"orderless" poems - Hello Poetry

Here, on the flatlands I was put in my place. formed and pressed into their neat and presumably safe little box. It's all they knew. It is so hard to think of them as once children themselves, formed and pressed. Formed from a different time, with different conformists. There are no manuals when we are born, you get leftover instructions from previous pipe fitters. Agrarian raised, like grain fed beef. Complete with the fears and habits of bygone generations. I leave one bite of each item on my plate, with just enough drink to wash it all down. I have done that as long as I can remember. I want the whole candy bar, rather than just a bite. Pressed and formed my Father saves. He saves twist ties from bread bags. He saves old welcome mats, and garage door openers. He buys in bulk, and has two deep freezers full. Full of freezer burn, tasteless, barely nutritious, neatly formed and pressed portions of frozen in time Salisbury steak. It is as if he himself would like to be frozen in time. He is a depressionite child. In the basement there is an old dresser that he found at a yard sale. He painted it a hideous green, but it has a formed and pressed neat white little doily on top. In the top drawer there are various expired drugstore items, some dating as far back as 35 years ago. "You never know when you might need something in there." Expired aspirin that has broken down into powder and smells of vinegar. Vicks Vaporub, in the pretty blue glass jar, that is dried up and orderless. All brand new and have never been opened. Formed and pressed neatly in their little containers. I watch these molders of my life slowly pass away, becoming neatly formed and packed into their aging corner of the world, neatly formed and packed into a stereotypical old folks home. Forgotten, in the way, slow, aching. Soon all they will have will be memories. Soon all they will need will be memories. Neatly formed and packed in their aging minds. And then, like a comet that has shuttled through space for thousands of years, millions of years, they will burn out and fade into dust. And their whole lives will be neatly formed and packed away, in a trunk in the attic, to be opened like a time capsule, at a later date. the result of a week with my 94 yr old Parents

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May 21, 2013

May 21, 2013 at 4:32 AM UTC

ld-goodwin

Neatly Formed and Pressed (a letter from the Flatlands)

Here, on the flatlands I was put in my place. formed and pressed into their neat and presumably safe little box. It's all they knew. It is so hard to think of them as once children themselves, formed and pressed. Formed from a different time, with different conformists. There are no manuals when we are born, you get leftover instructions from previous pipe fitters. Agrarian raised, like grain fed beef. Complete with the fears and habits of bygone generations. I leave one bite of each item on my plate, with just enough drink to wash it all down. I have done that as long as I can remember. I want the whole candy bar, rather than just a bite. Pressed and formed my Father saves. He saves twist ties from bread bags. He saves old welcome mats, and garage door openers. He buys in bulk, and has two deep freezers full. Full of freezer burn, tasteless, barely nutritious, neatly formed and pressed portions of frozen in time Salisbury steak. It is as if he himself would like to be frozen in time. He is a depressionite child. In the basement there is an old dresser that he found at a yard sale. He painted it a hideous green, but it has a formed and pressed neat white little doily on top. In the top drawer there are various expired drugstore items, some dating as far back as 35 years ago. "You never know when you might need something in there." Expired aspirin that has broken down into powder and smells of vinegar. Vicks Vaporub, in the pretty blue glass jar, that is dried up and orderless. All brand new and have never been opened. Formed and pressed neatly in their little containers. I watch these molders of my life slowly pass away, becoming neatly formed and packed into their aging corner of the world, neatly formed and packed into a stereotypical old folks home. Forgotten, in the way, slow, aching. Soon all they will have will be memories. Soon all they will need will be memories. Neatly formed and packed in their aging minds. And then, like a comet that has shuttled through space for thousands of years, millions of years, they will burn out and fade into dust. And their whole lives will be neatly formed and packed away, in a trunk in the attic, to be opened like a time capsule, at a later date. the result of a week with my 94 yr old Parents

52

on scheduless days of stifling heat when orderless ranks of canines beat up the backroad and down the street into the wood and onto the steep a glorious arbor among thankless trees "forever" says the whispering breeze never mind the never-stop bees the nimble squirrel is playing freeze if ever there were a guest- a sitting stone but never a guest in this place my place alone drenched inside the thicket a thousand thorny dreams closing in on me clamping down on me altogether surrounding me as home begins its beckoning I reason it's a reckoning I reckon there's a reason for everything skyward a fleeting glimpse of a foregone future forlorn shatters like a shadow that a light shines upon

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Apr 18, 2016

Apr 18, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC

VaporSaint

Alred Arbor

on scheduless days of stifling heat when orderless ranks of canines beat up the backroad and down the street into the wood and onto the steep a glorious arbor among thankless trees "forever" says the whispering breeze never mind the never-stop bees the nimble squirrel is playing freeze if ever there were a guest- a sitting stone but never a guest in this place my place alone drenched inside the thicket a thousand thorny dreams closing in on me clamping down on me altogether surrounding me as home begins its beckoning I reason it's a reckoning I reckon there's a reason for everything skyward a fleeting glimpse of a foregone future forlorn shatters like a shadow that a light shines upon

25

bold and assiduous like a young hip our glowing silence tears the air the unconceived truth of blood you wander around my chest as if in a procession towards the delirium of spring my wrists have no dream to hide the eyes confess: falling skies are crushing stone by stone the world in which you didn't exist my body buried in light an orderless language, the rest is details

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Mar 8, 2023

Mar 8, 2023 at 6:53 AM UTC

irinia

glowing

bold and assiduous like a young hip our glowing silence tears the air the unconceived truth of blood you wander around my chest as if in a procession towards the delirium of spring my wrists have no dream to hide the eyes confess: falling skies are crushing stone by stone the world in which you didn't exist my body buried in light an orderless language, the rest is details

10

Hinged It's a feeling of bulkiness Gathering up the strength But also the coordination In front of the mirror A certain Goliath effort for Planning, detailing, getting affairs In order, all in orderless care Carbon planes rattle the Hotel air conditioners on the 2nd Floor below the outside balcony Smoky white dancing lines trace And replace a clear day view Like so long ago when all the world Was just a moment, just a day, Just a boy and his thoughts I made all the right calls to Make sure it all goes smoothly The plan in place and ready set I slip off the Adidas shoelaces And place them to the right hand Side of the bed with the night stand with the magazine the hotel Put out, The Kardashians' latest baby story About giving birth in designer high heels The eyes all white and faded in Too much light The cord in place, I move the Desk chair closer to the center of The room, the wheels squeaking Like the raising and lowering of the crab traps from the shore house, Long Beach days shine on Forever ago My feet wobble as I climb onto The chair, that few-second elevated vertigo Feeling obscured further as I slip Off my glasses one last time, Blind and blurred to all the world I cannot see Tears heap to vapor and disperse with a weary glaze down My cheeks as Life seeps away into mortal corners, boiling goosebumps on my arms Drowning nevermore, I feel the thresh of the cord As this world turns to the next And a soul quietly exhales

0

Jan 15, 2016

Jan 15, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC

peter-sinead

Hinged

Hinged It's a feeling of bulkiness Gathering up the strength But also the coordination In front of the mirror A certain Goliath effort for Planning, detailing, getting affairs In order, all in orderless care Carbon planes rattle the Hotel air conditioners on the 2nd Floor below the outside balcony Smoky white dancing lines trace And replace a clear day view Like so long ago when all the world Was just a moment, just a day, Just a boy and his thoughts I made all the right calls to Make sure it all goes smoothly The plan in place and ready set I slip off the Adidas shoelaces And place them to the right hand Side of the bed with the night stand with the magazine the hotel Put out, The Kardashians' latest baby story About giving birth in designer high heels The eyes all white and faded in Too much light The cord in place, I move the Desk chair closer to the center of The room, the wheels squeaking Like the raising and lowering of the crab traps from the shore house, Long Beach days shine on Forever ago My feet wobble as I climb onto The chair, that few-second elevated vertigo Feeling obscured further as I slip Off my glasses one last time, Blind and blurred to all the world I cannot see Tears heap to vapor and disperse with a weary glaze down My cheeks as Life seeps away into mortal corners, boiling goosebumps on my arms Drowning nevermore, I feel the thresh of the cord As this world turns to the next And a soul quietly exhales

44