"layover" poems
Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men- poor folks-
work.
That moment- to this. . .
may be years in the way they measure,
but it's only one sentence back in my mind-
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.
7.1k
*when the moon writhe and crawling the silent night..
it was time to layover yearning who clotted for sweetheart..
when the sun excited to greet the morning ..
it was time to embed cheerfulness on the idol of conscience..
sprinkle knitted heart turmoil and dew drops each cavity of jasmine petals ..
i greet to you, my dearest sister..
each twist will crease beautiful crowded heart longing ..
so that relieved you feel full carefree breathing..
with the presence of me,
i will fulfill your every drought in the lake of your worries ..
i will treat every your petulant in lap with more excellent attention ...
return back to you as always, my dearest sister..
to pulling the curtain the recesses of the heart that always hiding ..
to wrapping blush smolder desire in your heart arms ..
because your bliss, my dearest sister..
it's most beautiful thing that can i enjoy ever ..*
-the poetry is dedicated to a sincere friend of mine, Ha-
┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
adinda
kala sang rembulan menggeliat merayapi malam sunyi..
tibalah waktu untuk menyinggahi gigilnya kerinduan sang kekasih sanubari..
kala sang mentari bersemangat menyambut pagi ..
tibalah waktu untuk menyematkan kecerian pada sang pujaan nurani..
menyemaikan untaian gejolak kalbu dan meneteskan embun disetiap rongga kelopak melati..
kusambut darimu, adinda...
setiap simpul lipatan hati yang sesak akan indahnya kerinduan..
agar terasa lega engkau bernafas penuh riang..
bersama hadirku,
kan kupenuhi setiap kekeringan ditelaga keresahanmu..
kan kumanjakan setiap rajukanmu dipangkuan perhatian nan syahdu...
berpulang selalu kepadamu, adinda..
untuk menyibakan tirai pada relung hati yang selalu bersembunyi..
untuk membalut rona kerinduanmu yang membara dalam dekapan hati ..
kerena bahagiamu, adinda...
adalah merupakan hal terindah yang dapat kunikmati..
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
Sometimes in the airport I save a seat for you.
I hope that you will be boarding a plane or on a layover
and we could happen to meet one more time,
before we once again depart in different directions.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
The casket was coming up, swaying and wobbling
Like a novice skater’s layover spin,
The workings proceeding apace,
The stillness of the August heat
Punctuated by disinterested growl of the backhoe,
The occasional out-of-place jocularity by the excavators
The creaky jingle of the chains holding the muddied box
As it proceeded skyward in its clumsy poor-man’s Resurrection.
The affair was being observed by an elderly couple,
Old enough to be of no particular age.
Their car had Carolina plates,
But their inflections, their casually-tossed idioms
They noted that ruefully The grass needs mowed)
Marked them as natives.
They’d returned (Last time, most likely,
The wife uttered mournfully)
To take their son with them; he’d drowned when was five? six?
(The years will do that to a body, apparently)
In Kinzua Creek some half-century ago,
Back when little boys weren’t under a mandate
To be safe from themselves, as it were.
He was our boy! We’ve never forgotten him!
The old man said, the words snapping off
In a manner that spoke of something else altogether,
How the whistle at the Montmorenci
Went off at three and eleven for second shift,
And your *** had better be there,
As those were good jobs that didn’t wait for bereavement leave,
Because there was always someone
Just itching to take your spot on the line,
And anyway life went on,
At least in the sense that television screens went all to snow
And tires went flat and fuses blew
And eventually a dead child
Is not always in the forefront of your thoughts,
Only tiptoeing in when the Press ran a picture
Of the Montmorenci Area Class of whenever,
Or there was an item about some other family
Who opened their front door
To a grim sheriff’s deputy with his hat in his hand.
Eventually, after some time
And in defiance of both the odds and gravity,
The casket was settled into the back
Of the undertaker’s huge old black Caddy,
And the couple cane-toddled back to their car,
Following out the through the old spider-like gates
And onto the main road.
The brief procession fading from sight,
Until there was nothing left to see
Save the hillsides covered in old growth pine.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
On the loneliest rail and road
Is where I could see the foggy mountains
As on the trip I stare at the most smoky sky
Is where I could feel my mind at peace and calm
Of questions and imaginations.
On the widest field of grass, being greenish I layover
Is where I could see a figure of your perfect look
As the stars beaming down and as the moon illuminating away
Is when I feel like my heart beats a pound and my chest pumped a gun
Of butterflies and flowers.
And in the deepest hole of heart
Is where you unfold your love and passion
As you're lying down unfurl your affection and addiction
Here I'm sitting, giving, sharing, and holding
On hopes and an unstoppable benediction.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
I had a three hour layover so I ordered a bartender's handshake
She smiled at me and said "welcome home"
I smiled at her mistake and
told her I was only a visitor
She placed two glasses down and poured the fernet and ginger
The strong solvant dissolved the feeling of being alone
She poured another at half price
For the next three hours
I sipped the heart out of a perfect San Francisco night
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 7:50 AM UTC
The trip complete there’s nothing left
Save for the souvineirs.
It was a blast, a welcome rest
I’ll think of it for years.
But here I am at LAX
No dream, no cardigan.
I’ll have to wait a hundred years
Just to lift off again.
Don’t get me wrong the airport’s nice,
The smell is odorless?
The chairs, the chairs, Oh god, the chairs:
The source of my unrest.
I’ll sit and sit and try and sleep
but always: no avail.
The strangers stare, don’t offer help
They watch me as I flail.
The pillow doesn’t offer rest
The armrest pokes me, merciless
My mind white-hot and furious
Just calm down.
Relax your self.
It will all be over soon.
LAYOVER
Denied: my only boon.
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
Her prairie hair is grass gone to seed,
her voice vibrates on a fiddle string.
She taught you the meaning of homeward,
Americana Pollyanna, you tangle her name
in the cold northeastern stars.
She spills tall tales across the porch,
the air smells of thunder and cherry pie.
As a child she caught fireflies in jars
and has a scar in the shape of Alabama,
Pollyanna.
Tonight,
snow clouds roll through Chicago, the air is thin.
You stand in the window on a two hour layover
and look Homeward.
Pollyanna Mystica, a sky full of constellations
that you have already begun to forget:
watermelon seeds spit from the porch,
a spattering of insects on the windshield,
beautifully and infinitely random.
Freckles that trail down her knees and bare feet,
meandering paths you have followed before.
Pollyanna Diana, an fat moon smiles down on
the Kentucky dirt, rutted and red
where she will lay down her tired bones.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
Pradip marks the slow disappearance of faces in the market,
unknown yet familiar and thus important to the senses,
for our eyes crave continuity, comfort reassuring that time,
even time that robber par excellent, still provides some comfort
to our souls, in its own way, even the faces of strangers in familiar places are road markers, bookmarks, that even the known unknown offer a measure of solace, as we traverse the old familiar places
of daily life.
it must be remedied. some of you know that I make not idle promises,
that my promises to be there are effected, for I am affected by the
repair of the world in little, measurable manners, so the iCal calendar
modified with a Visit Pradip++, a new addition…
and on the way there
are few more exotic places where poetry grows that
will require some
layover visitations…
only time in its theiving secretive ways stands between me and
you denied grasping arms, taking the measure physical of a
beating heart
and river-wide smile,
maybe even I’ll practice with a trip to
remote foreign places, which they speak
the languages of poetry too,
Snake River, even Iowa!
olp/n.n.
Dec 19, 2023
Dec 19, 2023 at 9:34 AM UTC
1
layover in toronto:
******* rain &
emptiness out the window
2
hushed crowds:
the sound of/
rainy footsteps.
3
waiting for the greyhound:
dismal spectres
ask about my change.
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 10:43 PM UTC
Blown glass heartbeat,
With an extension cord, the vibrations are distancing themselves,
Between macabre and *** luck and **** luck- And affection-
Are heirlooms cry of antique tears.
San Francisco Chronicle:
“Boeing kidnaps…”
And my soul bottled up in an hour layover heist.
Boeing adult-naps.
Texas.
Texas.
Texas.
Amarillo beehive hair across the aisle, smoke and honey.
It stings my tongue, kisses my lungs, legs-crossed on the highest rung.
The Miller High Life-esque, reclining on a quarter moon.
Here we are, patience and mercy.
Here we are patience.
Here we are.
Here.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
Who hates me, though he’s never met me
At least that’s what I think
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend now
He got himself a man
I get it, I got it
Nope, I understand
My ex boyfriend went and got himself a man
So we move on
Simultaneously
We’ve each found someone new
And he’ll do all things he couldn’t do
As for me
Whatsername and You-Know-Who
I was the chill chick you could kick with
And you made a big deal out of me
For a good minute
But you went back to the strip back to the chicks
With the fake **** that are just as big as mine
You could’ve had me the whole time
I was the real deal, head to toe, Inside out
And I’m furious like .. **** you
But I still wonder where we could be, right now
And part of me would probably take you back
Somehow
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend now
He got himself a man
As for me
We were strangers headed to rush hour with an hour layover
Complaining about the wait
We bonded realizing we are around the same age
I only got your name off the plate on your necklace
Mackayla
We sat together on the arriving train
You told me about things in your life I had no idea about
Names and places and daily dilemmas and I related right back
You got off 3 stops before mine
When you departed a man and woman sat in the aisle next to ours
And it put me through deja vu because they’re both going through
What we just went through
Strangers at first who converse and relate
He was talking to her about how he likes to meditate
I found this strange
Especially when he told the woman how it was nice to meet and chat
Because life is no longer like that
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend now
He got himself a man
As for me
I’m sitting in the plaza one day
On top of the leveled wall
Enjoying the september weather
Checking some messages while waiting on a call
I adjusted my hair, then this man makes his way over
To me from way over there
I had caught him staring at me a few times
But tried not to look him in the eye
He sits right next to me
Thigh-to-thigh
And everyone around us is also a guy
Minding their own business, totally oblivious
Reading the paper, or scrolling their phones
And I just wanted to be left alone
Right across from my own home
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
My ex boyfriends found a man
My ex boyfriends got a boyfriend
Who hates me, though he’s never met me
At least that’s what I think
He’ll never be what I am
Or do what I can
My best friend got himself a husband now
He got himself a man
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 2:34 PM UTC
looking back on the distance
all the time spent apart and alone
and worrying
and wondering
feeling as though time
was taking its sweet time
and oh, how it was
i remember i would sit in bed at night
and stare at pictures of you until
my eyes were wet with tears
i realized i couldn't remember your face
the details
i thought of you and i couldn't see it
and the pictures never do you justice
i remember waking up each morning
to the crushing defeat
of another long day without you
ahead of me
crawling back into bed at night
thinking,
*my god, this is exhausting,
this marathon of missing you.*
and oh, how it was
i remember feeling like the end
was nowhere in sight
and this distance would **** me
and now
the only thing that separates us
is a handful of days
and a layover in charlotte
hours away from you
i'm looking back at the day we said goodbye
and smiling
for once
because we are so incredibly close
to the best hello
these airport walls
have ever seen
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
"Dreams are foreign and uncomfortable. The common dreamworld never quite mimics life in its truest form."
I flew over snowy mountain peaks on my way to Amsterdam, dreaming of existing in my truest form. My layover in Reykjavik was only three hours long, & I was traveling alone. Three hours is just enough time to worry about getting lost & I pondered what it would be like to let go.
My trip would take me to Amsterdam, then London. I would find myself in Amsterdam again by day 10. I chose to ignore the loneliness by drinking a pint of Belgian beer in a bar that was much too small and enveloped in tobacco smoke.
On my way to the bathroom I spotted a cat prowling the floor like he was hunting for a bird. He was out of place, yet here he was in his truest form. Forever hunting for a bird that was nowhere to be found.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 6:29 PM UTC
* : Janet E Steele*
And what is the body? And what is a house?
The body is home to pain,
there was a mouth that held back a scream
there are wounds that show the face of blood
The body is home to the spirit of layover,
and there he felt at home, listening to the song
time, clock & heart rippled
And what is a house? And what is the body?
The house is an area where there is none
the shadow of the body, in a corner
gramophone placed & prayer sent to far.
Home is where you come back
from a small meeting, and there you are
happy, because you have time to say love.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC
Just touched down from Darwin,
2 hour layover in Sydney & I’m starvin’,
met a girl at the airport,
and invited her to dinner,
they say there’s no such thing as a free lunch,
but I’ve got a credit card that let’s me dine,
at almost any restaurant in any country,
on any continent in any dateline,
so I often invite,
beautiful girls and other fellow travelers,
to dine with me as my guest for free,
where we share stories over appetizers,
more peace stories than war stories,
more love than hate,
because when you really get to know someone,
you find you differ in less ways than you relate,
anyways,
there we were,
both on rest stops till our next stop,
two world travelers,
I’d noticed an engagement ring,
more than a modest sized rock,
but I noticed the finger on which it sat,
made the look a bit odd,
see she wore the ring,
on her middle finger instead of her ring finger,
so it was more of a fck you instead of a love you,
I asked her if there was a reason for this position,
she said it was because,
it simply didn’t fit on her ring finger,
that it was a simple mix up that was it but,
I suspected there was a reason that was deeper,
so I questioned her intentions,
why was she with this man but still acting like a free woman,
why was she speaking of “exploding like a volcano!”,
when she sees a man and feels an attraction,
about how she had a fantasy,
of meeting a beautiful Australian man,
on a beach and he’d teach her to surf,
and she’d ride his surfboard from the wave to the sand,
this was when I decided to speak up,
to tell her I didn’t think this engagement would work out,
that maybe tying the knot with a man was already a dad,
was not the best idea for a woman with no kids that liked to go out,
that maybe I was in a way,
an Angel of Divine Intervention,
and how every moment of our lives,
had led us up to that instant,
I told her no man owned her,
that her body was hers alone to control,
that life is too short to compromise,
that there is no moment other than now,
I told her that that was the reason,
that I didn’t have a wife,
because there are many women I love,
and to love only one wouldn’t be right,
how can I tell one of my lovers,
that she’s better than all the rest,
how can I tell any of the others,
that they’re not as good as the one that I’m with,
I can’t,
because love is not confined into the body of one,
love is free to love and do what love does,
and with that we finished our tapas,
and finished our rendezvous with cappuccinos and hugs,
back into the world,
back into the embrace of another lover,
back into the future,
to make more memories with more women at more dinners…
∆ LaLux ∆
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
When I was in hostile environment training in Manchester
I picked up this butterfly pendent for you but never presented it
Because of your ludicrous inkling, that true friends should never exchange gifts;
When I first met you working at that coffee shop back home
I was trying to woo you by writing poetry but I failed and read them on my own;
When I was 20 occupied in Dubai I was rationalizing what adventures you might have ventured in to
While observing the city ***** ****** monoliths of sand cement and glass;
When I was stuck in an airport in Pakistan, I saw a humming bird and a blue plastic bag
Arbitrarily floating in the air, then thought of your indigo hair band
Which you use to wear, hopelessly on your left arm
When I was watching the Formula 1 back in Bahrain I watched the race cars firm pass
And wondered how our time together also expired just as fast;
When I was 23 - enduring in the war tore city of Baghdad
I meant to write but there was nothing stimulating
In that hell hole to write for your innocent soul to have ever grasped
Hence I held my silence steadfast
I spared you the misery when I failed to communicate the wounds I received in Ballad (a US Air force base in Iraq);
Then when I was in the ***** fields in the Kanoon province of Afghanistan
I discovered that ****** is almost as intoxicating & addictive as you
When I was in a discotheque in New Castle, I saw a girl with a butterfly tattoo
Reminded me of how you spread your wings and flew away with someone more attuned to you
When I was in a seafood restaurant in Singapore, I ordered a Unagi sushi (I did not even eat it)
Only to induce the aroma of your favourite dish as it evoked the sweet memory of you
When I was in a 15 hour layover in Male sinking my feet in the sea sand
I simply wished that you were there with me holding my hand
When I was once stuck in the metro in London I allegedly meant to send a postcard
But got distracted by the fact that you were engaged to another hence it was excruciatingly hard
After a Coldplay concert ended in Liverpool I saw this little Irish lass
And thought how beautiful your children might take after your beautiful stance
When I was visiting a castle in Edinburgh oh! How I wished I have secured a castle for you
And how I should have said those 3 words more often than I ever moved around without you
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
We share a room. The light from her iPod stopped bugging me after a while.
We took out the bunk bed after we decided to be grown ups.
On a double matteress we gather hours of rest,
Our bodies barely touch or coil together
Just the breathing sounds we make in our sleep states are comforting enough.
When we hear a bump, we consult each other of whether we should leave the room or just go back to bed.
She started asking me to cover for her.
So mom wouldn't know what she was up to.
Mom trusts us as we would hope. And we hardly break that trust.
Life stopped being complicated for me.
It's like it began anew,
Unfolding
Straightening paths
Smoothing the crinkles in each sheet that layover my little body
The bends disappeared, crusted confrontations
Forgotten.
I met him from a great friend of mine. We argued over something silly.
He called me after I explained I was upset.
I beat myself over the dry branches of thick trees
Scolding myself. Insulting myself.
I did nothing but remind myself of my exclusive habits to handsome men.
But he visited me and upon that spree of him skipping class, he was beautiful like the men. So I thought maybe, in the back of my mind, that I could explore him like the others and relieve him and myself of whatever we were clinging to.
He was clinging to something short of sadness. Much like grief.
And he explained that I was good and shouldn't place myself in a damp hole when the sun is capable of more than being bright and warm.
So we spoke and lay together in my bed resisting silly things.
Sitting up together he is ready to leave he says 'I'm glad I skipped class today.'
He kisses me. Telling me that he isnt interested in much else.
My mouth is filled with sweet smells, bitter tastes. This boys limbs quake, heart punching rib bones as fast as man boy can take, his glasses tremble to his skin too. Everything sticks slowly. I can see the ceiling moving. The shadows against its popcorn texture. I can hear my mother clicking her mouse by the computer. He breathes in, pupils enlarge almost as loud as an animals shriek.
I think I twitched.
My sister forgot to make the bed that day.
And I'm glad becaus he doesn't make his bed either.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
She bit her lip as I stared at her body
I'm a moral man, or at least I try but tonight I felt more corrupt than John Gotti,
I jumped on her, desire written on her lovely face,
And I kissed and caressed her body
Her grunts and low groans sounding even better than a hole with an ace
She was quite the tease all through the night,
She wanted to be in charge on this encounter
She pushed me up against the minibar
And rode me right there, rough and wet on the counter
Then I got up, if for a brief moment, and laid her doggy against the still running sink
We had *** so many times that night
The next morning I could barely think
And that's my story everyone,
The best layover, well lay under really that I've ever had
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC
9 hours.
It's a long time to spend
in an airport.
I wore the wrong shoes
and my feet hurt
with every step I took.
But then I saw the tears
and then her story came pouring out
at me with them.
Dad passed,
mom barely hanging on,
flight delayed,
Sister ill,
daughter going deaf...
And my feet hurt
on my 9 hour layover
to Europe...
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
That codeine buzz
Johnnie Walker high better in lounge than air
because you don't fly enough for them to love you
**** it down while you can.
Proportion pharmas well
No Xanax pre-layover
Nobody likes an airport sleeper
And only your mum catches wheelchairs
off planes.
Give me night trips,
hot hostesses
to while away the time
while I burn my life through
this strange jet-propelled existence
loving only freedoms expressed
between confines of steel.
Freedoms reduced
our liberty sharpened,
exalted with easy available power points.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
Last night I was able to get a few minutes with the devil at midnight, I was telling her about my ambien fulled mid-flight fist fight
She looked at me with delight as she offered a key with some coke that just hit
just right
She told me
"Kid you're on the right path, people looking to tear you off may tell you that there is value in sit ins and coups, but these chickens get to be yours for the picking. Stay the course
No remorse
Until you're forced on your deathbed
Stick here and you'll be well fed
Maybe your spirit dying of thrist, but what good is a death if you can't afford the hearse?
I'm here to tell you first and last, that after life the afterlife is laughter in the mind of a child. Kid go wild"
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 9:31 PM UTC
The intercom drones
a circadian rhythm
around here &
the lighting is diffused
to keep the masses subdued.
Baggage checkers
act robotic
& it doesn't really matter
if you miss your flight,
have a problem with your seat.
It's all factored
into the system
that the control boys control,
behind the scenes
of this perfectly
orchestrated illusion.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
calling a lost lover
to begin to head on over
this bedroom was only a boarding gate
and this bed your layover.
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC