"redecorate" poems
Keys. Shoved through the letterbox
before I got up-
in an envelope with a note:
Could I (please) feed the cat…
Gone away? Good for her!
Car on the drive. Took a taxi. I think.
To the airport? Didn’t say.
******* with rain-
still, had best leave my shoes on the step just the same.
Obsessed with cleanliness and hygiene-
that’s why he left.
Who, in their right mind, puts cream-coloured carpet in a…?
Door. Not locked. Nearly fell through it.
Strange. She forgot?
Kitchen. Freezer’s empty, switched off.
No cereal. No tins.
Utility room. Spotlessly clean-
twelve! two-kilogram bags of Go-Cat Complete.
Planning to be gone quite a while. I think.
Playroom. Packed up. Kids staying with Nan.
She wants to redecorate before they come home?
Great. A fresh start. I think.
Bedroom. Suitcase on the wardrobe.
Bought a new one? Smaller. Lighter perhaps.
Makes sense. After all- she is travelling alone. I think.
Bathroom. Pristine. Almost empty.
Almost. Macleans and a toothbrush,
in a glass on the sill.
I didn’t think about that.
Until now.
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 4:17 AM UTC
The place was dangerous as hell; we had no business being there. It was a complex, composed of four immense structures, looming on the bluffs between Lake Michigan and a ghost town. I'm not sure which side of the fence brought forth more eeriness - the sight of four massive industrial skeletons was indeed an eerie one, but within the village that must endure it's haunting presence persists a dwindling heartbeat... and together they produced a heightened effect of slow decay - and that was what drew me in.
The place was magnificent day or night.
By day, we'd explore the groundworks while the light allowed us to admire the massive machinery, which by then had accumulated copious amounts of corrosion. All those dead giants, never to function again. In the spring time, beams of light would penetrate the ceiling above, caving in from years of stress sans stress tests. Even when the light was not shining through, one could make out where the beams have been because in their wake they left a trail of life. Up to that point in my life I thought that was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen - a thousand tons of old machinery, and a stubborn sunbeam poking through, incubating it's au natural industrialized chia pet.
By night, we would ascend to the rooftops of these four story horror stories and gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, when our ***** were feeling particularly swelled, we'd venture across the rooftops as if in some post-apocalyptic videogame. And sometimes when we were feeling a bit rebellious and artistic, we'd bring along some cans of spray paint and redecorate to our desire. Oh, and another reason the place reeked of death was surely due to it being a glue factory... wherein horses were killed in order to gain access to their foot-stuff. I was told by an unfortunate local that they'd bury the unwanted horse parts in big pits back behind the place... this man had told me that he fell into one while wandering around back there - nearly died trying to get out.
We knew the place was soon to be leveled, but we did not know when. Eventually I ended up moving out of state for a while, and alas, upon my return my childhood fascination was no more. shrugs... So it goes.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
i'll never write for you
after this day.
on this day
i dust you from my heart
declutter my rib cage
remove every careless remnant of you
that i kept as sentiment.
after this day
i'll redecorate my brain
with seedlings and lights
and your memory
on my mind's windowsill
will consume me no more.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC
The best days
Are not the Best Days
Or even the good days
They are the unremarkable
Inconsequential
Days
When you take a step away from yourself
And observe the rise and fall of a moment
From beyond its swell
When you are driving fast
Through a slow-moving night
And the headlights are smearing themselves on the roads
Like they’re trying to redecorate
And the radio is singing Yellow
And you turn your head out the window
To find a moon hung there
Blue-tacked to the infinity of sky
As thick and yellow as your grandmother’s smile
Or when it is winter and the sun has set
But the world doesn’t want the day to be over
And so pulls a musty, mustardy-grey blanket
Right up to its neck and prays
That the time for streetlights
Will insist on running ahead of it
Or when the shadows grow long in summer
And they fall like dust on the sand dunes
You run down to the sea
And try to hold it in your hands
Until the tide prises it from your clenching fingertips
Or when the sunrise is pink
And the cloud caps skid
Like ice-creams on hot plates
And you can’t help but bask in
The creativity of God
The painter
Who’s masterpiece could simply not be framed
And hung on your kitchen wall
And for a little while you want to be able
To lick the colours and candyfloss
Until someone says that little rhyme
About red sky in the mornings
And a shepherd’s warning.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
*a follicle of light is falling from the house of our master
troubadours warp our imagination
with jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
slaves and slaveholders, slews of cattle
ranchers, and fathers battle
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
in piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand but man still demands his fate
so redecorate your cottages and receive the visitor's hate
make music burst throughout the garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch your bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than the skyscrapers bound to her posterior*
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
when someone leaves you, reinvent yourself.
redecorate your soul with reds and pinks this time, instead of blues and greens.
pull the tangled weeds he left in your crevices, and plant as many flowers as you can think of in their place.
hang beautiful lights and magnificent paintings in replacement of his stupid poster of his favorite band that you never even liked.
paint your mind with vibrant colors that make your heart beat quickly.
and remember to never, EVER let anyone take these things away from you.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
Hold me here until I fall asleep, for I'm terrified, Oh am I terrified.
Of all the uncertainties, of the un thought ofs.
I have too much time on these idle hands and I surely wish I could shake this habit.
I'm too young to imagine what it would be like if everything around me suddenly ceased to exist.
Hello, Stranger it's been so long since I've seen your smiling face and now look at your son, look how far he hasn't come. Aren't you proud of your baby boy?
Lost in a familiar place, nothing connects in my mind.
Tell me everything will be ok and I'll still wander with my thoughts.
I'm so unsure of everything, that I'm unsure of myself
I'm so unsure of everything, that I'm unsure of myself.
And all the words I know to be true are silenced.
Break these chains that hold me. These doubts that cause me to feel so scared.
Cut these ropes that tie me down. These words in the back of my head that cause me so much grief.
Deconstruct these walls that have boarded me up in this windowless prison.
Rip apart the floors, burn the foundation, and start again. Start... again.
Inside out, outside in.
Renovate and redecorate. Throw my insecurities to the wind, for I do not need them.
How much life is gained from the needless worry I embody?
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 9:30 PM UTC
"Every woman can have a husband... But not every woman can have a lover."
I quoted this from my favorite author. This is really open my eyes. There are differences between husband and lover.
"A lover is just like paintings... When you bought it and put it on the wall, all you want is redecorate your room to make the room follow the beauty of the paintings.''
"And a husband is just like when you want to buy a table. You came to the store with geometry terms, and you bought the one by the money you have and after you count will it be fit in your room.''
And there is come this quote from different writer, ''I separate my body and my soul. You can only choose one, either my body or my soul..''
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
I've been dreaming about the sun
as far back as one and two.
I've been redecorating my resting place for twenty-one years.
But a grave is a grave is a grave is a grave
no matter the time it takes
to masquerade
my brave.
I've never been brave enough to face the light of day.
I've lived by reflected light.
It easy to stare at the moon by eyesight.
How do I stare at the sun with eyesight?
you came
to me past twilight and watched me redecorate.
I planted flowers in the grave.
but a grave is a grave is a grave is a grave
no matter how many flowers bloom at midnight.
(None of them did)
What then changed?
I took off the mask and let you open the door
and now
The light from the sky floods my grave with a force of a million volts.
I am reminded of the time
I thought I would never run through fields of ultraviolets.
Today I walk out of my grave.
To the day!
To what should I be afraid?
My fields are shot with blue violets.
The roots rip open grounds
as buds blossom with violence.
To what should I be afraid?
Today, because of you,
a grave is not a grave.
Today, because of you,
I wake up to the sun.
I'm staring at the sun without eyesight.
I love you
I feel the warmth of sunlight.
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 11:11 PM UTC
My paint swells with blisters
these white walls whimper
tears create
a vision
a pattern
paintings on the canvas.
But no matter what the poet’s might say
not all pain is beauty to the eye
and mine
blisters and burns and cracks
like my bedroom walls in my childhood house.
No matter if you paint me over and over
or place a rug over carpet stains
or add a frame when you redecorate
building a collage on the wall over time
my paint will still blister.
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 6:06 AM UTC
They told me I could be
anything that I wanted to be
So I picked a picture,
Putting the pieces together;
Worked hard.
Now, I'm here where I wanted to be;
Seeing the whole picture.
It's all worth it.. or maybe not.
Maybe I could redecorate.
Maybe I could be something more.
Tired, I went to bed.
The next morning, I woke up, and everything was on fire.
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 8:50 AM UTC
*
So, on a shiny day,
You gave me a green signal;
Proceed, the way is open
You are welcome !
On another day,
You showed me a red signal;
Stop, the road is closed
This is a dead-end !
Again on another day,
you stopped me at the
bus station at the
junction
To visualize that
by this way
we used to walk
Smiling, shedding tears
in this very lane
and finally on a resolute
not to meet both again!
So, on a black day,
You will come
to redecorate my coffin,
I will plucked the
pink blossoms
from your cheeks,
to enlighten my journey,
after borrowing two shining
stars from our eyes.
*
By
Williamsji Maveli
Email:
[email protected]
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
So let me redecorate myself then
With your love
To see why you look at me
The way you do
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
but at least in all of this you learned that you have to build your roads on today because tomorrow is too uncertain for plans
and for some reason futures always have this horrid way of crashing down mid-flight and you learn that loving somebody doesn't always mean they love you
and that kisses are not contracts to stay
and presents aren't promises
and you learn to pick the pieces of him that are left in your veins out without cutting open your wrists again
and you learn to redecorate your own soul, throwing out the wilted flowers he left behind and planting your own
and you recognize how strong you are
and you're beautiful
and you really do have worth
you learn to love yourself first.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
*a follicle of light is falling
from the house of midnight
troubadours wrap our imagination
in jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
like piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand
but man still demands his fate
redecorate your cozy cottages
and receive your visitors' disguised hatred
make music burst throughout this garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch her bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than those burning skyscrapers bound to her posterior*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
When the scent finally fades
From the pillows and covers
When I can't find strands of hair
On my clothes and carpet
When I redecorate the place
To fill empty spaces
When the profile is deleted
From all of the subscriptions
When I buy fewer groceries
Just to make meals for one
When I change the locks
Carrying the only key
When I stop checking
My phone and socials
When I stop saying goodnight
Because there's no good morning
When I stop hoping
For a dream long gone
When it finally hits me
Of how different life is
That's when I will realize
You are truly gone
Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 8:37 AM UTC
You're so beautiful he said,
So beautiful to the point that I want you dead,
Preserved for eternity,
Forever in my bed,
Let me shower you with kisses from your head down to your neck,
Slowly descending from your belly back up to your breast,
Being careful not to pull at the thread,
Her screams only seemed to please the monster he was with ease,
His animalistic nature was dangerously appeased,
They say every beauty needs her beast,
I preserved her beauty for only my eyes to see,
Her ruby red lips matched the crimson coloured walls,
I wore white that night,
He said it signified my purity,
Her story rewritten in red,
The brunette was dead,
But now a puppet she stood for the man to bed,
Beauty on the outside,
She felt amazing on the inside,
Her body so taut,
I wish she could spread wider,
So that all of me may fit inside her,
Kisses and hickies,
My body is wet and bruised,
Forever his..
Never to leave this room...
I pull the strings tighter,
She must sit still while I redecorate inside her,
Moving quick then slow to the beat,
Taking slow strokes so that I may venture deep,
Oh how I wish she could spread wider,
But the strings are about to break...
I turned 21 that day...
He said I was the perfect age,
Forever young he wanted me,
Forever young I shall stay.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC