"furnishings" poems
*A Door's Rusty Hinges Screeched As It Is Opened,
Though The Outside Of This Hall Is Ugly,
Paint Chipping,
The Scars Of Screams Entwined In Eggshell Trim,
The Room Which Lays On The Other Side,
Is Full Of Beauty,
Is Full Of Tubes Of Paint,
Some Which Lay On The Floor,
Which Kisses Oak Furnishings,
Some Lay On An Abandon Easel,
Next To A Canvas,
Half Completed,
Created By Shaky Hands*
*Empty Vases Sit On A Window Pane,
Which Await,
For The Return Of Freshly Picked Wild Flowers,
Awaiting The Return,
Of The Soft Glow Of A Candle,
A Lanturn Perches On A Bookshelf,
Full Of Stained Pages And Ripped Covers,
The Stale Scent Of Memories Cling To Each Chapter,
A Small Handcrafted Stool,
Sits In This Ancient Home,
In The Artist's Heart*
*The Ancient Smell Of Paint,
Is No More,
Though The Stains Of Blues And Greens,
Are Now Grey As Clay Upon The Floor,
Yet Paintings Dwell On The Off-White Walls,
Some Brilliant,
Others A Hot Mess,
Self Portraits,
Redish Hair Cascading Like A Waterfall,
Down A Slim Collarbone,
Some Of Them The Women Smiles,
Others She Frowns,
Landscapes Of Rolling Hills,
And The Moonlight Leaking Through Coniffer Forests,
Are Stacked Ontop Of Eachother,
And A Mirror Which Stared At The Artist's Face,
And Who Saw Her Take Her Last Breath,
Climbs Motionlessly On The Wall*
*If You Looked Close Enough,
You Could See Perfectly Preserved Fingerprints,
On The Cracked Glass Of The Window,
As If She Were Longing To Be Free,
As If She Were A Prisoner,
In A Colorful Cell,
A Prisoner In Lockless Cage,
A Prisoner With Flushed Cheeks,
Yet A Face Still Pale,
One Who Longed To Express Herself,
To The Monarchy,
Imprisoned For Creativity,
She Lay In This Room,
Breathed This Air,
Painted These Pictures,
Yet Where Is She Now?*
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
This is your day in the sun,
Your day of triumph,
Of commitment,
Of promise and intention,
Of New Beginnings,
The end of loneliness.
This is the new foundation,
The plying together of bricks and mortar
The bricks to give colour and shape,
The mortar to give structure and soundness,
So that together you are an impregnable fortress
With doors of heartfelt love,
Windows of vision,
Rooms of peace and generousity,
Furnishings of service and beauty,
And a garden of sweet memories to grow.
I wish you success at every turn,
Joy on every path,
Delight in all the little things of life,
Deeply rooted and vigorously sprouting shoots of loyalty and love
Nurtured on the fertiliser of experience and wisdom,
And
LONG LIFE TOGETHER!
with
very much love
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
I grieve for you in the cold quiet of winter
My absent child, my long lost son
Warming my hands over dying flames, frost covered smouldering clinker,
By the wood where icy streams run
Through the shrunken sedge, and barren fields
Stretching for miles, empty of meaning.
The landscape like a worn photograph yields
Your tremulous smile, then nothing.
Here, you ran with startled steps
Through the yielding sheaves, yelling with surprise,
Chasing indifferent spiders, and discomfited birds
With hatred in their pebble pool-dark eyes.
Querying awkwardly spoken words, small
Tenacious fingers that caress and clutch
Every passing object, loudly chuckling, wisely playing me for a fool
A silly father who loved too much.
On the anniversary of your leaving I required solitude
Partnered only by memory
Away from familiar crowds, the booming, barking fusillade
Of the present day commonplace urban itinerary,
Where only the crackle of snow
And the fleeting trajectory of birds
Distracts my slow
Marshalling of comforting thoughts.
The cottage where we lived haunts the shallow glade,
A shrouded ghost swaddled by the half-light,
Positioned squarely like an old man, its cladding beginning to fade,
White branches like dead-fingers that gleam in the night.
In the closet are your dust-sprinkled toys, a yellow plastic duck,
A cheap skateboard, ancient video games,
A guitar you never learnt to pluck
A chess board on which you pulverised my endgames.
In the preserved furnishings of your bedroom
Your school work gathered into stacks
Barely visible in the gloom,
Our life together in disorganised packs
Denoting year and level
Development and academic achievement,
If any, (but I mustn’t once again cavil)
Indicating, even in your earliest years, a specific bent.
Standing on the mantelpiece, propped up against the wall,
Are brightly coloured, polished pictures
Of you. Plump, blonde, agreeably small
Dancing, standing, jumping, grinning, absurdly wistful mixtures.
A bitter echo resonating from the shadows
A cold thought darkening into memory
The spectre of your voice disappearing in the meadows
Having left all of us! Having left me!
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
Miles and miles of....
Space, stretched mouths, lips
Drawn apart, gums claiming their
Contents and the......
Famous uvula left dangling there
Tonsil twins, the septic sisters
Wore white adornments today
Salt stained specs sitting spitefully
Chastising for last night's overdose
Remarking about being off colour
Tombs stones stained on plaque
Patrol alert, tongue wearing a
Its stale white winter coat
Colour palette was off white today
With blue garland furnishings
Strategically placed under the
Black veil of last night's mascara
Nostrils dragged their contents
Into the daylight, sizing up and
Producing a contest for the
Incumbent tissue trail that slowly
Gave the receptacle in the corner
A purpose for the day...to see how
Sturdy it claimed to be before it
Regurgitated....spluttering and coughing
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 7:15 AM UTC
Sister wants the jewels
Brother eyes the deed to the house
Aunt Jan covets Grandma’s wedding ring,
She has for years.
Uncle Ted asks about the furnishings.
Casually.
Like carrion beetles we swarm
seeking the juiciest bits for ourselves.
Masking avarice with feigned grief
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 12:17 AM UTC
this perpetual pattern. a thousand spreadsheets of the thing, draped unceremoniously about the furnishings of my mind. digits and symbols tapped into a machine to keep every schtick continually whirring. rare concessions of dumbfounded dazzle, no time or place for wonder. untidy notes, impure thoughts, callings from the mud--the whole deal, and yet i still hold my fancies. with careful introductions i can shut the monster down. it has dreams of its own, collected in dust, and when the time comes to sit out defeat they unfold in my lap like grotesque paper flowers
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
assembly point
first floor
second floor
P
$1.00
per hour
third floor
others
panelbeaters paint division
spies heckler automotive
no thoroughfare
flooring centre - "fashion for your floor"
kitchen things
relocation sale
plumbing laser - "totally dependable"
Stop!
convictions end careers
science
/three
/fire
/wardens
/tally
/board
design + garden landscapes
All violators will be towed at owners expense
(doorway in constant use)
National mortgage and agency
(coy of nz ltd)
"manufactures of quality soft furnishings"
inward goods ->
ABSOLUTELY
nothing to be left outside of
"floor"
at all times
(community probation service)
"salsa moves New Zealand"
Ice cold pacific fish shop
Inward
outward
goods
(Clearance 3.1 metres)
<-chapel office->
hot pies fish and chips burgers milkshakes ice cream fried chicken
STOP
(funeral services limited)
full system fabrications: - "free quotes!"
hand painted / illuminated
The art of refinishing;
Leaders in worldwide approval 
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
Picture portraits in a small photo,
generations on a great hall's walls.
Prominent people of the past,
lives emptied out in a room now empty,
but still present in its patinated patterns.
Like pretend gods they covet their ill-gotten goods,
while the room fills with artisan phantoms,
championing their creative crafts,
charming the furnishings they fashioned.
Their lives survive only in their works,
some unattributed, unfamed but unshamed.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
drop dusk and there lies sleep
dawning of dream
vital within
there's a **** throat of energy
a body of landscape
and a primal language sewn obscene
oh here comes alike a monkey
see lung as he preens
engorged tongues of mystery
read thirstily read fingertips retrieve
little ******** from all surfaces
all terrains and rearrangements
of past furnishings
lashed is all
generous gobbings and ravishing
demented in cementing and invasive warmth and
decanting honey-clung vital ambrosia
tightens and loosens human in ravel
swallows of emerge and implosion of curtain
it passes til sistence
it passes with yawn
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 10:06 AM UTC
I once checked into an old hotel
that’s served guests for many a year.
The white-clad staff will serve you well
and greet you brimming with cheer.
Its handsome brick and stone façade
shines gold in the bright morning sun.
Inside, the red velvet furnishings’ a nod
to the lovers’ tall tales there spun.
The rooms are filled with patchouli scent,
or perhaps with a strong note of musk.
At first you’ll easily make the rent
and stay there from dawn until dusk.
Oh, how well could I in that chamber sleep
on starry fields of Elysium each night,
my baggage packed in cotton I’d keep
to stow it from whatever gave fright.
But the longer this hospitality I had
the more a locked hospital it became;
the doors that’d welcomed this young lad
soon rusted, harder to open again.
I chatted with the friendly concierge
and noticed the crease of his smile
was curled into the quirk of a sneer
while his light humor shifted to bile.
The mattress that once was thick and soft
grew coarse and lumpy with age
while the vistas seen from the gilded loft
were obscured by the bars of a cage.
The red velvet’s colors began to bleed.
All was gilded with the gold of fools.
Once this hotel had for me filled a need —
but it sought to make me its ghoul.
This hostel had to hostile turned,
its host was revealed as a warden.
With time I learned its charms to spurn
and escape to a greener garden.
Even now that hooking hotel calls,
a sultry siren who woefully wails
and summons her guests — or thralls? —
to deep sleep in her heavenly jail.
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 4:53 AM UTC
I put my lips to your face
and **** in old skin.
Your face changes colour.
Becomes pink with new complexion.
Your mother calls.
You can’t tell her about this.
Instead you tell her ten, for coffee.
After coffee. At shopping. She remarks,
'my daughter is so very beautiful.’
The salesman nods in agreement.
She purchases a new appliance.
It matches the colour of everything;
it's the most powerful and efficient vacuum in the world.
She is happy. Brings it home. And plugs it into the socket.
It ***** up everything, including the paint from the walls,
the curtains from the window and the telephone from its cradle.
Your mother is pleased, it’s everything the salesman said it would be.
Along with her furnishings, it ***** both of us into its black belly.
Surrounded by the comforts of home we start a new life together.
One day you say, we’ll be very happy.
But it’s so dark I can’t see your face.
The phone rings.
It’s your mother.
She wants to know how we’re settling in.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 7:45 AM UTC
I moved into our new apartment building
and for two weeks
every time I heard someone in the hallway outside our front door
I imagined it was you
coming home to me
for two weeks
I had every light in our place on
all the time
to let myself pretend
this home was occupied
and wished
I had someone
to argue over
the electric bill
with
for two weeks
I went to the beach
and sat alone
stared out into the ocean
for hours
until the sun burned my skin
and the sand found it's way
into my eyes
here
I allowed myself
to think for a moment
that you are only miles
away from me
just out of my reach
but safe
nonetheless
for two weeks
I looked out the bedroom window
and the kitchen window
and the living room window
all the windows I could find
searching for your car
your face
you
in two weeks we came so close
to seeing each other
and yet
we're still so far apart
for two weeks I checked my phone
two hundred times a day
I sent you texts
I knew you would not answer
or receive
and called to tell your voicemail
goodnight
for two weeks I fought back tears
in grocery stores
as I bought entirely too much food
for just one person
but I filled up the cart anyway
because what if you come home?
the milk went sour
and the bread ran dry
and I took out four bags of trash
by myself
in two weeks
I transformed a house into a home
without you
I hung decorations you have never seen
in a place you have never been
I bought furniture
without asking your opinion
on the tan sofa
or the gray one
I had to make these decisions
without you
I put together our dinner table
and ate at it alone
I found
this home feels one hundred times
more empty
with all these furnishings
that are meant to accommodate
several people
and yet
here I am
alone
for two weeks
for two months
I've waited
and god
please let it be over soon
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 6:58 PM UTC
Silver shivers run past the breeze
leaving plains of white visions under the light
Distance and corners merge into a blurred vacant
platform
where the ghosts of the singing children dance
We stand aside each other
Leaning arm to arm
Locking fingers tightly
Me and my other half
Pictures are created by a silent venom
Diving into pools of sharp corners
Bushes set ablaze injecting some coloured lashings
Heat melts away the beloved tranquil course
We stand aside each other
Touching arm to arm
Locking fingers slightly
Me and my other part
Purple and blue faces left surplus in the sand
Coarse furnishings decorate the mind
Track tyres leave markings around constant bends
Time dissolves into oblivious ruin
We stand apart from each other
reaching for the others arms
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
i wasn,t a god but i('ve)
drohc detonk tsrif eht detsat
of ****** silence tonguing
the velvety paint of nothing
plastic thorns punishing sweetly
a rose
patient hands searing nouns
of shapeless conformity
straightly bending smooth roughness
and red
and yes
and and and and
smile little blood
i'll cup your naked furnishings
and we'll go strongly
into the darkness burdened vine
of stringy gargled nightmares
and
;'hiccup"
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 2:23 PM UTC
1.
my hands won't stop shaking, and I like to pretend it's
because they are filled with the stardust of your words
and infused with the chemicals of your skin
2.
you haven't spoken to me in weeks and haven't touched
me in even longer
3.
I also pretend that the twinkling lights all around
represent each of our promises
4.
in a few days' time, the lights will be gone and put away
(an echo of our plans)
5.
I see you in the glint of sunlight on the cornfields and the
glow of the moon when I'm still awake at three in the
morning and the slope of the mountains that trap us in this
town together and in the curve of my own lips
6.
the lips that I'm starting to believe you didn't think about
kissing as much as I thought about kissing yours
7.
most of all, I see you in the emptiness of the fog each
morning
8.
I have to stop myself from thinking your name
9.
all my plans must be scratched out of my
furnishings and a new layer carved on
10.
I'm scared because I don't know how to be me
without you
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
If pain was a friend instead of a burden
– if I could make peace with the unwelcome
– if perhaps I could see her as a teacher,
not in a lecture theatre (distant and with sharp echoes),
but in a private tutorial with soft furnishings
and perhaps a vase of flowers.
– If her lessons came with handouts,
exploring, with pictures, the reason for the searing,
the overwhelming
– but no,
my pain is that annoying parent on a pointless trek,
refusing to stay silent,
incessant in her insistence
that we can’t part ways.
Jan 31, 2023
Jan 31, 2023 at 4:19 PM UTC
I returned early,
You were still there.
You left a chair and table
For my meals.
My recliner and lamp were waiting,
Before the new flat screen.
You made-up my bed,
One pillow at the head.
Closet space had its place
With missing clothes and shoes.
Others fared less well
More were desolute;
But you walked out in style,
Took time for a Good-bye.
The house has less furnishings,
Plenty of meaningless stuff;
It's not the missing articles,
But your missing voice,
I guess.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
The old house stood against the sea
Neglected and alone
Peeled paint and blasted tree
Bleached as unearthed bones
Windows cracked and broken
There upon the heath
Doors mouths with words unspoken
A fence of rotten teeth
The gardens are untended
The ivy overgrown
Supporting beams so bended
The house should crumble down
Walk into ancient fairylands
Where the furnishings are dust
The curtains torn to greying strands
The chandelier is rust
Alone a peeling mirror
Along the wall I see
I look into it's empty depths
And behold the poet... ME.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/28/2016
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
Whimsical strings of particular words;
Cut and pasted into delicate furnishings.
A cadence,
Rhythm,
Feeling.
Weaved together into metaphorical meanings
And deeper understandings of not only oneself
But the collective mind of humankind
As if great discoveries are made with every letter.
The barely comprehensible wisdom resonates,
Echoing off walls and through empty minds
As if carrying more of a meaning
Than a gentle breeze
Entertaining a slip of paper
Through its nimble fingers.
It’s hollow bones would crumble under
the slightest press.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Rebuilding the home
After nearly a year trying, I moved house
The house was tired
It had dated
It had lost the sense of who it was
It had lost all its character
Too much time with someone not attending to its needs
And it, tired and unloved as it was,
Didn't provide much of a home
Frustrated by its loss of self
I started by pulling down the ceiling
Get the structure right first
Dust and debris fell,
I wore a mask to keep from breathing it all in
The dust toxic with a touch of asbestos
I wrapped it up in the carpet that smelled of an old mans dog and threw it out
This weekend I knocked down a wall.
There were sledgehammers, crowbars, chisels, saws, hammers, electricity, falling timber and plaster, screws and nails.
I didn't even get a scratch on me.
Tonight I picked up a cardboard box and got a paper cut and it hurt like hell.
Sod's law!
Breaking down all the bad parts of the house nearly broke me
Pulling out the guts of it
Taking away all the unloved furnishings
The trappings that were there to make it a home but actually just held it back
Searching for the hidden character underneath
Everything was ***** - a building site
Looking at the beams
Wondering "would they hold?"
I needed a break
Eventually it changed
It started with the fireplace
I smashed through all the fake brickwork
Stripped the plaster
Needle gunned the paint
And there was the character
Beautiful, strong stone mullions
Aged and flawed but beautiful
I pulled up carpets and sanded floorboards
Changed the bathroom for one more in keeping
Painted, varnished, wallpapered
Added in all the things that I loved
The good memories
The hobbies
My artwork
My children's photos and toys
Filling the house with fun
I took things that were broken and made them new
Changed their form
A garage door to a bed
A smelly sofa to a garden bench
Made the broken new and beautiful
Seeing them in a new light
Making amends with the past
Talked to the kids tonight about me dating. They were really interested and happy about it. Told them I don't want to date at the moment and Tom and Hazel both said "well, when you get your house finished Dad, girls will like that" They're so sweet. I properly love my kids
Just before Christmas, I got the carpet and the laminate down.
When the kids saw the house all done up they said this...
Hazel... I love our new house!
Tom... It's the best house in the world!
Jake... I think the reason it feels like home is because of all the work you've put into it Dad.
We're home now
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
You are born into a gps place where pinpoints of religions,
rituals and romances have been inbuilt into the waft and weft
of the world from the fabric was rolled out in rolls
of generations that went before you? Think back.
There is little you can change abruptly but slow
careful threads woven into the final pattern will reveal
how you wish to include, direct
and introduce a new pattern of thinking
into the new curtains you may hand hang on the walls
of a society that needs new furnishings!
Soon you will find yourself in the middle
of a movement shifting between traditions
that lay suppressed and controlled
by a segment of society that deemed
belief in change impossible without
tick marks from the elders of
a stagnant culture unable
to understand change and consequences!
I say to you. Go change traditions
to make society adapt better
to what lies ahead
not back! Change now. Its your time.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
When you can't reach the stars at the top of the stairs.
When your eyes become blinded in your darkened domain.
All you find is storm, upon storm.
Barrage balloons and a million blue moons ,none that I can find, pray someone remind me that life's really good.
I find no interest but, I know that I should.
When lost moments are gone and you can't see the sky, the nails on your fingers scratch hard, you're wanting to cry,but your tears are all gone, stolen by one, who says that you're stupid.
Tears came back, they're chasing the tracks of the scratches of nails, where snails become slugs, salt hating bugs.
Disintegrate into puddles of slush.
Reminiscent tears, begin more to gush as they flush out bad feelings of battling with demons.
Want more soft furnishings to cushion my head, I fight onwards and upwards, wish I was dead.
I doesn't always follow, as sometimes I'm mellow, tinged with spots of cowardly yellow.
The bus passed the stop and I just can't step off.
The world keeps on turning, somewhere a sparks still burning.
Never know why, I just need a good cry.
I want a good sob.
I know that I do.
My world is beaten black shades of blue.
I sit in the corner and rock like the clock on the shelf, with the crocodile tears, just a big fish out of water, they call me a flounder.
A bit of a chicken, scratching the farmyard.
Guess what ladies and gentlemen the poet's a ******
Not too hard to work out I guess, yep, everyone knows that the poet's a mess.
Large black dog, swirls round my head, still wish I was dead, born a coward always will be, stay in bed, take some proper medication..no not suicidal, some delicious anti-d's.
All shall pass, soon I shall be me again,
Honestly.
(c) Livvi
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
*sometimes I sit alone in our floral garden.
We have travelled so very far together.
The large pretty home and expensive
cars in the driveway attest to our success.
But my thoughts drift back to the start of us.
fFnishing college together
making love in our bare
of furnishings single room.
We dined at our picnic table
Slept on an inflatable matrass.
Ate frozen pizza and drank cheap wine.
made love as the moon bloomed its light
through our undraped window.
talked the night away after **********
I remember thinking how much I loved you
How I would never be able to get enough of you.
I would give everything we have today
to go back there with you my love.
for without knowing it
we had everything back then.*
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
If looking for your one true love
You'll know as their loves shown
You'll feel for once wrapped in their arms
You're finally home sweet home!
So open up your heart right now
I know you'll find such peace,
You'll never rent a space for love
To set your heart at ease!
Don't worry 'bout new furnishings
Bring only what you've got
'Cause since your heart has moved in here
I found I've got a lot!
Don't take your time, just come on now
You've got my heart rent free
I give my love now all to you
To be all I can be!
I've looked all life for special love
A love that's near divine
A precious love so hard to find
A love like yours and mine!
So now I give all willingly
You'll never have to pry
I'll show you best my love for you
A love you can't deny!
So get your things and move on in
And together life we'll roam
Just sign this lifetime lease of love
My heart is now your home!
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 2:04 PM UTC