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"housewarming" poems
As I sit here, at the dining room table and stare over decaf coffee at the screen on my Mac my eyes are drawn, once and awhile, to the picture sitting on the buffet in the butler's pantry. Before we continue you should know that "butler's pantry" in this case means the "third bedroom" that we saw in the listing on Realtor dot com before we bought the house and that, in the usual real estate-ese, is an optimistic label at best. But I was talking about the picture. The picture sits, slightly askew, in a carved wooden bowl given to us by my wife's boss as a housewarming present. It, the bowl I mean, came with salad tongs or forks, depending on what it is that you call them, made of water buffalo horn. They sit in the bowl too and, although she'd never admit it, I know that the thought of serving salad with water buffalo horn salad forks... lets just say..... doesn't appeal to my wife. Right, the picture.... It sits in on the buffet, in the carved wooden bowl, next to another wood bowl. This one full of carved wood fruits and vegetables, which evidently, includes sugar cane. When my wife's dad moved from his house to an assisted living facility the kids, my wife, her brother and sister, took turns going down to help him move. My wife was the last and dad insisted that someone "had" to take the fruit. But, the picture.... It, and the wooden bowls full of fruit and unused salad forks, are surrounded by both faux and real glassware and placemats which all sit perched on the top of the buffet as precariously as refugees and all of their belongings on the deck and roof of an overloaded fishing boat chugging from their homeland to some place that is hopefully better. The picture... It was painted by my father-in-law and, of all the others we have in the house, is one of my favorites. It sits on the buffet, askew in the carved wooden bowl with the horn salad forks, amid polycarbonate and glass drink ware, and placemats, unframed for some reason. All of his other works came framed but this is one he did not... and did I mention that it is one of my favorites? I like his choices of frames on all of the other pictures we have, but this is just canvas, stretched over a frame, sitting in that carved African wooden bowl with those salad forks made from water buffalo horn on the buffet next to the other wood bowl full of wooden fruits and vegetables, and wooden sugar cane, in the butler's pantry.
0
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
The Picture
As I sit here, at the dining room table and stare over decaf coffee at the screen on my Mac my eyes are drawn, once and awhile, to the picture sitting on the buffet in the butler's pantry. Before we continue you should know that "butler's pantry" in this case means the "third bedroom" that we saw in the listing on Realtor dot com before we bought the house and that, in the usual real estate-ese, is an optimistic label at best. But I was talking about the picture. The picture sits, slightly askew, in a carved wooden bowl given to us by my wife's boss as a housewarming present. It, the bowl I mean, came with salad tongs or forks, depending on what it is that you call them, made of water buffalo horn. They sit in the bowl too and, although she'd never admit it, I know that the thought of serving salad with water buffalo horn salad forks... lets just say..... doesn't appeal to my wife. Right, the picture.... It sits in on the buffet, in the carved wooden bowl, next to another wood bowl. This one full of carved wood fruits and vegetables, which evidently, includes sugar cane. When my wife's dad moved from his house to an assisted living facility the kids, my wife, her brother and sister, took turns going down to help him move. My wife was the last and dad insisted that someone "had" to take the fruit. But, the picture.... It, and the wooden bowls full of fruit and unused salad forks, are surrounded by both faux and real glassware and placemats which all sit perched on the top of the buffet as precariously as refugees and all of their belongings on the deck and roof of an overloaded fishing boat chugging from their homeland to some place that is hopefully better. The picture... It was painted by my father-in-law and, of all the others we have in the house, is one of my favorites. It sits on the buffet, askew in the carved wooden bowl with the horn salad forks, amid polycarbonate and glass drink ware, and placemats, unframed for some reason. All of his other works came framed but this is one he did not... and did I mention that it is one of my favorites? I like his choices of frames on all of the other pictures we have, but this is just canvas, stretched over a frame, sitting in that carved African wooden bowl with those salad forks made from water buffalo horn on the buffet next to the other wood bowl full of wooden fruits and vegetables, and wooden sugar cane, in the butler's pantry.
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55
Rust downing like bayed menstrual blood-- booming steel walls...a rattling sanitation truck. Housewarming...'the rough beast' in fetal orbit...nay-toothed in squalor. Whose gummy roar shall presage the audacity of all places, that call forth houses!!!
0
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Nay-toothed
His housewarming gift was a night of sweaty sheets peeled eyelids and restless tossing. He lives beneath your bed, contributing to the eerie feeling that gives your domicile its familiarity. Always awaiting a conversation, but you're just so busy that he has to wait for nightfall to whisper in you ear. He will rarely show his face, maybe because he's shy or introverted. He's lonely, and desperately would like a friend because you have more than enough space under your mattress.
0
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Big Bad Brooding
A newlywed man was talking to me, saying that he and his wife had just become homeowners yesterday. "Last night was our first time in our new house, but I didn't close the wood stove right... It burned to the ground in the middle of the night" He was clearly intoxicated, downtrodden and red-eyed. It was 10:17 am in an airport bar, and I was four beers deep waiting for my 12:26 pm flight as he was telling me this. I looked away from the clock and into his eyes and said: "Well it must have been a great housewarming." I killed the rest of my beer and went for a cigarette, and never saw him again.
0
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
Housewarming
it's a college party even though i never finished and the rest of y'all are spending money you don't have on the ingredients necessary for homemade sangria so you can drink the crippling anxiety of not knowing how to pay off your student loans away there's a man living in a tent in the backyard, and i'm pretty sure we put one too many pieces of scrap wood in that very-hard-to-maintain bonfire. that has to be a metaphor for the state of most of our lives. stop throwing things i'm unprepared for in what already feels like a situation that is going to **** me. is this a literal housewarming i'm drunk, and sitting on the deck, counting the christmas lights. i smell **** and there are white people dancing and singing to blink 182 inside. i paint my name on a drywall with a brush and canisters i find on my way to the living room, where i'm asked to referee a game of beer pong. i lose interest quickly. i scroll through my phone, sober enough not to text you but drunk enough to desperately want to. someone sits down next to me because i've apparently become that person at the party. i talk about rent with a guy who really wants to connect on the fact that we're both middle eastern, even though i'm not middle eastern. he smells like PBR and completely believes what he's saying. he says he's proud of me for following my dreams of coming to new york and that he likes my "crazy hair" and that he wants to **** me. i raise my eyebrows, more in disgust than interest, but he then takes his perceived cue to shamelessly ask me if i have a ****** i don't, and i leave before he brainstorms any alternatives i am just as aversive to. ironically, i find a ****** dispenser attached to a tree on the walk to the subway. considering the amount of catcalling i experienced on the way to the station, my level of discomfort is amplified by the fact that the neighbourhood literally, physically implies, ******* is going to happen in the streets. it's 2am, and i just want to go home. and i'm sitting on the J train, recalling everyone who's told me it's shady and unreliable and makes you feel like you're going to die. a few months later, i am nicknamed J train.
0
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
bushwick
it's a college party even though i never finished and the rest of y'all are spending money you don't have on the ingredients necessary for homemade sangria so you can drink the crippling anxiety of not knowing how to pay off your student loans away there's a man living in a tent in the backyard, and i'm pretty sure we put one too many pieces of scrap wood in that very-hard-to-maintain bonfire. that has to be a metaphor for the state of most of our lives. stop throwing things i'm unprepared for in what already feels like a situation that is going to **** me. is this a literal housewarming i'm drunk, and sitting on the deck, counting the christmas lights. i smell **** and there are white people dancing and singing to blink 182 inside. i paint my name on a drywall with a brush and canisters i find on my way to the living room, where i'm asked to referee a game of beer pong. i lose interest quickly. i scroll through my phone, sober enough not to text you but drunk enough to desperately want to. someone sits down next to me because i've apparently become that person at the party. i talk about rent with a guy who really wants to connect on the fact that we're both middle eastern, even though i'm not middle eastern. he smells like PBR and completely believes what he's saying. he says he's proud of me for following my dreams of coming to new york and that he likes my "crazy hair" and that he wants to **** me. i raise my eyebrows, more in disgust than interest, but he then takes his perceived cue to shamelessly ask me if i have a ****** i don't, and i leave before he brainstorms any alternatives i am just as aversive to. ironically, i find a ****** dispenser attached to a tree on the walk to the subway. considering the amount of catcalling i experienced on the way to the station, my level of discomfort is amplified by the fact that the neighbourhood literally, physically implies, ******* is going to happen in the streets. it's 2am, and i just want to go home. and i'm sitting on the J train, recalling everyone who's told me it's shady and unreliable and makes you feel like you're going to die. a few months later, i am nicknamed J train.
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11
Time is measured in problem sets and exams birthday parties and housewarming parties and frat parties going out to eat with chattering friends, anxiety in the wait for the week’s end, finding the time for peace in ‘alone’ or calling our parents up on the phone. Specific occurrences far from each other: Weeks. ... or daily: Watching each minute slide by, Digits slipping one by one Into ever-so-slightly increasing quantities. Like a microscopic tortoise on an infinitely stretching number line, Moving steadily, always so steadily, toward the invisible finish line. Why?
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Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 12:16 AM UTC
The Number Line of Life
Warm a house, wreck a home. Denial of cracks in pavement, in drywall. My back is unbroken My back is will never not be unbroken; The only way back is to move forward, Restart; Groundhog day. The subtle difference experience makes. Playing parts only goes so far, You want the real thing, But I will never be afraid again.
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Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Housewarming
alone, alone, always alone, this emptiness, it knows me; "hey, welcome home!" the doormat is missing, the windows are cracked, the sadness, it knows me; "glad you have to back!" the bedroom is empty, but for a pillow and a cot, these sorrows, they know me; "we've missed you a lot!" all the paintings are crooked, the house is a mess, it's a hell hole, no doubt, but it's what I know best.
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Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
housewarming
And it waited a moment longer than a moment’s pause It was rain resisting its temper, attempting tenderness Each drop the poignant pain in a patient bladder when you hold to hear the end of a song in a play or a whisper behind you despite your body insisting you must leave Then, it drowned the saplings in the gutter a violent politeness an apology for impeding a housewarming gift
0
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
rain on another day the landlord didn't clear the gutters
The faith What is it? And why should I keep it? Maybe it's the collective faith That I should keep? Because my own, Well, It's fairly solid. It has a strong foundation. Thick walls. Earthquakes come occasionally It's fallen Been rebuilt Again and again Stronger each time. i must work on the Collective faith. Not everyone has Strong faith. No person alive Is always built tall. We all have cracks in our walls. Leaks in our ceilings. Loose doors. And we are never alone in out Faith-house. There are friends inside But more often than not The majority is enemies. To me "Keep the faith" Means to hold up each others' walls. To patch their roof. To bring housewarming gifts. And to be the friend among enemies.
0
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
Keep
And it waited a moment longer than a moment’s pause It was rain resisting its temper, attempting tenderness Each drop the poignant pain in a patient bladder when you hold to hear the end Then, it drowned the saplings in the gutter a violent politeness an apology for impeding a housewarming gift
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Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 4:42 PM UTC
the waxing and waning of a summer raining
On some level everyone knows... they can see through anyone instantly, so the words come... cascading to fill that infinitely awkward pause. The same house, the same light... the same vacancy. Beautiful housewarming.
0
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
Awkward Pause
The old terrace house, My childhood home. Sometimes I still dream of its beige concrete walls, The cornflower tiles that lined the kitchen floor, The tall bronze gate, With its red wrought iron flowers. Two cars parked by the front door, One was mom's, The other was yours. In that house, You always sat in the living room, With the TV playing in the background, The morning newspaper in hand. You would buy us our favorite snacks, While mom nagged about our calorie intake. You loved taking us to the movies, While mom always stayed home. The city center condo, The one I never dream of. Its sleek gray walls, Cold blank windows, Offering a view of other monotonous condos, Lights blinking with a sense of urgency, Like a fatalistic warning. In this house, Well... You were never really here. Even when you were, You sat in the living room, With the TV playing in the background, Your eyes glued to your pocket-sized screen. Months later, I left for a faraway land, And you left for the warmth of someone else's bed. When I came home, You were no longer here. But your clothes still hung in the closet, Your deodorant sat by the dresser, Your belongings untouched, Collecting dust, Waiting to be reclaimed. But you never returned for them, Instead, You had them replaced. New shirts, Made from Chinese silk and linen, New musk cologne, Reeking of toxic masculinity, And not to mention, A new wife who cooks and cleans, And excels in the bedroom.   A new home, With clean white walls, And quiet empty rooms. So I bought you a housewarming gift, Something I know you would like, A coir doormat that says, "Welcome Home."
0
Dec 28, 2019
Dec 28, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC
Welcome Home
The old terrace house, My childhood home. Sometimes I still dream of its beige concrete walls, The cornflower tiles that lined the kitchen floor, The tall bronze gate, With its red wrought iron flowers. Two cars parked by the front door, One was mom's, The other was yours. In that house, You always sat in the living room, With the TV playing in the background, The morning newspaper in hand. You would buy us our favorite snacks, While mom nagged about our calorie intake. You loved taking us to the movies, While mom always stayed home. The city center condo, The one I never dream of. Its sleek gray walls, Cold blank windows, Offering a view of other monotonous condos, Lights blinking with a sense of urgency, Like a fatalistic warning. In this house, Well... You were never really here. Even when you were, You sat in the living room, With the TV playing in the background, Your eyes glued to your pocket-sized screen. Months later, I left for a faraway land, And you left for the warmth of someone else's bed. When I came home, You were no longer here. But your clothes still hung in the closet, Your deodorant sat by the dresser, Your belongings untouched, Collecting dust, Waiting to be reclaimed. But you never returned for them, Instead, You had them replaced. New shirts, Made from Chinese silk and linen, New musk cologne, Reeking of toxic masculinity, And not to mention, A new wife who cooks and cleans, And excels in the bedroom.   A new home, With clean white walls, And quiet empty rooms. So I bought you a housewarming gift, Something I know you would like, A coir doormat that says, "Welcome Home."
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58
Looking into the oblivion Staring blankly into this yellow wall In the midst of a house party My housewarming party What I am looking for? When my friends are drinking and dancing And I'm sitting there even though I'm smiling They ask me, Pretty : why do you look sad? I don’t even know if I’m sad or just plain.. blank. What am I looking for? Everyplace I go, the horizon at the sea or the peak of a mountain Or when I’m just chilling in my den Staring into the silence. What am I looking for ? Is knowing too much a bane? Isn’t a foolish person happier? It’s funny isn’t it? Or just an irony? That as I write this sitting on the chair in my room After that house party, my housewarming party I stare blankly at this wall and the wall stares blankly at me And then we are a perfect company !
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Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 11:36 AM UTC
What I am looking for?
Warm summer nights Intended to be surrounded By fireflies and kisses Replaced by “hell smiles”. Those smiles I would give When the world was bad But making you mad Would make it worse. Living through hell With a smile on my face For years on end Getting comfortable there. I unpacked my thoughts With the occasional housewarming gift Quickly followed by the Beer trickled fingertips. If those sticky fingertips Saw anything but my fake joy I’d be reminded I was in hell, So, I smile. Liquor bottles tipped over Spit in my face from the sharp Sound of the start of the word ***** That’s what I am. A ***** who smiles through hell. A ***** who catches your fall, And keeps you from jail. Hell smiles. The one thing that keeps me sane Through the nights of your terror Is smiling in my living room of your brain. Here, bruises are like weeds; Insignificant, a nuisance. Up my arms, down my legs, Another night I smiled in hell. But I moved out of that living room. I forgot how to smile in hell. And you didn’t like that, So you found someone who could. Now I’m alone in hell Forgetting how to leave And grasping for more Than hell smiles.
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Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
Hell Smiles
(No. 3) I spent the evening At Brother Ballantyne's With the man himself On Darius' Ranch, just past The lime-green street sign Which read "Nowhereville" The best place to be Nowhere whatever I sat down with faces A bit familiar to me but Their names unimportant "I like your friends" I said "But what sets us apart is- We ask all the questions." We listened to Ugly Casanova Painted like Picasso In conversation as we sat Smoked Cohiba Maduro 5 cigars Drank fiery juice until We were out of our heads Wearing house slippers & a false fur jacket Which drew too many questions Got too many laughs But I have to admit, I liked - the attention -
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Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 1:59 AM UTC
Housewarming
I have made a home out of my loneliness. I have put out wind chimes. The morning winds are my only company. But they come , and they go. I have put a lock on my door So no one dare enter. I have put out a mat that says **** off.” So the neighbours know not to bring me a housewarming gift. For I am not new to this neighbourhood. I have been in this home of loneliness for longer than they could ever imagine. But this house , it's not a home.
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May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
even ghosts have a home to haunt