"hangers" poems
The local, strides through the rotten rails,
Metal to metal, rust to rust
The boggy sways and along with it, the hangers who
Hang in there, not by choice but by the might
Of time, distance, and bills to pay
The feeling is mutual as we stand, sway
Push, pull, and grab on to anything just to balance
Yet the journey never ends
It only begins.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
Chairs are just coat hangers
couches are beds
and clothes are just hand rags you wear
my cell phones just a flash light
and the shower is a neighborhood *****
bank
that doubles as a hairsalon
(so..
what the **** does that make me?)
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 6:19 AM UTC
*chaste pecks from the super-sonic youth
numb lips flutter to the hollowed cheeks of normality
no longer the hand-prints on the guide book to hostility
a pamphlet of rudimentary teachings;
the principles of tolerance and rebellion and acceptance of human beings
a concoction of suppressed psychotic behavior, quick wit, and center of satirical tease
constantly moving with heavy footsteps and heavier hearts
their minds and bodies plagued with actions from a deserted youth
soul lusting over the naivety of people before self-actualization; how crude
do they call it an existential crisis or the daily life of a agoraphobic nobody
shouts from the depths of caged fears that scrape the oblivious flesh in their brain; a bit gaudy
mother, sister, brother, father how your words crush the knots of comfort that line my internal organs
bleeding from the pores of my screams; streams of moon-beams shooting out my eyes; oh, not again!
stomping our metaphorically spiked toenails against the idealism of pop culture
oh, my, how adolescence is the worst kind of torture
cherry slushies lined with cigarettes to create a whirl-pool of nostalgia
recreational drugs and ironic situations to ease our instinctual sense of proverbial nausea
loud-mouthed demons spawned out of clothes-hangers and emotional turmoil
show up in our nightmares that we nick-name ‘a good place to contemplate suicide’
repeated imagery stacked like flap-jacks in the mouths of blissed-out sociopaths
too self-indulgent to include us in to their personal stories so we can observe, record, and assess
i don’t perceive doctors to be particularly and predominantly just and true
but i one time met a doctor who told me ‘being a teenager is perhaps the hardest thing you could ever do’*
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
In the time between the worlds feuds
A mighty crash left our country subdued
Infertility plagued the land
While everyone put out their hungry hand.
People so fragile, plunged to their death
Not even taking a second to hold their breath
Women were forced to give up inside life
Turning to coat hangers, instead of surgical knifes.
While many men turned to a homemade noose
To be found in a closet by those they would lose.
Thursday became known as a blackened date
As a reminder of countries’ terrible fate.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
pastel monotone thoughts paint
an image of me in her mind
complete with shrinkwrap
and a bright smiley face sticker
her eager hand sweats the dealt moment
she awaits with impatience for
her daily christmas time package
her daily reprise of her happy moment
she remembers it with fondness
her pastel colours spread slowly
like an intellectual STD
a malfunction of the common man
she is a true modern miscreant
she wants a pretty girl lover
that comes complete with emo look a like
laptop gamer girl
attached the hip down to matchin **** selfies
a hundred smooth moves and cheat codes
she wants the complete package at the discount rate
shes a card carrying member of
some fan girl fandango
she calls me captain saveahoe
street nasty superhero with kung-fu grip
trailing through the dank alleys
in search of the legendary ultimate dumpster
the prize of every divers wet dreams
wandering all night with a few vampire hangers on
looking for a fashionable means to a glorious end
meanwhile the corner girl is waiting on me
thinking i'm just trying to find her a safe place to be
she is my safe place and i'm hers
the few of us that survive the moment
stroll on through the rain
to the dairy queen
to see and be seen
dont cha' hate that whole show up
to show off
she lives to die for it
but thats ok
cause i love her just the same
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
empty black purse
old love notes
all wrinkled
now molding
damp and limp
boat trips and fancy dinners
airplanes and hangers
ocean views and hotels
princess treatment
promises made
one plastic ring
fit
if taped
texted pictures
a portrait
a yacht
videos shared
two months
later invisible
me and my quite room
and an empty refrigerator
let go
empty black purse
wild goose chase
just a distraction
a fantasy
let go
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Sophisticated elegance
Pornographic decadence
Psychedelic trip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip
Hot spots undiscovered
History recovered
Dig in and take a dip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip
Darkness in the daytime
Sunlight cleans the slime
It's easier to grip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip
Tales of olden Hollywood
Hangers on and hoods
Changing what is hip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip
Sophisticated Decadence
Pornographic Elegance
The Chateau for a nip
The past, present and future
Of what is the Sunset Strip
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 10:42 PM UTC
Give away her gowns,
Give away her shoes;
She has no more use
For her fragrant gowns;
Take them all down,
Blue, green, blue,
Lilac, pink, blue,
From their padded hangers;
She will dance no more
In her narrow shoes;
Sweep her narrow shoes
From the closet floor.
3k
Drifting off in mid-day
She is there in my parent's house
Where she should not be
She's never met them
been inside their home
...and besides
She's dead...
Don't know where I drop my brains off
or my heart
when sleeping
I so clearly know this
but I dismiss it
for the moment--
go along with joy
to have her with me once again
She looks so well!
Her pale skin flushed
below her ragged, reddish hair
Wearing peacock blue sateen
as always
dressed to ****
to go somewhere
anywhere
away
from loneliness
from cancer
...and she had included me
on her glorious outing
without title
without honor
I had been her teacher-friend
like an elder wedding guest
she had grown
beyond ...
She helps me dump my canvas bag of poems
on my parent's bed
Where I conceived them
or they conceived me
“What about this one?
Or this is a good one too!
I know you can do this!
You read so well!”
she says
I'm thinking, “This is not like Jenn,
so reversed
for her to give a thought...
and besides, it is not even my event!"
Now she's in my mother's place
in her 1950's closet
pushing hangers across the rail
She would find it--
something
I could wear
I am so transported by the smell
of memories
that I don't care
mothballs, lavender, perfume
I get distracted deep within
almost losing track in the euphoria
to have found my friend again
I lose a moment in the soft fur of mom's mink
clipped together mouth to tail
to form the stole
an ouroboros
With its beady eyes
on me
like death
would drape across my shoulders
given half a chance
When from its mouth of glamorous lies....
Jenn shoves me through life's opened door
She has found that dress!
I wore...
the one with hope, and future's
purple flowers
dropped waist and scalloped neck
Yes, It would do, “Yes!"
But now,
she makes excuse to leave
...of meeting Joe
...of going on ahead...
I know
she must
as this is all some clabbered past
a gift of dreams
Still, I want to hug her
just one last....
but she feels empty...
In embrace
she turns to ash
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
spirited ferret
rare, ear hair tipped white
frightened pip carefully snaring
darting pairs flipping
clipped wings, carted
shipped riggings sing
lark songs
darkness brings
wronged Nips
angered and singing
ears ring banging hangers
tearing string Narcs protest
ingesting *** freeing boxes
rocks bling
****** tracks shear hearts
parked rack blesses
black guests
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Lizbeth stood in front
of the tall mirror
inside her mother's wardrobe
she was wearing
a short black dress
her hair was tied
in a bun at the back
I stood watching her
uncertain why
we were in her parents' bedroom
and why she was *********
her mother’s clothes
hanging on hangers inside
I looked around the room
a big bed made tidily
a chest of drawers
a built in cupboard
a picture on the wall
opposite the bed
of some country scene
and above the bed
a huge crucifix
made from wood
with a plaster Christ
look at this one
Lizbeth said
I looked at her hand
taking out a long red dress
she held it up
then put in front of herself
and turned to face me
what do you think?
it's a bit gaudy
I said
shall I try it on?
no I can see
what it would
look like on you
I said
she sniffed it
she must bathe
in **** scent
Lizbeth said
she did a spin
holding the dress
against her
how do I look in it?
she's taller than you
it'll fit her better
I said
not so sure
Lizbeth said
hold this
I held the dress in my hand
she unzipped her black dress
at the back
and pulled the black dress
over her head
and stood there
in a white bra and *******
give it here
she said
and taking the dress
she put it on
her own black dress
was on the floor
here zip me up
at the back
she said
I zipped her up
at the back
watching the straps
of the white bra disappear
as I zipped her up
she turned on the spot
and looked at herself
in the tall mirror
well? how do I look now?
well at least
it's longer
than your own black dress
I said
it came to her ankles
she looked down at it
yes too ****** long
she said
unzip me Benny
she said
I unzipped her
seeing the strap
of the white bra
come back into view
she pulled the dress
over her head
and put it back
on the hanger
she stood there
in bra and *******
how do I look now?
undressed
I said
do you like me
like this?
I feel kind of
uncomfortable
you standing like that
I said
why do you feel
uncomfortable?
what if your parents
come home now
and see you like this
and me here with you
and you in your underclothes?
she smiled
guess they'll feel
uncomfortable then
she said
I picked up her black dress
best out it on
I said
now?
yes now
my parent's bed is over there
all made up and fresh
and waiting for us
she said sexily
I stood holding
the black dress in my hand
where are your parents?
out some place
when will they be back?
don't know
best get your dress on
and out of their room
I said
what about my room?
the bed's smaller
and unmade
and the room's untidy
but we can still
do it there?
I heard voices from downstairs
is that them back?
I said in a low voice
Lizbeth pulled a face
**** me yes
let's get to my room
and so she put
the red dress back
in the wardrobe
and shut it up
and we rushed across
the landing to her room
and shut the door
behind us
I looked around her room
it was as she said
untidy
the bed unmade
books
LPs
soiled washing
over the floor
and the curtains unopened
that was kind of close
she said
yes
I said
downstairs the voices
were loud
and a row seemed
to be going on
but Lizbeth seemed unconcerned
standing there
in her white *******
and bra
holding the black dress
gazing towards
the unmade bed
but I had other problems
swimming around
inside my teenage head.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Just wonderin’… if surrounded… as you are… by the ramblins… of visitors… and the offerins… of hangers-on… and the jokes… of the wanna-be-funny… and the excitement… of your beloved basketball… and the rowdy… of your down-and-dirty football… even tennis… when it’s Venus… and her earthy growls… and ya girl Serena… with her thigh-strainin’ swing… hell… even hockey… if that’s all there is... playin’ in the background… mixin’ just fine… with children laughin'… and he still flirtin’… after all these years… talkin’ a little ***** after all this water… under the bridge… makin’ you smile… coaxin’ you to… hang in there baby… to take… just one more bite… to take… just one more sip… to smile… just one more time… I’m just wonderin’… how are you gonna do… when they put you in that place… for sick people… with no loud children… no beloved husband… no bad jokes… no fried chicken in the air… no sports commentators… no big band drums… no somebody screamin’ TOUCHDOWN… for you to… if only for a few precious minutes… wake up to… how are you gonna do…in all of that silence…?
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
A Stirring biomass, a grim river
Garrotted by mud and each rusted carcass
Dumped over the slow years -
'And we saw the metal of a woman,
A frothy corruption, naked and open,
we prised her from the mire, and saw the city
through the eyes of the sewer,'
The Lady from sludge,
your toady skin broke
as you flopped, nymph-like on board
Caved-in by the tumbling sky,
And air like leather. Dry in the throat.
The sweating walls spun his head,
And the cogs whirred to fast
To bite back. Space and time-blind,
He turns to the sepia city.
Like new life,
ready for the fall of man.
Through the river of time elapsed,
Churning up memory.
And there's the glitz, the cracking lips.
that bet on goodness.
'I remember being a girl - and my mother -
smiling but never sad -
I waited for her every morning'.
The forgotten root scratches out life
Underneath vast and forgotten hangers.
The lungs of the city shed their skin
To keep pace with the smog.
See what we all don't know.
And live where we all can't see.
He led her to a room with broken windows
and one swinging bulb,
She wasn't scared.
Dank Amazon.
the roots are wires,
sprawling for grip for the sulking trees
In the great ape eco-system
'I'm a cruel joke, don't you see?'
As her eyes slowly rolled.
'I'm sorry'
As her fists unclenched
'Im Sorry'
As her knees went limp
'I'm Sorry'
Belted by un-silent night
And below gridlocks of light
An I.C.1 male is being chased
By screaming vans, run rabbit
Down the hole and off you go.
And the hiss of 'one eight seven,
one eight seven' from the radio,
is scoring his run - as the pools on the floor,
neon-flashed burst open
in a booted shatter.
'And the time went by,
And I looked at your form
And I looked at your cuts
And you are the river
And one of its secrets, un-watered'.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 9:18 AM UTC
I want you
to be
concrete and metal shards
ripping out
from inside me
rusty with the dried blood
of the last century
one hundred years from now they'll form you into coat-hangers
when they still haven't figured out what to make of heartbreak
they'll hang you out to dry
in the sun that never rises
eternal injustice, like salt
on the wound
the pain is a distraction from the
cancer of actual problems
Actually,
we live in
the first world
which is awfully pretentious
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 12:30 PM UTC
there is a modest
one-story home
with white stucco walls
and a red tiled roof
waiting for me somewhere
near a floridian beach.
the yard is flat and dry.
some days, i’ll lie there
on top of a patterned quilt
in a two-piece
hand over brow
reading a thick memoir
on loan from the library
that sits on the other side
of the brush, beyond
the wooden fence.
winter will just be a memory.
every week, my toenails
will sink into the sand
wearing a different shade of pink.
i will not fold away
my sundresses and shove them
under the bed.
they will only leave
their wooden hangers
to be worn and washed.
time simply records the falling
and growing and falling of things.
one of these days,
i will be the budding lily
pushing up dirt
to greet the other side with
all of the beauty
i am ready to be.
i have fallen enough.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
Evening is not night
Nor is it dusk
Evening is itself
5pm to 8pm
Yes, dusk and night may overlap this time
But both man and pigs have skin
And both man and birds have feet
Why then, is evening so discreet?
Do you love your brother?
Of course, because that is the brother you know
Do you like nighttime? Good, because evening is the brother that night knows
If you appreciate dusk, you’ll definitely get along great with evening
Dusk is so nice and blue
While evening is so gray and orange
What’s not to appreciate?
Such a great color!
The time between 5 and 8 is great
So much is accomplished
Four hundred consecutive hops
And gathering hangers
Are my favorite activities during this time
I don’t think I’ve made my point, have I?
Maybe you’re not convinced
That evening is not night nor dusk,
Well to that, I must contradict!
How would you like it if someone compared you with a worm
Because both of you could wiggle
Not very much is what I assume!
So what about evening? Why is it alone?
Well I say evening is not night
And evening is not dusk
Nor the time in between
Evening is a special time
Evening is a feeling
Your brother
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
You useless man, Socrates -
I think you need a shower…
I don’t know what the Athenians
find in you but as far as I can see you’re just wasting time
hanging out in the market places
and at dinners and symposiums
where all you do is stay late drinking nights
and talk about philosophy, and ideas
and of origin of things and justice
and nature of human beings
and such useless, impractical things;
and you bring not a cent home
and I can’t count on you for regular support
as all women and good wives might expect of a husband;
and you can’t even hold a good argument with me
for all you do when I use my Xanthippe’s questioning method
against your so-called Socratic method
all you do is mumble and tumble
and use words like shrew and nag
when all I’m asking of you is for you
to keep your part of the implied bargain in marriage
to put some food on the table
and bring some silver coins for the future of our three children:
Lamprocles, Sophroniscus and Menexenus -
have you forgotten them? Do you even remember their names?
And so you bring no money
but instead all you give me are empty words
and lofty words and airy words
and words coined in your head
and you put silly ideas that’s just confusing our children
and if not for me taking the children under my wings
they’ll just turn out to be mere
talkers and market-place prattlers
and hangers-on and leeches at other men’s feasts.
They may have a place in misguided history
if they follow your way
but they will bring weak bodies to their wives
when it is their time.
I don’t want them to be talkers,
and idealists and philosophers, Socrates –
I want them to be responsible
and I want them to bring meat and coins home
regularly and steadily, Socrates.
Socrates, you old man, I don’t care what they say of you
in the Greek world –
I haven’t had proof of your worth and value
here at home, especially in the kitchen.
You useless man, I think you need a shower;
maybe this water from the chamber-pot will wake you up.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:27 AM UTC
second match lit and gone
cinders burn and hearts forlorn
the curse it summons haunts the head
with terrors of happiness that could have been
yet light seeps in through half-open eyes
though distorted with tearful disguise
as pain brings no warning, leaves none secure
as jealousy hidden in palms, submerged
the blush leaks in, roses bloom in the fall
the demise of your companions the source of it all
as you dream of the kiss you exercised on your lips
with the faint gossamer trails of a butterfly's bliss
the chill of winters creaks in your bones
the scratch of a pencil strengthening your woes
no amount of perfume will cover the cologne
no amount of tears shed with forget what you've known
four times the curse has struck the heart
and bled loves juice through every part
through wrecked veins and bruised bones
metastasizing, leaving you all on your own
through love's gentle heart brings peace to the world
a violent disguise for the pain it truly burns
candlelight vigils carry sorrow no longer
for love's vicious hand strikes down younger and younger
given sunshine rays to be brought to the soil
trotted on by millions worrying of their sorrows
problems; as if they have so much
insulting those who dare not live, dare not touch
the shreds of life they hold so dear
and those in tow they hold so near
tears. wet drivers run dry
is it always truly better to try?
sk
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Sentience is life
Sanctity a lie
Sayin it alive
"I think therefore I am"- Descartes
So may as well be a slab of ham a part
Ship the guts off to a lab grow a heart
Social value before Science breakthrough
Society lies before Society lives
Public hysteria some Hateful euphoria
Cloud regulation
With false allegation
Corrupt litigation
By holy congregation
A rights desecration
In an uptight nation
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
I want to fill my days with you
the way I fill my mug in the morning
with coffee
my passenger seat is full
of empty bottles in the shape of a conversation
we need to have
because that seat used to be yours
and this boat has gotten harder to captain
without a navigator
I can’t read the stars like you
even with the telescope you gave me,
I lack your patience
except for that night on Outer Beach
when we laid on the roof of my car to watch
the evening blue turn black
it started slow but soon the night sky
was consumed by the shine of a billion lights,
some over a million years away
but today I’m staring at an empty closet
draped in naked hangers where your clothes
once hung
somedays I still catch a whiff of you
the smell of your shampoo on my pillow case
I should have washed it by now
I know I am not a perfect man
and I need not remind you of every flaw
but I find it easier to be a better one
with you here...
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
On my way up the stairs
carrying a cardboard box
of old books, bad poems
and overdue bills heavy
in my hands, not thinking
between steps, moving,
on my way up the stairs
remembering slowly, not thinking
that on my way up the stairs
i carry coat hangers, cockroaches,
an ex-wife, a hot plate, werewolves,
toys and old landladies.
three years now
on my way up the stairs
eight or nine rooms in
three years
one month in a closet
three weeks
in a '49 Plymouth and
god, nothing in here is so
immediate as what pain is.
there's much less to move
than remember.
on my way up the stairs
is the same as now
is 19 ways to forget
this is climbing and could
have come two rooms back in time.
on my way up the stairs
carrying a few letters, two pair of shoes,
an armful of clothes and what happens
is swift, irrevocable, between
steps, not thinking, in suddenly
like a snapshot falling
from the pages of a book,
a memory, i see it
on my way up the stairs,
the brilliance of finding
on my way up the stairs
a thing lost, a memory flashing
and fading and fading
is a picture of a picture of
my daughter forgotten in a closet ago
on my way up the stairs
i keep falling from these pages
captured and posing, in this
yellow faded place
on my way up, etc.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
Models are clothes hangers
Bound to be tossed aside sooner or later
Fresh, new faces and styles erupt daily
Don't take it so personally
Being just a hanger on a rack
Take what you learnt and be grateful for that.
7:18pm, Friday, 26th, 2015.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC