunlit shoulder,
All I do now is play audience to their noise
No longer can I even hear my voice
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
*I own the ears of a muskrat and fox fur earmuffs
with $35.00 I didn't own and didn't make
and didn't catch or **** prey, and yet I reap the benefits*
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
[Click]
“–ll now and you can win a Dream vacation, with the Artist himself! For those of you just tuning in, this is yet another hit by Grammy-nominated singer/songwriter Sam Cole, on MTVChristmas. Here’s The Slime of the Ancient Caroler”
♫ I am an iamb man, I am
and so it’s come to haunt
such will be the meter for
My Christmastime account
I do beg you not give haste
I know you’re on your way
But I’ll be quick, as not to waste
a minute of your day
the party, it can wait young sir
as all good things will do
my warning comes for times of myrrh
and a frankincent or two
Sit back or stand, relax your hands
now dawning is the time
when you must beware, of songs in air
of Ancient Car’lers slime
It all starts at first December
When she haunts the streets at night
Watching dying embers
Release their doom-ed light
That’s when she comes, dear little ones
bearing candles of her own
she brings the light, to cull your fright
from darkness cold as stone
sometimes her many fiends come with
to throw you off your guard
and though you’ll think “not dangerous”
that’s when the music starts
And O the ringing, singing bells
will melt into your soul
and heat the morning frost untill
your soul again is whole
but just when you release all of
the tensions from your mind
once upon a song of love
the devil hid behind
the devil with his might did peek
to celebrate your loss
that’s when you’ll see a beak, and he
the winged albatross
oh curs-ed you, ye albatross
hadst not thou’st had thy will?
This is time to wear the cross
why do you haunt me still?
Go now, children, beware the slime
be merry and be well
earmuffs now, avoid the rime
and singing Christabells ♫
“Whoa… that’s a hit that’s sure to be around for decades. You can pick up this single at any–”
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:07 PM UTC
With each tear that falls down your cheek, my heart breaks a little.
And as I stand watch a thousand miles across this lake that is compiled of the sorrows of those who condemn you, those who confine you to the smallest of boats, leaving you without a paddle, small frustration inside my soul is keeping quite.
Suppressing the raging fire that may or may not be blazing over the feelings inside my chest that act as an answer to the quiet torture that you suffer.
You fight your fires with deep breaths and words of wisdom but you and I both know that to those outsiders, your breath has been wasted.
Ignorance has presented itself to you as a new brand of earmuffs; tougher than a brick wall and more smothering than motherly love.
When you cry I often imagine what it would be like to drown in the flood of your frustrations and though you are miles away I can still feel it, leaving me soaked to the bone.
None of this is any of my business; it is not my place to be the lifeguard of that lake.
The saltiness of the water stings when it touches my soul giving off this feeling of urgency to throw you a life raft and pull you to my side.
I know that you are a good swimmer, but, maybe I will be your life guard anyway.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
There are clouds hanging around my head
And there is skin capturing my skull. I am boxed in. I can’t hear what you say when you speak.
This is not a problem when you have your hat with the earmuffs on and are momentarily deaf. When you have your hat on neither of us can hear.
Your hat has a pattern on it that looks like your skull
And so when you have it on you are like a deaf half-skeleton. This is when I feel the most need for lip-language, Morse code, when I want to drum my messages out on your skin. I say more when I lock my brain out of my skull and leave my body to its own devices.
You feel the bumps of earth trying to poke through the street
I know this because you had your earmuff hat on again this morning when you went walking outside
But even with your hearing gone, the street spoke to you, in bumps and ridges and edges and curbs and paint. You spoke its language back to it, feedback through
The soles of your feet.
You may be a little scraped up but you know the asphalt
Like a closed loop, like Saturn’s rings
Like the grooves of your favorite record.
I’ve seen you when you sleep, floating two inches above your covers. Your skin becomes yarn and it unravels, it waves, it ties itself around your ceiling fan.
Multi-colored yarn that twists and writhes and slides and knots itself until
The wavelength steadies and you are a solid telephone-line-stretch of yarn
Reaching straight across town.
I touch my end of the yarn and I whisper to the other end. Then I sit in the dark humid air.
I sit and I wait for the response.
This is when the clouds lift.
When the skin around my skull evaporates and I am left bare bones, unboxed.
When this happens
I hear the sound of Earth’s rotation
I hear your telephone-wire skin
I hear the closed loop
I hear Saturn’s rings
I hear the grooves of your favorite record
I hear the bumps in the asphalt.
I hear it all.
I am begging you to break your silence.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC
and I strive unsuccessfully , as you will see,
to write a romantic love poem,
you know the one , the kind that rhymes with the
moon and stars
hearts and tugging strings all those metaphors
for love safe and warm like a kitten
purr, all done up in honey, dripping
from my tongue
as words come more true from experience
sadly,
tonight I must refrain
put my pen down my earmuffs on
my short pants on
and once again
snuggle up to
my Labrador.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 6:29 AM UTC
A body full of rocket fuel
And rug burns on my knees
To all those out there I hurt,
This is my apology
I wish I could undo
Everything I’ve done wrong
But since no one’s listening
I only have this song
And I know all the sorrys in the world won’t be enough
Would it please you to see me in handcuffs?
I know the road to redemption will be rough
But I ask, to this plea, please don’t wear earmuffs
I live everyday in the horror, in the guilt
How did I weave this never-ending quilt
The world is caving in, the sky is falling down
I know I don’t belong to this world, to this town
I just want you to know I pray everyday
For the turning back of time
I never meant to cause you harm
All I can do is rhyme
And pray for forgiveness
Pray for forgiveness
A body full of rocket fuel
And rug burns on my knees
Cleanse me of unknown faults
You’re the ones that hold the keys
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
My experience doesn’t matter,
it’s cookie cutter, the typical growing-up story.
Fending off boys and snapping bra straps,
Pushing off voices pressing in,
a pair of earmuffs I can’t peel away.
My eyes know to dart around,
To look behind that bush, find the most direct, most lit path
The casual-not-so-accidental grab at parties,
too strong arms reaching for a hug that I can’t break out of,
crushing me in, sweat and too much cologne muffling my breaths
and then, thankfully they come, my friends swoop in,
fierce warriors, my sworn protectors.
I find safety in their arms.
We are bonded by shared experience,
multiplying daily in number.
Stand up, brush off your jeans, and put your hands to work,
find your voice.
I am not unique in my experience.
Those strong arms dripping sweat and cologne will reach for someone else,
a lesson must be learned and we will teach them
Put our voices proud, project them to the sky,
let them fall as comets, spreading fire,
and bringing us warmth and light
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
He always wrapped up
when he went outside.
Buttons up to the top,
scarf wrapped around twice.
Hat pulled down tight
with his earmuffs on,
skin windswept white,
all sunny summer long.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
The freeze returned, and I, no earmuffs on,
Expecting warmth, kissed by the sunlight’s dance,
Ice kissed my ear, poor cuddle in the dawn,
Curse the frozen, I’d melt if in warm hands.
The calendar, it turned with betrayal,
The promised spring, a kiss that never came,
‘Tis the season, of relationship fail,
Morning and night, that chill comes all the same.
Jack Frost nipping, but not what I deserve,
Frostbitten heart, when will your fire be lit?
This cold despair, how much more in reserve,
My lips turn blue, hot kiss, I wait for it!
The atmosphere about me, done me wrong.
I’ve waited for some warmth for far too long.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 8:45 AM UTC
There’s a man off his chops selling tough for a tenner
But the mercury drops in his ugly temper
And gets lost under Victorian modesty
When faced with their war on fallopian sovereignty
Girl wears her mother’s mittens for earmuffs
Until they’re far enough upwind
“See they’re paraphrasing Jesus dear-but
I’m not so sure that’s what He meant”!
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
Prisms casted rainbows
that danced on the walls
from the mirrored doors my uncle installed
onto my bedroom closet.
Just like that,
the old brown wood was discarded
and, in its place,
a heavier, more durable barrier
between my private belongings
and the hellscape outside.
More often than not,
they were a barricade between
what I didn’t want to hear
and the comfort of old dance costumes
and holiday dresses I’d outgrown
all lined up in a row,
soft robes to melt into after a bath
and my fuzzy pink earmuffs.
I paraded around the house in them,
as a symbol of the silence I desired.
I remember when we went to Lake George and didn’t return
and how I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just go home.
I didn’t want to stay on vacation,
I wanted to sleep in my own bed.
I remember smashing my hands
against my ears
to keep out the shouting
and sitting awake at night,
waiting to hear the garage door to go up,
because then I knew you’d be home
and you’d be safe, and we’d be safe
and we could all fall asleep in the same house,
Not sure whether my happily ever after
was based in reality
or a bedtime story I told myself every night
so that I could finally rest my eyes
in hopes that my mind would follow.
Jun 10, 2020
Jun 10, 2020 at 5:29 PM UTC
those earmuffs you gave me were nice
you told me I looked pretty
the whole world said you were physco
I couldn't hear anything but you
I should have taken off those earmuffs
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
He was the waking
The warning before the storm
But my ears were shut
My hands toppled over them
Like earmuffs frozen to my skin
I only listened to my chest
As it burned with menace
I opened my arms
To reveal my bravery was stronger than my fright
My chest bloomed for years
Carrying weepings of beauty and disaster
And when he went to the unknown
He left me speechless with crippling stories
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC