"keyhole" poems
I watched my mother *******
Through the toilet keyhole
When I was aged about twelve.
I think I should re-phrase that.
I watched through the keyhole
As my mother ****** into the toilet.
I didn't mean to imply that
I watched whilst my mother
****** through the keyhole.
That would have called for accuracy
Beyond the average female capability.
Sorry for any confusion there.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
The saying is "Always live your life in the fast lane."
But how can I do that if my life has faded like smoke through a keyhole?
It is blank like a notepad on a little girl's desk.
The girl who is constantly bullied for the Bell's Palsy that consumes her face.
The notepad that sits on her desk that she has ripped pages upon pages upon pages out of.
Pages that read words that are thrown at her everyday.
**** ***** ***** loser.
Pages that have drawings of her and that one guy she longs for, but that one guy longs for her disappearance.
My life is like that blank note pad.
The only thing it retains is it's last message telling the world "Goodbye."
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
If the perfect
last end of
the wrong thing
before and after
the last could be
molded faster
than a fastener
then why not
return to the gurney
and be wheeled about
on a short-term journey
through the keyhole?
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
Ash outside
Sparks - encased
Just deny
If the world peeks
Through the keyhole
For it was meant for
It was meant for One
Whose eyes unlock the door
...barefoot 'cross the threshold
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
a penny is a penny
and i am a monk hawking birth control pills
without any shame or pride
disguised in flamboyant tinfoil.
i am an extra sensitive *** on my daily street corner
turning into a crumb of hunger
staring down a long alleyway and eating the flowers
that grew up in concrete.
there are shadows of jugglers on the wall
jumping into the sun, and i am a burning lampshade.
henry miller is in a wheelchair now
and i am a walrus with a backache
being forced among the proverb writers,
but i'm no prophet because i've seen the bubbling fire
and the swords on the doorway.
i am a lover with a guilty conscience
and i have too much on my mind.
i stole the bread from the riot squad and
i blow out these words from a keyhole,
pounding my fist on a book
while the mystics get drunk with skinny ******
i don't go to birthday parties or funerals
instead i'd like to do something worthwhile
but i am your typical flunky, writing eccentric jokes about rich pimps
while my father lies dead on the hill.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
I went for an X-Ray the other day. My name was called
and after the expected delay, I heard a nurse say
Right knee? I said Yep! She said “Come this way…
Can you get your trouser leg up to your thigh"?
I said “No… these skinny jeans don’t go that high”.
“In that case” she said looking me up & down... with a frown
Pop in that cubicle… and put on this gown!
For a start…it took me ages to get these trousers off…
and force the rest of my stuff into the carrier bag supplied
and then, when I saw the gown, I very nearly died!
It would have fitted me just fine if I’d been 18 again
but the gaps and bulges in the thing were a farce...
and allowed everyone in the corridor to see my fat 71 year old ****
I said out loud when I sat down again in the queue
“You know…I had an inferiority complex before I met any of you.
But this has definitely taken me down a notch. And I apologise about the view”.
However, inside the X-Ray room with all the techie kit and Radiographer Rob,
I felt better… The pain in my knee had almost gone apart from a distant throb.
Then he said “You’re completely safe, just lie back calm, quite still…serene”.
Whilst he clicked the shutter from the other side of his lead lined screen. (So he was alright then!)
Well, I’m home again now, hobbling about… It’s bearable (not like childbirth ladies) but not great.
I’m sitting here with my leg up waiting for the letter that will let me know my fate.
Ah yes… men and pain! There is a well know fact about the differences between the sexes.
It’s proven that, with men, colds become flu…and ailments:- epidemics… (No really!)
So, here’s the letter… Now...will it be Ointment? Physio, to transform a permanent slouch?
Or a keyhole flush with a catheter? Or - Oh no!…
For me - it’s a titanium replacement knee!… Ouch!
Somebody pass me that gown!!!
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.
And his wife used to cry, 'If the darlin' should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.'
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.
Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
'What the divil and all is this christenin'?'
He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.
So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened —
''Tis outrageous,' says he, 'to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!'
Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the 'praste' cried aloud in his haste,
'Come out and be christened, you divil!'
But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
'I've a notion,' says he, 'that'll move him.'
'Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy — don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I'll name him.
'Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name —
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?'
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout —
'Take your chance, anyhow, wid 'Maginnis'!'
As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled 'MAGINNIS'S WHISKY'!
And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened 'Maginnis'!
3.1k
My sister never had any boyfriends
which was quite surprising really you know
because she had a nice pair of knockers
and a very cute little **** on her
but never once a gentleman caller
came knock knock knock on her friendless portal.
So I asked her what was the ******* score
that no butch lads wanted to part her bush
and whyfore was she not barking for it
in a vague manner of ******* speaking
and she told me to glue my keen peepers
on her keyhole the next night to find out.
Thus I knelt down before her bedroom door
my eye glued to the appropriate hole
with a full view of her "sleepezee" bed
on which she casually lay spread out
legs opened like a major T-junction
and then her friend appeared to my rapt joy.
I gasped in wonder as her lesby love
straddled my **** sis and gave her tongue
a good chance to lick out her womb entrance
causing me to indulge in self-abuse
as their eager mutual ***********
gave way to some red hot ***** action.
(I hope they didn't hear the noisy splats
as I squirted my lovejuice onto the doorpost)
Good taste, eh?
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
I peeped through the keyhole a little to the left
And noticed that Futility had left a note
before it went vacationing.
Triumphantly throwing the door open and
stepping into the brisk afternoon air
with a puffed out chest
I bent down to see the tiny words scrawled upon a mere 2 inch scrap of paper
"I give up. Bye"
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 3:23 AM UTC
The window seems to move away
It's all very grey
As I seem to plummet down the rabbit hole
It all started with a stroll
I may have lost control
I will reach my goal
I will touch the light
I don't need a white knight
I will burn the night alight
Let's ignite the rabbit hole together, tonight
See the skylight shine bright
We will be reunited with the window light,
I can see it through the keyhole
It will not happen overnight, but we will escape the rabbit hole
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
i went into absorption for months...
upon returning to words i found
they had atrophied--like spotting an
ant through a keyhole.
they came so sparely, one by one...
wondering why i wished to violate
the silence that so blessed me.
so they sat next to one another in
lotus position, and poems were emanated.
they became more and more voluminous,
to the point of daily.
as if being summoned by a spell...slowly
poured into a glass and spilled into a pair
of lips.
to be reabsorbed by her mouth.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
Evenings like these
black as a keyhole
crossing a shadow cast
on the side of the road
where the ground sleeps
dreaming of smooth stones
and nights without love
earning a dangerous living
like a breath under water
choked on the mystery
of cornbread
and a farmer's daughter
I wake up thirsty
hungry and alone.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
They're rapping at my window, howling at my door
They're clawing at my carpet, banging on my walls
They're rattling my door **** flickering my lights
They're looking thru the key hole, shouting thru the cracks
They're crashing thru my window, breaking down my door
They're tearing up the carpet, knocking down my walls
They're ripping off my door **** busting all my bulbs
They're coming thru the keyhole, screaming by my head
They're entering my mind, there's nothing I can do
They're crawling into my fleash, controlling my every move
They're examining all my fears, making sure they all come true
They've finally taken over, now I truly am insane
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
Darkness plots and plans in hiding.
Shadows whisper undisturbed.
The next room, below the floor;
It cowers behind all we can see.
But light!
A renegade strand of you,
finding but a keyhole
ignites the dark.
Dust dances with your touch...
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
****** window screens and
Spray-painted limousines
Broken fingernails
Collecting dust in water pails
Chewed mosquito bites,
Lurking men of the night
Procession of death,
Headaches and shortness of breath
Physical or mental abuse,
Which road will you choose?
Abstinence with a keyhole of trust,
Unknown of love, engulfed in lust
Short distance and reoccurring sunsets,
a sunrise of jealously paired with eternal fret
Frustration, confusion, nothing less,
Hope is lost as you fail that test
Life mirrors’ a repetitive game
No purpose just filled with hallow halls and shame
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:50 PM UTC
Looking through a keyhole
World becomes smaller
A constricted view of the world
Lost the key somewhere
All the keys are redundant now
Within the four walls
Life revolves around the mundane
Only window to the world
Now hazy with perceptions
Now there is only one way
To look at the world
Holed up within the premises
But only to look though a keyhole
Locked inside aspirations
Never will the key be found
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
realize the door is standing in the middle of infinity
I put it there on some drunken night
thinking I was clever in my devising
never realizing I would trick myself with it too
kick the door down
and turn it into a flying carpet
a person can travel forever here
I see others at their own doors
seems my little game wasn't original after all
that's ok
I see others on their carpets
and wave hello
I see rockets and planes and balloons
There is a buddha hovering over a planet there
at peace, in zenful meditation
she is beautiful.
what wonders to discover
what glorious souls to meet
we are all family
we all know each others names and faces
before our first meetings and introductions
Saw a friend knock down her door
and fly away with wings, rapture on her face
I wept for joy to see her go
knowing our foreheads will touch again when it is time
and the stories she will tell!
Oh the stories!
All of these tales from divine lips
weaving into the fabric of the infinite
weaving us together as a whole
We Are - I Am
We Are One
Each experience becomes a story
Each life is an epic journey
retold with the tongues of cosmic bards
the words resonate in swirls and patterns
making sacred geometry with the stars
I see, I see, I see
there is so much to take in
and so much to give back
dancing with the bear and the wolf
the eagle and the raven cry out above our heads
reminding me of the regal heritage which death wears on it's crown.
Supping at a feast of the gods, Inanna on one side, Ganesh leaning on my shoulder
they laugh and cry and tell cheesy jokes like the rest of us
when we aren't looking
we are in the infinite, there is no rush
for there is no time - it's all Now
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
I bent over willingly not knowing
what exactly was going to happen.
I faced the door hoping help
would come through the ***** keyhole.
Thing is.......
I was always up after eight
and didn't have the power to fight
nor scream.
After this particular incident that happened
one too many times,
regularly.
Everything changed.
I slept early.
I had anger towards men.
I was afraid of speaking up.
And lastly I didn't know what it was.
Because it wasn't skin on skin,
Society would conclude and say it wasn't a scheme .
Because I didn't scream,
Society would conclude and say I enjoyed it.
So what is child molestation?
Skin on skin?
Or not wanting it to happen at all?
I didn't say "No" cause I was afraid,
I didn't say "No" cause saying it to an elder was rude,
I didn't say "No" cause he was the opposite ***
And I didn't say "No" cause I was seven years of age.
Now tell me I wasn't molested.
Written by :Leechle ❤️
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
In an apartment on 53rd street
A fire is burning
Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.
Smoke comes in walls
& is heavier than rocks
& it takes an artist
To hate oneself.
Moon-faced Serbians sipped
Drain-O from sandals
While red-lipped nomads
Gazed & sharpened their blades.
A fat lady walks in &
Before she can say
“Burger & fries”
There are spears in her ears.
The body is dragged to the
River by sheepish failures, but
The boxer knew what was afoot &
Had removed all the water from the river.
But no-one cared because a riot had
Started in the streets
“Flay the feminazis,” they chanted
“Pour molten oil on the devout,” they screamed.
& all the flat-eyed artists
& all the drag-queen mobsters
Danced around the fire like evolution
& an ape got in the middle of it.
His fingertips calloused
His elbows like spears
His eyes w/ more blood
Than white.
Richard Nixon or
A Richard Nixon costume
Entered stage right w/
Boxing gloves & cocktails.
They would throw children
Across the fire
& artists on the other side would be
Waiting w/ nets & knives.
But then tear gas came
& they cried & their
Tears were like the eyes that
Glinted at them.
Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
My soul whispered a secret to my heart,
It spoke of spilled blood upon a rose,
Rouged lips within the garden,
Drops of crimson liquid blush.
[CHORUS]
Nature’s beloved colour is green,
So red speaks of originality,
Blood is a passion,
Scarlet bleeding from thy own,
A claret sun dawning beyond,
Sanguine stained skies.
When the little cardinal sings sweetly,
A doorway opens I never chose,
Visions of a bloodshot key,
A lock rusted with dried blood.
A glimpse through the keyhole,
A pale forest awaits on the other side,
Showers of cherry blossoms,
Falling upon the snow.
Red berries bloom under crystal snow,
Glints of sunlight touch down,
Sparks of fire captured within,
Just beyond this rubicund door.
[CHORUS]
The dreams I am allowed,
Burn and scar my will,
When the door swings open,
Of its own accord.
Damask petals on the wind.
How warm and gentle that spray of blood,
Like a hundred tender kisses,
And the golden keys to Heaven.
I glimpsed the gules of true heraldry,
A suffused spirit at the dawn of memory,
Imprisoned by a cage of vermillion frost,
Warmed by a glass of spiced wine.
[CHORUS]
A roseate palace at the end of a long walk,
Painted titian by my tear drops,
Caress a florid complexion,
Carmine not my own.
Roan stones dusted,
By the fall of Angels light,
Make-believe incarnadine carpet of,
A mirrored auburn dusk.
I settle back into the maroon night,
The darkness flushed by concealed art,
Bay canvas touched-up with unreal imagery,
Indifferent to the passing of my former life.
[CHORUS]
Rubies fall from ruddy clouds,
These gems are not for me,
Reddened glass has come to pass,
The moment of my undoing.
[PAUSE (Epilogue)]
Red is not for me,
Red was not meant to be...
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
child of two moons
the harvest wheat grows
diamonds
on its stalks
daughter of the broken king
your carousel’s chained bears and albino
peacocks scream at night for
their release
lonely lover
the keyhole is rusted since he last
touched you
the oil getting rancid
martyred saint
your doe heart has an arrow of Cupid’s
skewering through a demon’s
confession written in fire
weeping widow
your maid took your cup of tears
to water the lilies giving
root at his grave
sanguine seamstress
do not stitch the bird’s
wing that has bashed
out its brains
non-existent soul mate
your fingerprints stain
my poems
with star grease
lover whose number I lost track of
I feel your footsteps ricochet
within my bones please
stop running I’m trying to sleep
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
i.
In the land of syzygy
In ourn demesne;
Brandon Nagley
Jane sleeping.
ii.
King and Queen
A castle's leaping;
iii.
Creature's peeking
Through keyhole lock's;
The river of life
between ourn thought's.
iv.
Hand's held tight
Soulmate finger's locked;
The castle's amour'
Echoes paranormal clock's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
Everything (physically) erased, nothing ever forgotten. Every word spoken or written is engrained in my brain, I will never be the same. Unlike no other you came you conquered you (changed). Seven existential hours that would change my DNA and internal making, making, making what I knew up until then surprisingly malleable. Your words your actions your face your voice filled up every millimeter of me that everything else inside was pushed to the brim and seeped out of my pores. Everything I once was became everything you ever were, ever are. There is a chair in the back of my mind that is reserved for you to sit there and continue to hotwire (my mind) and thoughts into something much better than I ever could have fathomed. Your puppet strings control what and who I am and it is impossible to think there is any other living organism that could possess that undeniable ability. There is a keyhole somewhere inside myself. There is a key inside of you. Keyholes the size of pinholes as vast as Sirius. Small, believable, existing. Keys the shape of orchids and birch as natural as the metamorphosis of roots (into) trees. I never knew what (my) purpose was until you. Or maybe I always knew what I was before you and you opened the windows to the (soul) otherwise known as brown eyes so timid to everyone besides you. The smallest organs became so (full of) nothing but visions of you. There is a special place in my slowly beating heart perfectly executed to fit all of you. A twin bed that only holds one girl has an infinite amount of room for whatever (love) you could continue to bring into my life. The impossibility to (for)get and erase has left me with an endless amount of hope to see you again. The possibility of knowing that you are still somewhere out there and I am still somewhere down here, although unsure where. I cannot ascertain whether or not feelings are reciprocated but I know I know they are. I know you know where you are. I know you know I do not know where I am but you could figure it all out for me. You had it all figured out for me. Plans stretched farther than the 3000 miles separating my red string from yours. Our strings are still connected. There is nothing in the world that can cut them no matter the distance no matter the people no matter the time no matter the place. I know and somehow you know fate will bring our two oceans together. One calm ocean full of creatures so logical and tides so serene they make a beautifully flawed human being known as yourself. One ocean plagued by waves and uncertainty as to what is below the surface that makes up a human being, me. Both oceans surround land full of love. Our continents will merge. Our love will emerge. (You, only you.)
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
I like to think your eye is at the keyhole,
Your sloppy brain conjuring make-shift realities
for your majick to paint into thin air
from your lies.
Bald-faced whoppers or sneaky half-truths,
You twirl them around your illusion
expecting
a fantastic creation
with which to delight yourself.
A pitiful white smoke jin,
dissolving
almost as quickly
as it rose from the flame.
You honestly believe you've stolen my illusion,
kept it just long enough to smudge,
a chalk drawing.
You honestly believe
I've let you do it, unwilling and unknowing.
Your fingers are *****
the powder won't wash away.
All for nothing.
You only erased the memory of what I once felt for you.
Ah, your makeshift majick works!
Well done and thank you.
How long will you keep squinting at the light on the other side?
Your eye must be getting tired.
Why don't you just open the door?
It ain't locked.
I've a feeling you've got a wicked temper
and a lot of hate built up inside that you
refuse to acknowledge,
try to ignore,
Until you're secure in the darkest corner of your prayer closet.
Facing a mirror,
Worshipping and damning
at the same time
That's when it boils over.
***** **** dog, frothing at the mouth...
Mean drunk, indiscriminate for a fight,
but there's no one at the bar.
Only a witch's cruel mirror
and all it says is...
"You aren't the Golden Child,
"Your majick is a sham
"No one cares enough to read you
"You're a thick, boring book
"The worst kind: a book about a book
"A book about yourself
"A book called 'Look What I've Done!'"
So here I sit, on the other side of your peephole view
Wondering what I should do next,
Knowing I'll never be strong enough to tell you
to your face
that I've known all along...
I walk through streets in your dreams...
Of this I'm certain
even as I know you're watching me right now,
with all your wasted mental projections,
charms, chants, lusts, cravings, desires, needs,
Casting that covetous spell my way but I guess
The keyhole must be too small
Because I don't feel a thing
and as I sit here,
naked in my own secret place,
I could care less that you live for these moments
of disappointed voyeurism
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 11:19 AM UTC
the curly haired boy had a darker side
well ingrained and perversely it did preside
in hindsight the family's collective eyes got to see
what an odious person he turned out to be
at a gathering of our clan on Christmas day
Lionel did have his despicable way
into Nan's lounge room he took my sister
on the pretext that they'd listen to his transistor
thence he proceeded to violate
the innocence of a thirteen year old girl
he touched her in an inappropriate manner
which was for my sister unpleasant of whirl
strange how past incidents come to light
the family have seen cousin Lionel in a new light
for several years he'd been acting well out of line
touching the females in the family as a filthy swine
the other side of his door
had a contemptible slur
we've gained privy to a person
little better than a cur
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC