"freezers" poems
Here, on the flatlands
I was put in my place.
formed and pressed
into their neat and presumably safe little box.
It's all they knew.
It is so hard to think of them as once children themselves,
formed and pressed.
Formed from a different time, with different conformists.
There are no manuals when we are born,
you get leftover instructions from previous pipe fitters.
Agrarian raised, like grain fed beef.
Complete with the fears and habits of bygone generations.
I leave one bite of each item on my plate,
with just enough drink to wash it all down.
I have done that as long as I can remember.
I want the whole candy bar, rather than just a bite.
Pressed and formed my Father saves.
He saves twist ties from bread bags.
He saves old welcome mats, and garage door openers.
He buys in bulk, and has two deep freezers full.
Full of freezer burn, tasteless, barely nutritious,
neatly formed and pressed portions of frozen in time Salisbury steak.
It is as if he himself would like to be frozen in time.
He is a depressionite child.
In the basement there is an old dresser that he found at a yard sale.
He painted it a hideous green,
but it has a formed and pressed neat white little doily on top.
In the top drawer there are various expired drugstore items,
some dating as far back as 35 years ago.
"You never know when you might need something in there."
Expired aspirin that has broken down into powder and smells of vinegar.
Vicks Vaporub, in the pretty blue glass jar, that is dried up and orderless.
All brand new and have never been opened.
Formed and pressed neatly in their little containers.
I watch these molders of my life slowly pass away,
becoming neatly formed and packed into their aging corner of the world,
neatly formed and packed into a stereotypical old folks home.
Forgotten, in the way, slow, aching.
Soon all they will have will be memories.
Soon all they will need will be memories.
Neatly formed and packed in their aging minds.
And then, like a comet that has shuttled through space
for thousands of years, millions of years,
they will burn out and fade into dust.
And their whole lives
will be neatly formed and packed
away,
in a trunk
in the attic,
to be opened like a time capsule,
at a later date.
the result of a week with my 94 yr old Parents
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 4:32 AM UTC
Tractors chug
and the new ones Zoom
up the road
Pulling all sorts
trailers and implements;
all to tame the Earth
and help thrive livestock
to fill fridges and freezers
and bellies needing feeding
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
you are everything
you are everyone
you are every cliche
you are the sun,
you are the stifling heat
that cannot be escaped
you are valentines cards
misdirected and misshaped,
you are hotmail,
you are myspace,
you are my face,
hungover and exhausted,
you are lost kids,
you are something that was fun,
you are not getting shotgun,
you are beer
that's been in the sun
too long,
you are a sad song,
that's not been made better,
you are the hole in my sweater,
or my pockets,
you are the chalky sugar that's
passed off as rockets,
you are the first drummer of the beatles,
you are evil,
and i don't mean that jokingly,
you are choking me,
like turtlenecks,
or high stake bets,
made on the wrong team,
you are what seems like
a good idea at the time,
you are past tense,
you are jeans caught in the fence
preventing teens from sneaking in,
you are cold wind on a dry winter's day,
you are Coldplay's last two albums,
you are too much talcum powder
you are convenience store flowers,
you are forced,
you are hoarse
voices in place of song,
you are wrong,
you are the weakest link,
you are outdated references,
you are beverages,
that have lost carbonation,
you are hesitation
that leads to regret,
you are the new york mets,
you are first impressions
that i make on the elderly,
you are Beverly Hills Chihuahua,
you are foie gras,
you are aqua
and their music in my head,
you are cold beds,
warm beer,
empty freezers,
old tears,
fake appeasers,
new fears,
you are the moments
when it feels like no one's near,
you are searching for Waldo for hours,
you are any buildings "bigger" than the cn tower,
you are fake,
you are first date awkward silence,
you are last date awkward silence,
you are violence,
you are hybrid suvs,
you are bees,
you are black flies,
you are forgetting an event is black tie,
you are something nice to forget,
you are socks that are wet,
you are the slow driver in the left lane,
you are fame,
you are fleeting seconds
never to be recaptured,
you are the man on the corner
screaming about rapture,
you are actors selling out,
you are stains on a couch,
you are lost remotes,
you are failed attempts to save face,
you are everything
that has ever graced
this time and space,
here and above,
you are everything,
you are love...
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
Mid October takes its end of season's leap
into the solitude of post-tourism autumn.
The landscape shows its truer face to celebrate
the reassembly of local solidarity.
Tat and trim tucked into hibernation,
chalkboards erased,
scant takings totaled,
inflatables deflated.
Unsold crafts packed between pages of yesterday's
'Correio de Manha'
Shocked freezers stand open-mouthed
their diet of ice dwindled to a thin trickle.
Sunshades collapse in deep south style,
redundant loungers relax supine.
Kids slope back to school -
a mule-train of shoe-scrapers packed to the hilt
dawdles through warming scents of
post-salad indulgence,
sweet with the street-aroma of 'feijoada',
garlic, and aromatic oregano
pot-grown in a back plot, littered with
discarded placards and tired bikes.
Past men leaning doors, unsure of new routines,
idle hands and minds with new time to fill
mostly in cold bars for warm camaraderie.
Women pick fitfully at quiet-season's crochet
squatting to gossip under a white wash
slung and pegged, stick-sure
against thin bleached facades.
Under Planes, old comrades congregate
shuffling at a make-shift table,
tired eyes set on cards,
playing for cents under a limited sky
once defined by Salazar.
Car parks thin.
Beneath the russet canopies street-sweepers
scorn a reckless wind, where still sun-crisp leaves
gather in gutters, thirstily anticipating
the first deluge under autumn's gathering clouds.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 7:13 AM UTC
Legs on show down an aisle of fridges and freezers
and I am taken in by the red of your top.
A swift sight of a face, nothing much,
father nearby I presume, a brother too
but minutes later gone.
As the evening is reeled in,
I see the same flash dash into the palace
before I am certain it’s you once more.
I didn’t see you or the shorts again
but plenty of others were decked out in denim,
all aliens beneath the neon lights.
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
i want to, sit on a park bench
at the beginning of autumn
sipping our take away coffee and watching
the singular fragments of leaves on fire
falling from the trees
to whirl softly before landing on the ground
i want to, go fishing on a pier sitting over a lake
on a fresh spring morning
just to catch a fish with you
name it something ridiculous
and release it back into the wild, so i can say that we
officially domesticated a wild animal together
i want to, go and see a kiddy movie in the theaters
so we can sit in the front row and watch
while feeding each other popcorn
then wait till the end of the rolling credits, when everyone else is gone
before racing each other
up the stairs and pushing the doors open to outside
i want to, stand in the supermarket
drawing little faces on the condensations and
light heartedly bickering with you in front of the freezers
about the right flavor ice-cream
for our movie night on your couch at home
before deciding on purchasing both of them
i want to, stand under a light pole
on a mild summer night
with crickets as our backing music
the moon our only audience, and dance slowly
like the world doesn't exist outside of the small
pool of light at our feet
some of the many innocent things i want to do with you...
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
Home of the free and land of the brave
The home I reside in isn't free and with all these deaths it should've been called land of the grave
So, why should I fear death?
Even when I go about things the right way and subtract bad decisions death will always be left
Keep your eyes peeled and light on your heel
These bullets are like my words, not meant for a specific person can be for anyone to feel
And I'm not trying to disrespect the people that protest
But you'll never see me protest anything because everyday there's a new thing to protest
Dead people found in freezers, protest
Racial profiling, protest
Immigration laws, protest
And while we're talking about immigration, I've seen more marriages at the courthouse than ever
I'm starting to think nursing isn't where the money and success is at and officiating marriages be my new focus
Hurricanes came with pain and aim to level everything so nothing be the same
But if you want my opinion, disasters like these give cities new reason to rebuild bigger and better
Rebuild and reevaluate financial importance
Let's try building more homes and ignore a need for a fence
Many people might call this talent but I'm just speaking facts
During the daytime I'm just a regular college student trying to find my way in life
But at night I'm the dark knight trying to make my city a better place with words instead of bats
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
The moon and lamppost lead me on
To lighted windows and blue neon
Inside, buzzing freezers filled with trash
Guide me to my gleaming stash.
They flash, you know, as I walk by –
Florescent figurines of this starry night
As I reach high and shadow the beam
The blades in my hand are mirroring me.
My fading face in dull silver slats
In sinister-seeming darkness cast
What remorse might come from choices here
Gives action pause and triggers fear.
Am I the darkness in the night?
Without me here, would there be light?
Am I the reason for my pain?
And the blades mere objects of this game?
And every eve I walk the streets
Beneath distant beams I'll never reach
And while my eyes are locked on high
I'll miss the light that burns inside.
I seek a source of light so stark
That I am doomed to stalk the dark
A lonely trek, I'll never know
That every human heart does glow.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 8:04 PM UTC
Awake in the night listening to rain
Well placed ice packs when feeling the strain
Spacing those tents to ensure a safe distance
Getting it right aides coexistence.
Welcoming all with smiles and sweets
Giving assurance with replies on repeat
Directing the lost with maps and good grace
Shifting the freezers to maximise space
Finding the child who wandered from mum
Keeping kids safe while ensuring their fun
Spraying the sinks and mopping with vigour
Trying and failing to pull down that zipper
Queuing for showers at early 5.30
Teens these days don't tolerate *****
Whenever you need them they'll sort out the flushes
And when the loo blocks they'll get out the brushes.
These are the heroes of New Day each year
Whenever you see them give them a cheer
Enjoy your time with us, have a real blast
We're all here for Jesus - the first and the last.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
every 1:27am
I come to my garage
and I sit with wine
and converse with
an out-of-place nightstand,
june bugs aimlessly run into
stacked boxes and
heartbroken drywall wink
at my knuckles,
only tangibility could express the
scattered personality of this garage
but somehow I feel at home,
unplugged freezers,
shop brooms drenched in sawdust,
broken hockey sticks,
half stained 2x4’s
clout my memories with
wanting to be young again,
shooting pucks with dad,
having laughs roll
off my tongue again,
sweeping grass off
the driveway, and watching
my sister fail at riding a bike,
now she’s going to university
and I’m sweeping up
cigarette butts in this garage,
I still see the skateboard
I broke my wrist on and I
have to work in the morning,
at 1:53 I’m rolling up news papers
and hitting curve balled
june bugs and I have
to cut this short cause
my girlfriend called and she needs
a ride home from the bar //
3:17
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
I gave my car insurance
but myself none
Living in a bed sprung by money
and covered with a loaded gun
If you want to ****
then ask to be mine
We can be smoke breathers,
tossing our leftovers in
eachother's freezers.
I've got America's chewing gum
stuck to my vintage tread.
Viva la sell me myself
before I'm dead.
But my hair is knock-off foaming cream,
and you have to ignore it in my
wanna-go-far movie star dream.
My nails are splintered with dirt
from twisting the skirt
of my reflection
and I feel so deranged
because my whole life is staged
and I don't have enough
money to watch it.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
Let us take a waltz around the rings of Saturn,
without making a sound as our feet follow the pattern.
Let us sway and forever spin
every day in the solar wind.
Baby don't ever wake up from these fondest dreams
where we needn't make up, for everything is as it seems.
Let us never return to the dead-pet freezers and the bleeding,
haven't we yet earned our right to be together without pleading?
Baby there's a cafe on the moon
and we better get there soon
because I'm dying here on Earth
and a trip to Jupiter isn't what we're worth.
Because that place is a heap,
and the coffee there is the worst.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
I can see the buildings wrapped in cellophane
And the people crammed in their freezers
We are living in a pre-packaged world
Everything used to be planted and tended
And people grew out of ground like ivy
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
Defrosting the freezers
are far from ****
Nonetheless
They're on the rise
Caps are melting
Shelves are falling
Glaciers are passing ships
in the traffic lane
They're on the move
This is no song & dance
The poles are looking for
new real estate and
They're coming soon
to a neighborhood near you
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
The alarm got us up before the sun fully awoke
we pulled our sleepy bodies out of bed
got on our grungies not even fixing coffee yet,
got our gear together in the pickup
and headed for the peninsula
where we hoped the sand bass would be schooling,
searching for some breakfast of worms or flashy things that looked to them like food.
If we were lucky we hooked a few which we would cook later
or save for the freezers back home.
When we got back to the campground
we’d comb our hair brush our teeth and head into town
for Pat’s Cafe who served the best biscuits, eggs, hashbrowns, and pancakes in the region
and if we were lucky Pat herself with her long black hair and **** lips
and substantial hips
would stop by and in her Texas twang and charm
she’d tell us about their farm
we’d speak of our wives
and some of the small details of our lives
and how we loved that large beautiful body
that sparkled and sang to us each spring
and how we savored dipping into Lake Whitney.
In late afternoon we would laze about the RV
discussing Theilhard and Jesus and Charlie
he’d speak of Bob Wills and we’d share
trying to make sense of the spirits there
and how they made us leap and soar.
We spoke in sync and explored
lines of novels, and fascinating texts
that made us eager to discover what was next
that would make us laugh or shed tears
of all those memorable years
we’d been brothers
afloat of the same waters
becoming men who hoped to make their mark
spark something good in the minds
of other seekers who also drank wines
fermented in corridors of learning
who had the same yearning
for knowledge and truth
embedded early and deeply in our youth.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
It's cold in here
Like a superstore with those giant freezers
How do they even keep those cold
With no doors
I guess lots of cold air circulation
Or little freezer elves
Happily blowing their icy breath
At the frozen bagels and crinkle-cut fries
But the latter is far less likely
I wonder though
What does the machine look like
The one that makes fries crinkle-cut
I think that's why they made that one show
The one that shows how everything is made
People get curious
And need a distraction
Let's see how
Leather boots
And Moon Pies
Are made today
Hand me a beer
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
a kingdom wholesale, loose strings of coupons;
a throne of pepsi cartons amidst the concrete
lights shine over the infinite rows of freezers
so sample the pork and pass by the petunias
dream of the electronics display let the
laptops regard visions of the self inside which
empty bubbles where words should go but don't
flutter across up blue and white.
to buy mulch is to regard the manure as
nothing but what it claims to be.
i ordered a hotdog after checking out and i sat and ate
and there is a vending machine here that only
dispenses water bottles.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
Used to punch
metal freezers,
shred my bare knuckles
on a black bag
when I didn’t feel like
wrapping my hands with
***** dishrags.
But I put those fists down,
lost the pit fire,
let those flames expire
cause I was so tired
of how that rage burned.
Simmering passed
a soft-boiled brain,
used to workout
just to dull the pain,
now I workout at night
just to feel a little more alive.
Dreams won’t let me
go to sleep gently,
or rest peacefully
but it is the waking hours
that are more disturbing.
Always been a fighter
even when
I wasn’t even
scrapping with
other slack jawed idiots.
Sometimes it is just
my own mind
that I am battling,
as my demons come
ready to swallow me.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 10:59 AM UTC
Once i had a heart and
i played with it and
i molded it
into something that
people
just put in their
freezers
to lock 'em away
cold as ice
but how can
a heart
ever be useful again
if its insides
are frozen?
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
This place, this laboratory offends all senses. Here I wait contained in a cell. My location on Earth, I can not tell. The sounds of moans, groans, and dragging gives me a fictional idea of where I am. I couldn't pay my debt down. From my bed I vanished. Now I'm here on a cold floor. Frost creeping across my flesh. Am I in the deepest inner ring? Was I that bad of an animal? All these questions I hear echo back through the halls of hell.
Jolted from my arctic slumber by the sounds of the door opening. A mishapend man stands before me, not taking a step closer. He reaches out with a pole and hook. Snags one of the hoops in my chains and begins to drag me legs first. Scratch marks line the walls. A well lit room seems to be my forced destination. Horrible pantings and droll ooze from the other sealed rooms. I can't take this any longer. Close my eyes and dream of better things and people. I'll get free, I'll escape. Good guys always have luck blowing up their pant legs. Just relax
I'm dragged through the door way and quickly hoisted and hung upside down. My eyes slowly adjust to the bright light. I didn't think it was possible due to the cold, but I had thicker chill bumps from the view of fright. Bodies hacked apart. Parts reassembled. Constructs living and obeying. These flesh rots aren't a disease. Before me they stand surviving with no soul. This is no fantasy, this is no TV show. This is my fate. Some are sloppily stitched, while some are finely done and fit. The hum of freezers drown out the thought process. Sensory overload is imminent.
A blunt strike to the back of my neck brings me back. Am I one of them? Chains rattle, and my back and feet land on gurney. I'm slowly wheeled to a clearing in the room. Some of these abominations stare at me while others seem hollow. My eyes stop panning across the room when they meet with a feminine figure standing in a stained lab coat. Those thick brown eyes size me up and down, pondering what her next piece will be. No explanations are given. No words are uttered. The coldness gets the best of me and takes my body and gives it to her.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
Endings are often sad, we had one yesterday.
He was a proud stocky three-year-old Angus
steer, the last of our small herd, filled out and
contented on augmented buckets of grain to
fatten him up over the last few months and
lessen his lonely estrangement from his
departed or sold off family herd.
All alone in the pasture he would often bellow
mournfully, which he would also do twice a
day to remind us he wanted his grain.
When the box truck pulled in, he trotted to the gate,
curious I suspect. The two men in not so white overalls
stepped down and approached their side of the fence.
One man held something at his side. The steer raised
his head and ears, stepped back a little, perhaps he
sensed danger, the man raised his rifle from ten feet
away and a shot rang out.
Dead in a heartbeat, the big steer collapsed in the dust.
Deceased before he hit the ground. Yet in his throws of
death his legs thrashed violently in sad reflex. The
accomplice killer opened the gate and cut the beefs
throat to bleed him out and the thrashing soon ceased.
This was mobile butchery, done on the spot, the skilled
butchers knew their grisly tasks and bent to their work.
In about 30 minutes the steer, (we stopped naming our
cattle, all but the mothers, when my grandsons grew old
enough to understand that these animals were meat on
the hoof, not pets and names made the partings harder).
Useful Farm Boy emotional armor I suppose.
In half an hour the two halves of our animal were bleed
out, gutted, skinned, washed, dismembered tagged with
a number and hung up on hooks in the truck, alongside
eight other steers of the day, all on the way to the shop
for further cutting up and packaging. Then placed into
flash freezers. Ready for our family to bring home or to
sell to friends.
Raised without injections or hormones this is healthy
beef, tasty too, but which I reframed from eating some
years ago. Having watched our cattle born and growing,
I became too soft hearted to eat them. Preferring to buy
nameless, faceless meat with no personal history, from
grocery stores in neat little clear plastic wrappings. To
at least avoid some of my old man hypocritical guilt.
Nov 11, 2023
Nov 11, 2023 at 4:46 PM UTC
For a very small moment in time
I wish you could look through my eyes
And see yourself walking away from me
Feel the pain I felt the day you decided
You no longer needed to leave the door unlocked
Or find me in the aisle of the supermarket
Where we would kiss up against the freezers
And pick out our favorite ice cream
You always said I was your favorite flavor
I wish you could feel how you tasted on my lips
When you spoke the words that sounded like
They were poorly thought about during all
The moments you spent lying in bed next to her
While I was fast asleep dreaming about you
I wish you could feel the way your hands felt
Cradling my fingers when you counted everything
You loved about me in just ten words
Now when I stare at my hands they're writing
Words I promised I'd never send you
I wish you could feel the way it felt to be
Completely drowned in lies & excuses
Like they took the oxygen right out of me
I wish you could see how beautiful you made me feel
When you placed your hand over my heart & smiled
Because you said it made you feel at home
But now I am standing alone in a world where
You painted a lilac sky and a golden sunset
& now when I look up at the stars
I wish you could feel how it feels to be alone.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
Today
I entered a frozen portal
To a winter wonderland
And immediately
Felt the cold iciness
As my hands seemed to burn
I wore no gloves
Nor a warm coat
But did have a hat on
As i ventured further
Into the cold
I could see an imprint
Of a frozen unicorn
And also
As though caught mid-flight
Some frozen salmon
My only tool
Was a small ice-pick
Which i used, diligently digging my way
Through the thick pack-ice
I was aware
That i was close to getting frostbite
But carried on regardless
As i could see
I was close to my final destination
Finally
I was there
As i carried out
My last bag of ice
And tipped it into the now
Near full
Kitchen sink!
I think perhaps
In the future
I will defrost my freezers more regularly!
by Jemia
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 11:08 AM UTC