"indoor" poems
I'm going on an indoor picnic
Just a picnic for me and you
I'm going on an indoor picnic
While skies outside are grey, not blue
Nothing better than an indoor picnic
Fridge is full of food and lemonade
Nothing better than an indoor picnic
Don't have to look for trees for shade
Inside we've got it made
Just the two of us alone dear
That's the way that it should be
Just the two of us alone dear
An indoor picnic, just you and me
The way it should be...ah ha
Just for you and me
Turn on the music and we'll sit a while
No ants to give us trouble
Just the two of us sharing a smile
No way to burst our bubble
It doesn't matter that it's stormy
Liquid sunshine fills the drain
We're dry inside together
No singing in the rain..ah ha
No singing in the rain
We're both going on an indoor picnic
Just the two us, alone inside
It's so nice to have an indoor picnic
I've gone to heaven and died...ah ha
I've gone to heaven and died
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
A follow on poem to 'In the Sunroom (Suicide)" (1)
writ many years later...
~For MWK~
<>
A stray thought. a burring burrowing, thorny tawny:
A wish, yet to get, but vetted for each of us.
*This within, this redoubt, a contemplative oasis,
my indoor poet's nookery rookery sanctuary
each one, each is, deserves, all, one such,
a place holy filled, with lice and dirt of a life,
strained and trained for emission and transmission
of the best of the worst, and the triumphant emergent commission of
our individualized most excellent fresh best
where crumbs of apple crisp pie solidify, vanilla bean ice cream
melt offsets the oven heated warmth, and from this interactive
contrasts combative,
a poem pie reborn, newly disguised, familiar words,
yet unheard and before this very never,
went unspoken and now goes forth
svelte and unbroken
*rhymes of yore, forgot from a before, but making up the walls
of the here and now,
a sunroom to spread out the lit lights of egress and entrance,
of fire door no exits that now are chiseled closed,
lock in, lock up, and somehow, one, stills to learn from
the stilling quiet solitude.
to penetrate the prostrate kneeling grinning grief,
how to expel and spell the words
that grant
relief
visit my sunroom, though no fiction.
the sun rays *********** create the friction
of that which cannot ever be withered nor contained,
and your mouth opens wide and a poem birthed and delivered,
pastiche paste composted of truth and dreams of fiction, fine diction,
with a shrug, a smile, a satisfaction extracted extraordinary,
you garner moments of satisfaction but cloud cover returns,
and the process of sunrise exposition recommences,
and one revisits the elemental sequencing of
all the predecessor pain, but this time,
for gain, for gain,
<>
written this sabbath Saturday
12:38am EST
Sat Aug 2
2025
in the sunroom,
on Shelter Island
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
It was only important
to smile and hold still,
to lie down beside him
and to rest awhile,
to be folded up together
as if we were silk,
to sink from the eyes of mother
and not to talk.
The black room took us
like a cave or a mouth
or an indoor belly.
I held my breath
and daddy was there,
his thumbs, his fat skull,
his teeth, his hair growing
like a field or a shawl.
I lay by the moss
of his skin until
it grew strange. My sisters
will never know that I fall
out of myself and pretend
that Allah will not see
how I hold my daddy
like an old stone tree.
6.9k
I never put away all of these socks,
there's just something so final about putting away
all the socks. When I close the drawer after putting away
the clothes, its like saying "remain here for awhile,
for I do not plan to wear you again for some time".
But putting away all of the socks
is like saying "stay here,
I'm not going anywhere". What if
something pops up though?
It gets cold, a friend calls
with exciting plans and I must say,
"No sorry, I just put away all of my socks"
Whats the point in putting them all away if I just
go right back and take some out? Might as well
leave a pair or two by the shoes, at the ready.
Plus whenever I put away all the socks
I find the stragglers, the lone socks, the swiss socks,
the worn out ones and then I have to make difficult
decisions. Weighing the severity of the tears against
how uncomfortable they'll be. Designating indoor only
socks and how many more wears a sock can receive before,
garbage. And every time I put on a sock like this I shed a tear
because socks don't receive burials. Socks are easily replaced.
It's just not worth the trouble to put away all these socks.
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 2:39 PM UTC
Can you teach me how to smoke,
At the indoor pool?
Cannabis and chlorine
On a night so cool.
I can ditch the white pills
Without crushing the moon,
If you can roll something up
Without killing the mood.
What's left to prove
If it's just me and you?
I mean, you and I
Decide
If we have any rules.
We can feel, we can chill.
We can deal with the truth.
Cannabis and chlorine.
Fuse green with the blue.
Cannabis and chlorine.
A mixture of hues.
All you gotta do
Is make my lungs so confused.
Cannabis and chlorine,
When it's just me and you.
Can you teach me how to smoke
At the indoor pool?
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
I am
Sitting in the sun
Eating store-bought chocolate pudding
Next to one who calls me a friend,
I cannot say the same.
The sun is warmer,
The pudding sweeter...
And the company is almost excruciating.
But,
Eating indoor pudding
Is nothing but bland.
And for all that she ******* about everything incessantly,
She is still warmer than the abandoned hall.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
They meet
They greet
No common hobbies till later
But one common friend they had
No one was sure why they even met?
Not at least the two of them
Soon became friends
Exchanged texts
Later thoughts
Unexpectedly bumped into one another a lot
Maybe it was a sign from the Lord
They were meant to be after all?
Soon shared the same feelings
Became the un-named home for each other
She gave him comfort while he made her smile again
Still they didn’t label their bond as anything exclusive
But inside she knew
Maybe he did too
But neither of them opened up
Until she broke the ice
But too late, because he had taken a step to break her heart
He called her his best friend
She had quite a hint
What was going on
But couldn’t completely move on
Not because she had any grudge
But because she was too broken now
Not by him
But by love she was always destroyed
It never meant anything did it?
Backed off for a while
From him, love and maybe a bit of her life
She got someone too
Never felt the same but maybe cause the feelings were too new
The two of them became friends again
But all in vain
The secrets of the past unfolded
Let some people down
And her ‘someone’ left her alone
But came back in a while
Worked on things
More on feelings
And soon he was pushed completely out of sight
And blamed not by her but by her actions
Amidst all this some bad experiences took place
‘He would have been so caring in such a case’
She thought
A lot
But just kept mum
Accepting the present is right
That’s what she thinks at the time
Love is different this time maybe
Sweet and sour or salty
But deep inside her feelings she couldn’t ****
He still had a place in her heart not completely, but against her will
She gets love
But not the same type
She’s respected
Maybe
Or not
I don’t know
He’s happy she thinks
He was nice
His girl is too
Really caring he was maybe still he do
Pushed me away
Lied and ran
To protect my honor
Not like others who care about their ego more
She kept thinking in her mind’s indoor
Maybe she’ll meet him again someday
When they will both be able to actually meet
But not only to greet
To unite as one
Only if possible
She wishes still
Only if she had taken that step before
Their love could have been eternal
And would have won!
But till that day
He didn’t know her
She didn’t either
They just existed in a parallel universe
Nothing more than known-strangers!
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
Observing these old men sitting at the stockyard cafe,
Suspendered bellies hanging above huge buckles
And button-crotched Levi's tucked tight over leather boots,
Legs grown bowed and thin, but carrying them to the sale, still,
To hear the auctioneer, talking fast to work the buying crowd,
And get their fill of cattle, shoved indoors,
Sold beneath the steady cracking whips,
A spectacle to burn its way into my minds's forever eye:
The skidding steers, the rolling eyes, the frantic scramble to find cover,
While buyers gave their quiet signs:
A tilted cap, a winking eye, a thumb or index finger up or at a side,
To purchase cow or bull or horse, in living flesh...
Then out again, through the other door,
And turn our heads to wait for more, and read the scrolling numbers:
How many head, how much per pound, perhaps a buyer's name,
And then the swinging sound of other cattle coming in to start again.
So, here these old boys sit again,
Slurping coffee through their yellowed teeth,
Remembering days of indoor cigarettes and harried waitresses,
The smell of cow manure and jingling spurs,
Though now the smokeless ring seems tame, more civilized,
I see the glory days reflecting in the old men's eyes.....
I was just a boy back in those good old days,
My memory is a little hazed, but I can recall
When smoking was allowed and sawdust covered the filthy floor,
A Coca-Cola cost a dime, and the cattle sale with Dad was the big time;
Quaking as we treaded light on the catwalks above the pens,
Looked for our calves, or cows Dad culled to bring to sale,
Then going down and in to see them sell.
Fondly now, I can recall the restaurant at the ring
Where I hoped for a slice of lemon pie from behind chill-fogged glass,
Saw cowmen wearing spurs and neckerchiefs and chaps...
Dreamed of growing up to be a cowboy.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Clothed up to the max
I enter the garage to mount my indoor bike tracks
On a digital road we drift
As we press Go on the biking game "Zwift'
Ride fast, ride free
No need to watch out for the tree
As the game takes us on a journey
Hey "ride on' there's Bernie
The sweat builds to a stream
I race on in my digital dream
Watopia world provide us with freedom
A place to gather, a fellow biker's Eden
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 8:40 AM UTC
potion lost by unknown souls
effervescent masturbatory master debater
creationism is masochism told from the horses ***
past blast take my soul
make me whole and complete
separation anxiety is ***** envy
memories of mental memos crash past rushing fools
used and abused on cruise control
I misjudged your guided thistle
because missiles are meant for drones not home-oh
listen to the seedless man cry for his dead *****
tediously miserable always unforgiven
what lies hidden within the door
could be a deserted desert dessert
like an after dinner breath mint
or a succinct lunatic on the brink of such destruction
may be distraction fight or flight action reaction
marilyn charles though more bronson than you
Aren’t thou marked for death
broken gasp choked sob
undergod slaughtered in an abandoned euthanasia clinic
euphimistic innuendo more like in your endo
indoor marijuana smoke makes the colors run
my american flag has flown and fled
please jesus save our country bumpkins
napkins go in the lap not as hat
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
I fell asleep outside,
on Lisa’s windy, 50th floor terrace.
It was indulgent, sensual
and lethargic - it crushed.
I forgot the time.
The sunset was intense,
a violent shock of color,
like an existential smack in the face.
I felt a lot of joy.
I’m feeling optimistic.
We leave for New Haven tomorrow.
I believe in the future.
Leeza popped her head out of the glass doors,
she was wearing a small, pale, skin bikini,
“Wanna go to the (indoor basement) pool?”
I stretched like a cat, “Sure,” I purred.
.
.
a song for this:
Hit My Heart by BOY
Relax by Vacations
8.21.2pm
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 2:12 PM UTC
ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ̀ˋ
Fighters in midst of war,
A war without guns and bombs so far,
instead, a syringe with vaccines and drugs,
Wearing PPE battledress, a little snug,
Against invisible opponents, that's bizarre,
They called front-liners, our star.
Despite the danger ahead of them,
They still chose to risk their lives, what a gem,
So people stay indoor and pray,
Wear masks and clean your hands every day.
To our dearest front-liners,
You are all the best, ever,
Will we forget you? never,
We will remember you forever.
We love you to the core,
Today and forevermore,
Our precious front-liners,
Let's be safe and fight this together.
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC
The electricity
in that moment,
when your hand first
brushed past mine,
could have lit up New York City
for the night.
I could have lived in that moment.
Plugged in.
Turned on.
But, in the same way we got used to
light switches and indoor plumbing,
I got used to your touch.
What I wouldn't give
to go back to candlesticks and outhouses
for just one night
so that when you reach for my hand tomorrow,
I won't be jaded by the light that now seems
so perfectly ordinary.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
Baie dankie—thank you—
Surrounded us as we shared our lunch
With empty-handed children,
And we heard it again painting
The tiny playground for Sister Catherine,
Though my head focused on the “bye,”
Gracious and dismissive
To the nameless Americans,
Taking pictures of their town.
Baie dankie said the woman
With liquor on her breath—
*Back to your selfies and indoor plumbing
Your clear conscience, your noble heart.*
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
the night i met a map maker
who'd never seen the world
i found out that this living life
slowly comes unfurled
with every sought experience
and everything undone,
granted we are shoelaces
tied and gone ho-gung
so much so that we don't know
the order of our things,
like when we meet a pretty girl
we take her off some rings
and when the rings come ringing by
the anchor on your ship
i answer the phone and to him say
i'll never take your ****
to my house
because i don't have indoor plumbing.
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 2:52 AM UTC
a cucumber sandwich
shouldn't be made ahead of time
as the liquid in the cucumber
will seep through the bread like lime
you'll have a wet hand
as you lift the sandwich off the plate
your palm and your fingers
will be in a saturated fate
always make cucumber sandwiches
immediately before afternoon tea
at this juncture of time the bread
will not become so soggy
your afternoon tea guests wont abide
the seepage all over their hands
it will make them feel like
jeering spectators in a grandstand
the most tempting cucumber sandwiches
are never served wringing wet
they have a dry bread covering
akin to an indoor carpet
to stop this sort
of sandwich irrigation
you must follow
these preparatory recommendations
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
Please, read this with the thickest southern accent you've ever heard. It's my language. It's my home...
Hee Haws on the TV
Chicken's fryin' in cast iron skillets
Taters and maters scent mama's clothes
no AC
Papaws in the bacca field
Granny's sippin' on sweet tea
The law stopped comin' here they say,
Back in '23
The fruit's ripe for pickin
daddy did that last week
He said the Apple brandy
Tasted perfect,
bitter sweet
The moonshine makers meet
When the crickets sing at night
they pass around mason jars
'neath the moon
and southern stars
The wine stays burried till fall
muskadine,
other than strawberry
the very best kind
The yanks
buy it up
Its funny to watch 'em
they can't handle their stuff
The Demory Mart stays busy
oh Lord it's so much fun!
When the moonshiners play pool,
till the rising of the sun
Momma don't like it,
Lord she gets so mad!
But she puts my church shoes on me
and I know she still loves dad
But now the still's turned green
as copper always does
There are no moonshiners left
Time has passed, just 'cause
Papaw's gone
the fields have grown up
there are no moonshiners left
it's all store bought, mason jars
have turned to cups
Demory Mart is Yankee owned
the church has indoor plumbing
But late at night, I hear the banjo's
and the stills, copper humming....
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
Such a beauteous day outside,
Drivers driving fast while tires slide
It's raining yet I behold the beauty of nature
Rain and wind create such a chilly flavor
I had no reason to go outside
Therefore I stayed indoor.
I drank hot chocolate while rain pure
People said it was messy outside because it was raining
Supernatural rain drops on my roof sounds so amazing
Birds flue in the rain while water ran in the drain
Rain, rain and more rain.
Black clouds covered the sky while she said goodbye
Goodbye my dear friend
A friend forever until the end
Maybe tomorrow I shall see her
Sadly one day I will leave her.
We have been friends for a while
I like her some much
Yet I never complement her stupendous smile
Her smile is the sky and the ocean combined with butterflies
Butterflies like unto no other butterflies
Her garments are beyond glorious
Her splendid blue dress is notorious.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
This is a verse of new thoughts,
I've invented indoor sports,
Written in a poem of riddles,
Like, "What is Time for Tiddles?"
Why, it's wine with Mahjong,
Those tiles don't tarry long,
Then it's "Drinks for Scrabble,"
With bevvies we'll all dabble,
Or, "Come and try my beers,"
Many varieties over here,
New indoor sports, my dears!
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
walking through the big flea market
off of highway 19 north of Tampa
looking for whatever and something
curious and kitsch or campy
merchants selling in the parking lot
used blenders and old cameras
burnt out or faulty devices
DVD cases and game cartridges
old rednecks shout out opinions
in a cacophony of drawled signifiers
representing visions of despotic rulers
reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline
old glass containers and windshields shine
scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky
sitting and resting used and content waiting
waiting for the wear and reduction of time
the market continues into indoor aisles
criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure
plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing
an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one
people wrapped in worn fashions
whites in Ts and denim
muslim women in headscarves
a black deputy strapped down in uniform
the deputy enforces commerce laws
around the alternative marketplace
a variety of commodities are still available
bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****
parakeets cry out down one aisle
a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum
the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters
reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps
all is right in America’s America
the flea market is the floorboard of that promise
an opportunity for anyone to begin
or start again and over and over
a liberal conservatism can be guarded well
with rifles or tazers at bargain rates
a conservative liberalism is applied openly
in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything
the dream of the flea market
a black market and a carnival
all of America’s cheap art on display
its people swirled into one
equal in their struggles and desires
reaching for resources and derivatives
buying low and selling higher
stealing and selling short
walking through the big flea market
on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon
looking for whatever or something
it’s a fun thing to do
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
So they sang
that we paved paradise
and put up a parking lot
but did we really like
living in paradise
with its snakes and bugs
and wild man-eating animals
so instead we have
beautiful Taco Bells
and strip malls
so we should save them
from being turned into trees
and moss
because I am an environmentalist
who thinks that nature should save us
not the other way around
and indoor nature
is to me somewhat preferable
to being outside
in the cold.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:00 AM UTC
I'm having a dozen dreams a night; fluid and lucid.
I prefer this imagination and fantasy in my bed.
It's a lot of fun, also terrifying,
All in black and red...
Deep diving indoor pools with oil rigs and sea monsters.
I butterfly and sidestroke across the unfathomable chlorine waters.
Gliding downstream through swampy, vine-roped forests.
I end up in mangrove lakes, a canopy of bright glowing mushrooms.
Zombie hordes making me hide in closets at my parent's house.
They never break down the door, I don't understand why they carouse.
Being in a place without time, space, colors, physics or floors,
Talking to people I barely know, with no names or faces. Am I bored?
Sitting in my underwear on a dock, waiting for the bus
The others don't even seen me, but the cute girl next to me does.
I learn to fly, jump off a roof, start falling, then forget.
I twitch in my covers from a concrete slab, comical to wake up dead.
Sometimes I just sit in a cave with a reflection of myself
Talking to my ego; arguing and reasoning with nobody else.
Every time I close my eyes and lay my head,
I feel like a mad-hatter, locked in wonderland.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces
that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home
Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees
these fingers
and finds out
what I’ve been doing
he’ll spank me
for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said
you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you
the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings
what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this
all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal
she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it
to feel the weight
that’s enough
you said
too much
and I won’t be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around
at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned
the area around you
let’s go
you said
and so you both
walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house
where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived
and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door
and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay
where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed
your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours
her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away
and another adventure
and another day.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
Joel's ten month old only child, a son, had just started walking as Joel was sentenced to jail for three to six months for fighting, after charges had been filed against him. Each time a court hearing was set Joel went, but the dates were always post phoned. Joel meet Sena a tall dark skinned buxom twenty nine old French speaking woman, just off the coast of Ghana. They married and through mutual friends came to America,and settled in Germantown. Sena spoke French to her dacca. She was a devoted mother and wife. Each time that Sena dropped her child off at daycare, she covered dacca's face with kisses,before heading for the indoor fruit stand that employed her. Joel always cocky and prideful,all of his life,drove a black Lincoln with his girlfriend closer than a flea on a dog, and met sales quotas when required. Granted one phone call from jail, Joel spoke with his rejected wife Sena, asking for bail money, his once proud and sarcastic voice breaking. A lawyer informed Sena that since charges had been filed ,the conviction had to stand. Joel now sits in a shared cell occasionally looking through the steel bars in lock down, gazing up at stars that he once rode and walked under freely.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
I dream of traveling
To northern Syria or Iraq
To join the YPG
Or Peshmerga
Peshmerga means
"Ones who confronts death"
To fight bravely
Alongside them
Knowing each day
Could be my last
Although it has been
Many years
Since I have fired
A weapon
(It was in an indoor range
With A Springfield M1903)
I just need some practice
I dream
Of fighting
With the YPG
In their just cause
Their way of life
Being threatened
The U.S. Government
Does not condone
Volunteers
From our military forces
Going to help the Kurds
That's fine
I just have my limited
ROTC training
I could train there
I'm fit
And I'm able bodied
And there I will finally
Be part of a community
The YPJ
Strike fear
Into the hearts
Of Daesh fighters
They fear they will
Go to hell
If they are killed
By the YPJ in battle
The YPG and YPG forces
Are courageous and strong
They fight a war against evil
All year long
You defend your homelands
Kurds of the YPG and YPJ
You did not choose war
It was forced upon you
Long live the YPG and YPJ forces
I pray you will one day live
In peace and security
And although
Many will
Not understand
If I die
At least I die
Fighting with
People I love
For their right
To live peacefully
Can you hear
The Ululation
Do you listen
To the YPJ's cry?
Long live the Kurds
Daesh fighters must die
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC