"jamb" poems
The music thumps, the walls jump,
she pole dances against the jamb.
Dust rag in her right.
polish in her left hand.
House is hers for a few hours
to fulfill a fantasy.
Bump and grind it babe,
the vacumn whiiiirrrs away.
Shake that ***** strut that stuff,
transfer clothes in washer to dryer.
Wearing faded blue jeans,
kick that leg up higher.
Beds are made, bunnies dusted,
she cat walks looking demure.
Practices a sultry pout,
wiping spots from the mirror.
Work the shoulders, drop to a deep squa,t
then stick the **** up in the air.
Family is due home very soon,
straighten her clothing with care.
Greet the kids with hugs, husband with kisses,
getting dinner to the table.
While news plays in the background,
her life is happy, solid and stable.
Dishes washed, kids off to sleep,
taking my husband by the hand,
this housewife leads him to our room,
where her stripper soul takes command
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 10:31 AM UTC
Sun-filled mornings burn bright
Warm smells of life dashing by
Squint eyed despair peeking out of the dark
Bright memories gone degraded by time
Broken life shuffles slowly by
Rings click on the spokes of a chair
Wheels turning slowly around
Bumps on the door jamb from failing sight
Lost mornings sunny dipped in light
Burns on the minds sticking to life
Soft darkness covering slow moving despair
Bright days dissolving into lost nights
Squint eyed despair and fumbling thoughts
Slow moving wheels and dangling legs
cc1210
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 9:52 PM UTC
<Sun May 14 5:00 AM PST>
Let us be smart about this departure,
time unscheduled, yet leaving inevitable,
the sound of fabric torn, a rent performed,
a ripping, a release of the gripping, connecting
tissue of weft and weave tying parent and child
*(All of us poets, all of us comprehend,
there are two points, two buttonholes
that offer escape or farewell, when we
commence on something new, when we
pen our chest’s demands to exhale, cease the hammering*
*Perhaps, here, just after the third stanza,
the brick enormity of our selected task, on chest,
weighs heavy, boulder difficulties ahead, now fastened
and faster and faster realized, begs us, quit this essay,
return to placid, from an arrhythmia of imploding loss)*
So many fabrics, so many tears, wet and dried,
but upon commencement, the only finish line,
is another commencement, when the (mine-own) rendering
is finalized, beyond repair, when guilt gulfs overflows, flooding
plains of forever pain officiated by signed scar, “here was”
So many separations, varied and variegated,
surficial shallow surgical or plunges, widths of trickle,
depths of deadly plunges, records of inches, dates,
names, new heights inscribed, measured on a door jamb,
lost, erased, when child’s door closes permanently
Came today to the West, to Pacific Ocean entrance,
to celebrate a good boy’s ritualized threshold crossing
over into manhood, both symbolic and and realized,
but tear-up seeing the small child-man leaning in and on
his father’s larger frame, a coinciding giving & taking
no bonds are eternal, for such is life, the weft must be
warped, sundered and separated, so many reasons,
experience speaks, scars are like bandages,protecting
but deceiving, what they cover can never be excised,
a space created, that only oxygen can touch both sides
but never, ever be reperfected, mended,…or finalized
2023
San Francisco
May 14, 2023
May 14, 2023 at 10:07 AM UTC
It could have happened.
It had to happen.
It happened earlier. Later. Nearer. Farther off.
It happened, but not to you.
You were saved because you were the first.
You were saved because you were the last.
Alone. With others. On the right. The left.
Because it was raining. Because of the shade.
Because the day was sunny.
You were in luck — there was a forest.
You were in luck — there were no trees.
You were in luck — a rake, a hook, a beam, a brake,
a jamb, a turn, a quarter inch, an instant.
You were in luck — just then a straw went floating by.
As a result, because, although, despite.
What would have happened if a hand, a foot,
within an inch, a hairsbreadth from
an unfortunate coincidence.
So you're here? Still dizzy from another dodge, close shave, reprieve?
One hole in the net and you slipped through?
I couldn't be more shocked or speechless.
Listen,
how your heart pounds inside me.
Wisława Szymborska (translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak)
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Creaky withered wood abruptly freed from it's jamb
Flung inward into the cottage by violent gust
Releases a torrent of feathery flakes
That bite the skin and chill the air
Riding in on a robust and wintry gale
Hiemal gladiators stampede inward
Toward the scorching hearth
That is ablaze with a passionate fire
Crackling madly at the brumal intruders
White blistering embers fly wildly
And the tiny snow soldiers marching in bravely
Never stood a chance
May 18, 2011
May 18, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
The other day I thought about you, and by that I mean that I wasn't thinking much at all. I stare at the ceiling and count the cracks in it and fall asleep only to wake up to the sound of some imaginary rain hitting the roof once. I don't remember leaving my door cracked, but the wind pushed it wide open again. I imagine (I hope) I will find your arm behind the door, but for now it's just another ghost leaning on the door jamb. Your name is the first thing that comes up when I flip on every light in my house, trying to find the source of the noises I swear you're making, and your name is the last thing I can see before the bulbs go out. I'm tracing holes in the wall - holes I've created - and imagine those holes are on you and I am tracing their edges. I have to trace something these days, or the walls will fall from my knuckles fighting them too much, so I take a black pen and trace letters from my imagination and write these things down on paper, bearing down so hard that they begin to carve into the desk, so that not even the wood can forget about you.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Words washed over me:
past the point of no return,
catching clarity at the elbow.
Arms limp at my sides,
a pugilist after 8 rounds with Ali,
suddenly realizing
he had been conserving his energy
while I hurled hay-makers
at uplifted gloves,
none of my hate hit home.
She spoke the knock-out blow
or, the ghost of her voice...
"You have to admit to yourself
that ******** a stranger's
the only way you can hide anymore."
You only start listening
after exhausting your arsenal.
The void of
my mouth
swallowed her sentiments.
I took up the
empty husk of her heart
to make it my home,
just to have a memento--
holding on to anything.
On the ropes,
disoriented,
skipping chapters to
take in the denouement
only to forget the characters' names.
But I couldn't ignore how
she closed the door;
Gently-
not a slam
screaming passion, energy.
No.
The door and jamb met resignedly--
children who can no longer play with one another.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 4:46 AM UTC
I knocked
on Lydia's front door
and waited
the morning sun
was coming
into the Square
Lydia's old man
opened the door
and stared at me
with bloodshot eyes
what do you want?
he said
is Lydia
coming out?
I asked
who wants to know?
I do
why?
wondered if she'd like
to see the trains
I said
why would she
want to see trains?
he said gruffly
she likes trains
I said
he looked beyond me
at the block of flats behind
who said
she likes trains?
she did
I said
I work
with fecking trains
all day
she's never said
about trains before
he said
looking at me again
his eyes trying
to focus
we often
go see trains
I said
we went to Waterloo
train station
the other week
he closed his eyes
rubbed
his hairy chin
and breathed out
a beery flavour
LYDIA
he bellowed suddenly
I stepped off
the front door step
and stood
gaping at him
LYDIA
he called again
he opened his eyes
and stared at me
I detected life
behind the mask
Lydia came
to the door
and peeped under
her old man's arm
this kid wants to know
if you want go see
fecking trains
he said gently
his voice silky
do you?
she nodded her head
yes
can I?
she asked
he looked at me
as if I’d just
stolen his wallet
trains?
he said
steam trains
I said
yes steam trains
she said
we like watching them
he raised his eyebrows
and looked down at her
under his arm
resting on the door jamb
ok ok
if you want go see trains
go see trains
he said
and wandered off
inside
leaving Lydia and me
looking at each other
Waterloo again?
I asked
what about Victoria station?
she said
ok sure
I replied
and she turned
around
to go get
her shoes inside.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
1
This is the song of you leaving
It is the lead finally soaking into my brain
Dumbing me down
This is the de-evolution
To perfection
Turning me into the animal
I knew I always was
Taking us back to the state where
True communication is the sound of something primal
You don’t have to be human
To understand the sound of desperation
It echoes off of lead paint walls
When we are left alone
It is the sound of my heart
Used as a door jamb
A last ditch effort to stop you from leaving
2
This is the song of quaking
The rhythm of helicopter blades over head
Rattling my windows
It is the sound of a faulty foundation
Reminding me all things are breaking down
3
Break me down to beastly
Howl my heart to heaven
You never misunderstood the rumble of my hunger
After the deep breathed sighs of my lust
The salivation of sizzling fat on a skillet
4
I always know where to hide
When the crack of bullets go off again
It is the air raid sirens of ghettos
It is the goose-stepping thunder
Of misled solidarity
5
I always know to walk the other way
When I hear someone crying
To hide my head under a pillow
When I hear weeping coming from another room
6
These pleads for help are wordless
But tug at my heartstrings
As painfully as any music
Only now the speakers are speechless
And the sound is without pattern
And the dancers are still
Fear is the sound of the quiet
Listening for a reason to move
Waiting for nature’s echoing bass drum
Telling you to run
7
Scatter you new found animals to safety
And lose your need for love
This is the sound of my saddened clatter
Keyboard key’s snare drum
It is the sound of a final poetic solo
Because as for being human
I am done
8
This is the song of me leaving
Wordy as it may be
Living a lifetime
Thinking this body is the pinnacle
This body is the tip of the bell curve
Before the hourly gong of descent
This is the song of becoming perfection
The song of de-evolution
It is me
Finally becoming an animal
Again
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
...the dusty road, wearing a sombrero,
i saw a chained monkey in the middle of
the road...under the heat of the sun,
its eyes seemed numbed, as visitors
gifted it with bananas and other foods...
was the monkey bored?
tired of watching people come and go?
day in, day out?
what if it rains? it has no roof above its head...
where does it sleep?
i wondered why, from the door jamb
where i stood, there exists
another door, smaller upon sight,
and another...and another...and another....
i was accosted by an endless series of doors...
what lies at the end?
is there an end to these succession of doors?
what could be its purpose?
i wondered about that reason....
i wondered...why the pathways
ahead, left side, and right,
involved going high, then low,
so you go up, then down...
you get used to its rhythm,
to the practice of going up, then down,
holding your breath,
grasping for a post to hold on to,
if and when you lose your balance...
you assume on what is to follow,
you are about to take a step forward
and you'll be surprised....your next step,
...............could be fatal....
you would expect a set of steps going down...
but, there are none...you're inches away
from the end of the ledge.....you stare
at the ground....from where you stand
......there's nothing there
........just an assumed fall..
............if you had been a fool...
these temples, with countless, endless
steps and doors, radiate with wisdom,
offered to us...right in front of our faces..
we just have to be keen...be perceptive...
be able to discover...and learn, before a fall
occurs...
i walked away from these walls and stairs,
tired...sweating...my knees aching......but,
with my wonderings............waning......
Sally
Copyright January 31, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
Childhood dreams, detailed and cherished,
Youthful ideals, concepts of destiny
Slowly discarded, cast aside
Off-course, anti-catharsis
Devolved in a simmering cauldron
Of so-called detritus
Mid-life-fucked-up-crisis
Perception's considerable door
Care-fully cleaned
Care-freely swung
On silent hinges at dawn
Approaching dusk, against the jamb
Corroded, dust-caked-cobweb ports
Psychic day-to-day crap
Hope crawls through filament drawn tight
Contrived devices, filters and screens
Oozing in, despite the ever-contracting slits
The cocoon we have descended into
A spark, an entity detects the tiniest crack
Strikes the door, shattering, dissolving sub-conscious
To delight, cosmos, ethereal, infinite
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
I didn't realize how much it hurt
Until the next morning when the toxins escaped my blood.
I didn't realize that blood had pooled in my foot,
Leaving the nastiest of all bruisers.
I didn't realize how it had happened,
But I knew it had been done by someone else.
I didn't realize how much pain it caused,
Then felt the pain when I hit it against the door jamb.
I didn't think that it was broken
I didn't think that going to the hospital was necessary
I didn't think that I should stop running to let it heal
I didn't think it was as bad as it was...
People have had worse then broken foots,
And so I am grateful to only have a broken foot
Because having no hands would be worse
Having no hands mean having no expression through writing
Having no hands means not being able to talk without words
Having no hands is much worse than a broken foot.
So I will give into the pain,
Acknowledge the bruise
And realize that all of this was caused by a girl who had one too many shots
And will live with my punishment
Of a broken foot
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
We were going to talk about something else
About how you were slapped
And thrown out on a dirt road
She licks her lips
Yes
Breaking you in the door jamb
Off a kerosene light
Moths still circle
By the light from the front porch
Yes
In her mind she stills sees it shining
Down on dark country road
Miles of barbed wire fences
That you lean on as if drunk
Rusted snagged and torn cuts
All almighty your heart
Yeah
Tailights of his truck driving off in the rain
Nights where you light a cigarette and lay where he's been
But
He slammed me up and shut
Like an ironing board
Locked me in the closet
It is hard to breath
Walking down the road
Barefoot and tired
A rattlesnake
Beneath every step
Beer can crushed
A moon shadowed sillohuet
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
(1)
An Open Door....
.....invites you, to move your feet...if you agree
you'd metamorphose from an old self, to a new one,
an open door brings in light...it's a portal, for sun,
air, wind, even fire......presences......emotions,
so they may slide in and out, easily...
in many ways, YOU become the door,
either you allow, or you refuse entrance, to
some knowledge, an opportunity, a flow of art,
an energy...or people...or deep hidden feelings,
could be a love that knocks...when time is right,
it flows beyond control, there're no barriers, no
hurdles...only wide spaces and clear pathways...
heart and mind are willing...no more holding back,
.......never mind, if there'd be half-open,
.........or half-closed moments...
::::::::::::::::
time...gives way for what is meant to be,
..........energies conspire
...molecules grow together into one mass...
...ideas meet, merge into one whole thought
or theory....allowing a glow to flow, and rule,
::::::::::::disregarding:::::::::::::::
the creaking and squeaking of the door jamb,
the broken knob...the loosely ******* hinges...
:::even the lowly moss, stubbornly clinging
to the edges of the tiled floor of the veranda,
the vine-y, bushy passion flowers growing wild
on the trellis, they both look perfect...to one
inspired, to one in love, nothing could be amiss,
....all become negligible...dispensable...
.....you show willingness.....to cope with
..........i m p e r f e c t i o n s.......
(2)
If I...
........were moss, i'd silently
fill the surface of my chosen ****** panel,
my concrete wall...my loved one, in hues
of green...coating its rough-surfaced gray
with tiny growths, so cool to the touch
i'd shield his sturdy, cold and moist body,
my tiny green leaves would be his slipcover...
inseparable, we shall be....i'd be grateful
for, he gives me a home, my habitat.....
.......i'd be the door to his wall...
.....when his existence is threatened
......i'd face all....go down with him
......break into pieces with him
......he and i...stony concrete and moss...
.....would recreate...start all over again,
......he...the wall toughened by seasons
.....and i....the door to his edifice..
Sally
Copyright September 3,, 2017
rrab
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
Despite being atheist,
with serpent teen eyes,
I would nonetheless bet
Eve fen number guys
named Adam, or gals noel lies
(christened) dollars to donuts
(Dunkin and/or otherwise)
Jesus would be mighty pleased
to know, his sir name
linkedin with commercial ties,
no matter, he might not garner rise
zen percentage of profits, no matter spies
infiltrate competition especially if he
unwittingly gets trampled and cries
amidst chaos (think euthanize)
untimely death by madding wise
flash mob crowd source realize
last seconds rushing to snap up
latest jamb door prize
as venders resort to all
manner of (subliminally
manipulative) marketing techniques
to lure patrons, (especially
photo opportunities with
one of the many
"FAKE" donned Santa
Claus), the latter,
who would lionize
their son(s) and/or apprise
daughter(s), subsequently
guaranteeing, nailing crosswise,
and clinching safeguards exercise
immunization against the Grinch
sure fire way to manure er... fertilize
guarantee future generations rise
zing will become avid consumers,
who reverently, obsequiously,
and devoutly idolize
supporting the apostles who revolutionize
creative commercialization to capitalize
nearly every Cyber Monday
occasion to finalize
(all sales) pennies on the dollar,
where merchants feign
going for broke, and capitalize
eulogize, and idealize
the mighty buck staging "FAKE"
news worthy shoppers to burst into tears
crying on command,
and all manner of pathos
pulling ploys nsync king
"shameful guilt" that squares
with being ostracized,
hash-tagged, and demonized Scrooge.
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 1:14 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
When the Ambulance Arrived
When the ambulance arrived the medics
Pushing and pulling the gurney in and out
Knocked the latch from the jamb, which no one noticed
But later someone else found the door open
I walked across the road with a bag of tools
And fixed the latch with a couple of screws
Easily enough, a wooden door that opened
To Christmases and homecomings and life
The door is now secure, but I don’t think
The owner will ever walk through it again
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 8:20 AM UTC
Here I wait resting on the door jamb
standing betwixt and between
shall I stay here or drop my hand,
move beyond what I’ve known and seen?
What will be out there to my left and right
where will the next step take me from here?
They said danger is there out of my sight -
threats, jinxes, and disease if that step I dare.
But if I move back into the shady cool
I’ll be safe in this cozy inner space.
Being in between without old rules
not knowing the beyond I’ll face
is scary but this is a journey of revelation
even if sacrifice and loss is in this race
I trust I will find peace and inspiration.
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 12:38 AM UTC
remembering how I felt
walking through the door
but
wishing I'd never opening it
RAGE-PASSION-HATE
The words you said to me ringing through my ears
"I have nothing left,
I don't care about your feelings!"
The door slammed behind me
tight to the jamb
the windows shook
feelings took
my heart be ******
I WAS UP HALF THE NIGHT
knowing you were right
I loved you with my feelings
which is never enough
I WAS UP HALF THE NIGHT
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
and in this day
there is fulfillment
the sun has arrived
on cue.
and birds chirk
and dew sits diamond like
on green, green grass
and the mailboxis
collared by string
attatched to a bright red
balloon
drinks glisten in plastic cups
sauasge rolls warm in the oven
the chicken wings are in there too
bowls of lollies await consumption
and knicknacks are wrapped in
yesterday's news
today another year
rolls on bye
seems to this mother
in less than a blink
of an eye
gifts unwrapped
and a puppy
named Snap
pictures taken
measurement on the
kitchen door jamb
he grows
tall and strong
but still
and forever
my little man
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
Something just went bump !
Do I get up now and see
Covers over head
Bump again, rattle
Thump thump thump goes the door
Out of bed gun drawn
The door flies open
Broken jamb falls to the floor
Dark shadow there now
Shadow enters room
My gun up trigger fingered
Squeeze slowly or not
Shadow notices
Catches gleam of chrome
Turns and runs quickly
Cell phone gathered now
911 dialed answered
Shadow back at door
Shotgun barrel points
Pistol comes up in my hand
Trigger squeezed, bright flash
Shadow down on floor
Relief and strain roll through me
Police arrive then
Ordeal starts again
Questions and answers, photos
Righteous, castle safe
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
The windows shatters
The walls caved in
The floor boards burned
The food rotted
The water dried
The furniture vanished
All that was left was a door stuck in it's jamb
And me
The door and I left standing
I made it easier for the door and kicked it in
Now it's just me
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 8:23 PM UTC
She was up for it,
Johnny knew the signs,
saw the advertisement
in her dark liquidy eyes,
smelt it in her perfume,
the kind of perfume
that said I want to be laid.
She stood in the doorway
of her apartment,
one hand on the open door,
cigarette held between fingers,
the other lowering the top
of one side of her black dress
(you can imagine the rest).
Johnny noted she wore no bra,
no rings, no sign she was
signed and sealed to another,
no sign she was disappointed
to see him, so show of shyness,
just that cool unfolding signal
how about *** how about you
and I spread out a little,
listen to some jazz on the Hi-fi,
drink some *****
All shown without words,
without big gestures,
none of her revealing:
I am a **** take me as you
want me kind of thing;
just Johnny standing against
the door jamb, cigarette between
lips, one in his right hand
maybe for later, she staring
at the elevator door closing
and he gazing at her as if
she was some Venus de Milo...
Well, you know.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC