"ikea" poems
I remember you
from your beautiful smile
your cinnamon scented hair
your contagious laughter
your nail-biting addiction
your pointless insecurities
to our silly inside jokes
our dumb little fights
our peculiar bets
our goofy text messages
through tears and smiles
you were the only one who understood
my unspoken words
my concealed pain
my unexpressed happiness
my puzzled feelings
counting your days
we recalled our mischievous memories
when we danced in the rain
when we rang doorbells and ran away
when we pranked the gullible ones
when we stole Ikea pencils
when we fangirled over stunning guys
when we were together
everything turn into excitements
moments with you
I remember them all, Grace
it was a week before December twenty-fifth
when the monstrous cells stopped your heart
a glimpse of smile
appeared upon your face
as you're being taken
far away from us
skin turned pale
body stiffened
tears flooded my sight
there were wailing across the room
time flies like a bullet train without you
it's a rainy day today
you've always loved rainy days
sinking my knees in the dew-wet grass
raindrops whisper in my ears
as I brush off the gray snow from your stone
I still remember you, Grace
I still do
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
Come over here.
We bought this love seat for a reason.
No use in wasting such a lovely purchase.
Good Lord, no.
My only motivation is proper stewardship of our possessions, you gorgeous man.
No, I don’t have secret agenda of snuggling and reading a book curled up in the nook of your arm.
Just sit yourself down here and read your literature.
We won’t talk.
We will sit silently.
Absorbing.
Inhaling.
If I reach over to your arm, don’t flinch.
Just curl to my shape.
Just grip my shoulder like it is a pen and you are a writer.
Then write about my not-so-unknown intentions in your margins.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
My muse had a good idea,
Let's flood the world with Ikea!
Dysfunctional kits, there and here.
For guns and bombs here
No one would care.
They would be assembling Ikea,
Each kit, four missing bits,
Wrong pictures to give them the blip,
Globally occupied with dysfunctional Ikea,
Now isn't this a good idea?
Peace on Earth brought by Ikea.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
i love the fact that most people
rather enter the concept
of karma rather dialectics
to argue their point - makes
emily austen seem like a nutcracker
of ideas to come from
ikea as the self-assembled semi-detached
heights, otherwise known as wuthering, heights
or the disco-ball done in mahoganny eyed splinter
shine - sheens the spot!
it's just so ****** blocked nose rotten,
the opposite of polite society,
a bit like the middle-ages... reigning
paranoia imported from a lost colony,
library cards of blue indian peasants
turned into pheasants that did the cancan dance
all of a sudden... miracles christ couldn't even forsee!
i'm free every saturday if you're hashtag up-for-it...
never mind... i'll leave my quote and oil my phone-number
for a missing mobile telepathic nuance on
when differentiating blue indians with garam masala
and red indians with mohawks - easiest game of all:
snakes & ladders, noughts & crosses... garam masala & mohawks.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
The news will say we're suffering from excess immigration
That a rampant hoard of foreigners has fallen on our nation
But truthfully, there hasn't been a native Briton here
Since people dressed in mammoth skin and hunted with a spear
Our language is a mixture of a dozen different tongues
We munch our way through poppadoms, fajitas and fu-yungs
When cheering at a football match, we're infamously vocal
Our teams may be the finest but the players won’t be local
Genetically, a Briton is a multi-cultured stew
With Romans, Saxons, Vikings and the Celts, to name a few
Our national drink is Indian, the Germans make our beer
The TV comes from China and the table from IKEA
Potatoes from America and onions grown in Spain
A multitude of British things arrive by boat and plane
The rain that falls upon our hills has blown from over seas
And with it come migrating birds to nest in British trees
The Royal Windsor family have Greek and German genes
So think about just what it is that being British means
We're stronger with our differences, the best of humankind
Our nation, not an island but a common state of mind
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Lets go to his party later,
I don’t’ know the address
I never have,
but I know how to get there.
The house has a blue door.
We can dismantle the hosts bike
and throw the frame up a tree
let nocturnal birds fly off
with pedals in their beaks.
We can padlock his fridge,
and when no ones around
we’ll place a pigs foot under his pillow
then we can **** on the coats in a dark room
where we shouldn’t be.
We’ll ingest pills and potions and have epiphanies
under paper shaded IKEA lights.
Midnight is staggering down the hallway and
she was keen to remind me “we are appendixs in someone’s story “
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
When I was small,
I had the idea that I wanted a fairy tale love story
with a brave prince to save me,
take me in his arms and ask me to be his,
but I don’t want that anymore.
I want the imperfections,
the awkwardness.
I don’t want you to be my prince charming.
I want you as you are.
I want my awkward white boy from the Midwest
who likes video games, sports, and sings like an angel.
So sing to me,
because if eyes are the windows to the soul
then your voice is a door flung wide open.
And when I thought all my doors where closed
you invited me in for Chick Fil A and lemonade.
It just wasn’t going through my thick head.
You were dropping hints harder than boulders
and it took me awhile,
but I finally cracked on a Pokémon poem,
which you didn’t write,
but the words were just as sweet as ones of your own.
I was oblivious to your advances,
but they say love is blind.
So I want to be lost
like Helen Keller in an Ikea.
And while I am there,
I will pick out a bookshelf for him to build
and we will share stories by the glow of the fire.
The essence of your presence is like smoke
and as fleeting as a dream on the precipice of sleep.
You are like the ‘Q’ words in Scrabble.
You don’t come around often,
but when you do, it’s pretty rewarding.
I wanted to learn every combination of your letters,
but I was careful of my spelling
because I knew your grammatical ways.
Show me chivalry is not dead.
Prove the world wrong, stare it in the face,
turn the other way and take me in your arms.
Instead of a superman in tights,
you will be my savior in gym shorts
because that is much more real
than a dragon slaying demigod.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
So, this is death by Bunnings,
This is so not funny,
So much for a store of hardware,
Then it's on to death by Ikea,
What am I doing here?
This is true fear,
Esoteric death by Ikea,
I've got absolutely no idea,
I've come home with a kit,
Comprised of a zillion bits,
Some of it's missing, it's
Giving me the blip,
How to assemble this?
Who even gives a blip?
Yes, it's death by Ikea,
A barrel of laughs here.
What bit goes here?
Doesn't even look near,
So not funny, non dears,
Total angst of Ikea,
Yes, esoteric death by Ikea.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
We go to Ikea having taken
the road through the allotments
& the Park which dates back
to Victorian times.
Inside the store
we grab at rugs & bowls
lie on the beds
until someone frowns
at us & we leave to
sit in the restaurant
with Swedish apple cake
& coffee, reminiscing
of the road we used to take
on the M48 bus to the store
which was near Spandau
one of the earliest settlements of Berlin
where the first Slavs
settled & lived
& how we had
back then a family card
to give us free coffee
before it all fell apart
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
marry someone who lets you have a bite of their brownie ,
even when you said you weren’t hungry .
marry someone who laughs at the same things you do .
marry someone who kisses your nose on a cold day .
marry someone who you can watch disney movies with .
marry someone who is proud of you whether you earn $5 a week or $5,000 a week .
marry someone who you can tell everything to . marry someone who isn’t afraid or embarrassed to hold your hand in
public .
marry someone who you can spend the day in Ikea with without feeling stressed .
marry someone who wraps you up inside their coat in the winter .
marry someone who accepts your fears and phobias .
marry someone who gives you butterflies every time you hear their key in the door .
marry someone who you don’t always have to shave your legs for .
marry someone who accepts you all day every day , even when you don’t look or feel your best .
marry someone who puts three sugars in your tea , despite telling them
“ just the two ” .
marry someone who doesn’t judge you when you eat your body weight in cookies .
marry someone who doesn’t make you want to check your phone, because you know they will reply .
marry someone who waits with you to get on the train .
marry someone who understands that you need to be alone sometimes .
marry someone who gets on well with your parents and isn’t uptight about family events .
marry someone who calms you down when you get mad about stupid stuff , and never tells you it’s “ only stupid stuff ” .
marry someone who makes you want to be a better person .
marry someone who makes you laugh .
marry someone who you love .
marry your soulmate , your lover ,
your best friend .
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
I have lost all control.
Having kids was not my best idea.
I am at my wits end.
Why does my bathroom look like it snowed?
Stop climbing on that coffee table Leah!
I have lost all control…
Do not play in the road!
Who puts pimento spread on a tortilla?
I am at my wits end!
These socks should not be a la mode…
Im selling you kids to South Korea.
I have lost ALL control.
Why is my banister starting to corrode?
I’m going to need stock in IKEA…
I am at my wits end…
My sanity is leaving by the busload.
Who knew crayons cause diarrhea?
I have lost all control!
I AM AT MY WITS END!!!
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:55 PM UTC
spread me open and lay me out on your table like a blueprint (I'm just as hard to read)
nail me on the wall like a laminated world map (put pins on all the places you've been)
oil me up like your old, squeaky boxspring mattress (you remember the one)
give me life like the cpr dummy in middle school health class (mouth to mouth, get it?)
tell everyone how beautiful I look like a dead body in an open casket (we all know what you really mean)
wreck me like the abandoned house behind the railroad tracks (what a shame, it has so much historical value)
wrap me up like a reopened wound (oops, my bad)
bite me like the hangnails you get from chewing your fingers (it's a nervous habit)
drill my pieces together like ikea furniture (you might just have to wing it, I lost the instructions a long ******* time ago)
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
wouldn’t it be great to learn Greek
she says
quickly riffling
through the phrasebook
with a thumb and her tongue out
while I try to discover what
‘to speak’ is in Dutch
everyone uses English
you know I say
spluttering ‘ik spreek, jij spreek,
hij spreek’,
trying to nail the pronunciation
like the book tells me to
‘ick sprake, yigh sprake, hi sprake’
but they might appreciate
tourists knowing a bit in Crete
like ‘efcharistó’
or ‘ti ypérochi méra’ she mutters
but it all, literally,
sounds Greek to me
and we can’t visit everywhere
besides, she wants warm weather
but I’d be fine in, say, Sweden,
‘Där är den närmaste Ikea?’
or in Iceland, but I can’t
pronounce anything
the way the phrasebook
wants me to
so Greece is probably best,
and anyway,
she’s too busy
informing me that
‘monókeros’ means unicorn
and it’s 575 quid each
if we book now
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
Wind plow,
People scream,
Animal run,
Lighting strikes everywhere!
Nowhere is safe
No home no protection no shelter
No blue sky, no happy bird
No water that can see though
No fish with out disease
No tree with trunks
No one will live for long
Of course no one’s going to live
If we don’t stop this
At this time
We have no time to regret,
No strength to regret
No time to regret
So right now we still have time to stop this!
So we should stop this in time!
Before this happen we will be happy!
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
When you make a
Chili dog you never
Forget to slice the onion
Into translucent white
Slices and make sure
Your mustard is dotted
With brown flecks
Make sure you have a tall
Frosty beer the color of
October sunsets
Lay back in a chair
And kick your feet up
For me
When your song comes
On your headphones
Dance like a chimpanzee
Amongst Ikea furniture for me
Don't think of me
When the sky is stained
Pink orange and aqua
Think of something better
Something that is real
Something whole
That doesn't want what
Everyone else wants it
To want
When you stand next to
My coffin
Throw an orchid for me
Or whatever flower is
Cheapest because honestly
I don't know what you're
Throwing
Make sure the soil is
Heavy and wet
Make it clump over the
Cross I didn't want
On the top of my
Pine box
Make sure you think about
How roots and grass
Will grow through me
Eat me and grow
Without a thought
If nature ceased to
Persevere
Humanity would be
Absurd in its
Reckless building
Destroying and poisoning
When you look at my
Pine box think about
Repetition and death
Think about moments
Of brilliance and the years
That beat them back
Remember that hollowness
Is its own form of substance
Most importantly
Remember that a chili dog
Needs onions
And that one day
Your corpse
No matter where it lays
Will fertilize future life
And the circle eats its own tail
Its own tail
Its own tale
Surrender your meager twitching
To the echoing riff of the complete
Watch yourself dissolve
Into the void's cast shadow
Let your panic be snuffed
By the beating of bees wings
And the sorrowful violin
Of crickets legs
At dusk
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
I don't know what wood
this table is made from
as I bought it from a yard sale,
but to be brash
it seemed the people's home
had been foreclosed.
Knocking on the table's surface
imagine the beating sounds
of drums, a native tribe
secluded from the river of reality
and yokes the essence
of their seclusion to be culture.
Now imagine the opposite
and you'll understand the quality
of the table I just bought--
who has no history
and most likely
rested on IKEA's factory floor,
it's welcoming to the world.
There is no grain to this creature
as the metallic hands that crafted this beast
lacked a soul and its creations lack one too--
fittingly, it's perfection is a symptom
to the disease that lies in it's faux-wood.
Placing the poor table frame
inside some high rise studio in Manhattan
I can't help, but imagine--
the hands that will enviably gloss over this shell
and preach to their acquaintances
of a life the table never had.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Hello Mom, I'm lost here in IKEA
It's been fun but I may never see you again
They say the arrows point the way
but they've been pointing the way for days
Swedish Meatballs, the only saving grace there is
In the linen section, I've been circling for hours
Waiting for landing instructions from the tower
As big as this place there has to be a runway
In a fog, quickly running out of power
At a later date, I finally make my way
At the seventh gate, I see Dante wave
As he's pouring over plans assembling a pair of white nightstands
I'll come back and check on him in a few days
In housewares, there are too many cooks in the kitchen
I look around and see something here is missing
The main ingredient, food...still waiting for those meatballs dude
In that special sauce that does more for a man than just glisten
I should have known the way the front door ****** me in
I'd never see my family and friends again
As I wander through the halls of prefab furniture at low cost
My days of sanity are quickly drawing to an end
And even with IKEA's plans, I'll never be put back together again
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
There was a time, before all this,
of moonlight dreaming and a stolen kiss.
Reckless weekends as a roaming pack,
snarling to force each Monday back.
It never mattered that we'd rise,
at lunchtime, with ironic eyes.
Or worry that we had to vote -
we held our freedom by the throat.
But then the music starts to skip,
a symphony more 'Dad' than hip.
You can't remember when you traded,
******* in for IKEA's pages.
Those forgotten relics of a bygone age,
lost in a corner that was centre stage.
A flickered memory of a neon soul
and the dying heart of old Rock N' Roll.
Until one day, an ageing hound,
you find you're back in canine town.
But nothing breathes familiar scent,
the perfume of your youth is spent.
So through the mist you track your flaws
and paw the earth with blunted claws.
Announcing with a strangled howl,
that you've returned,
to the wolf pack prowl.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
I’ve been walking down IKEA
however dull it sounds
I saw a girl
Round my age, maybe younger
With eyes as melancholic as mine
She was tapping Rachmaninov on a wooden table
with tears dripping down her hollowed face
And I shivered
Because I used to be her
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
They used to spend their time at IKEA every time they were together.
She remembered pointing her finger at one of the couches.
She said she wanted to buy it and put it in their room.
She couldn’t erase the memory of his smile after she said that.
They were too in love.
They started to make believe, holding on to what ifs.
As they passed by one of the garden swings,
he stopped and grabbed her hand.
"One day I'll build a garden behind our house.
I know you love swings. I’ll plant some trees.
We can spend our time there.
I know you'll love it
and I will too."
She could hear the excitement in his voice.
She hugged him nonchalantly,
a big grin plastered across her face.
A year passed.
She was scrolling through her Instagram
when she saw it,
the swing they had always wanted,
a tree planted right beside it,
and another girl sitting next to him.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
All of us
in various stages of dying and and being born
The mom yet to be,
a four month swell behind her shirt
Dad of 2, trailing behind
tiredness and joy mixed in his eyes.
Girls wrapped in on one another
knots of noise. Giggles and insecurity
Men put together
like showrooms from Ikea
Efficacious, nothing warm like home.
Wives, squint nosed
Clack snap of boots hard against
cultured marble
faces of fluorescent light
Each one placed in retail
somnolence
drug forward in a steady gait
toward that something
We each to his own way
in this place of quick promise
I look to see with only
ambiguity looking back
The old,
moss sitting on hard booth seats
as if being near life
will lead them back to life again
Hats and twill
scarves and purple. Semblance
of then and not again
Then me
a smooth stone washed over
by this flow of person-hood
Unseen but shaped by every current
bearing witness
cocooned in the falsehood of
objectivity.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
The squeak of rubber soles on the tiled red and black floor. The tripping over ourselves. The track. And you Regina. Making our heads spin slowly. Or Broadway at midnight, Pandora. Dancing, ignoring Mateo next door. After all he is louder than us. Maybe. The July, August, then September sun fading slowly. The gentle kisses of rain on our cheeks and lips. The wet hair, flinging back and forth. Ikea. Rocks. Sexist boys. Thunder. Hipsters. Hips. Chests. Smiles. Laughter. Singing. Dancing. Wet. Perfect. Stage. Dark. These make up our times together. The train. This houses some of them. Ice, cold and hot, slipping over our skin. Water makes us up. We make up our minds. Emails. By the time summer comes, we shall be gone. Taking our chemistry and voices away. Apart we are nothing. Together we are a chorus. Songs. They make up most of what we are. Emotions. They are us.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
Sailing away on a luxury liner
Packing your bags and eloping to China
Building a castle and digging a moat
These are all things you can't do with a goat
Any assortment of wrapping and bagging
Over the fireplace or under the lagging
In your pyjamas, in Tupperware boxes
These are all places that irritate foxes
An onion, a carrot, a plantain or mango
A tikka kebab and a bottle of tango
A handful of pencils, a flaming baton
These are all things that won't fit in a swan
Pet shops and grocers and stationary suppliers
Takeaways, rivers and all kinds of fires
P&O; cruises, kebab shops, IKEA
These are all places I'm not allowed near...
**
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
Love is said to be
like a manual, I guess
I read upside down?
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC