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Brandon Feb 2016
Endless nights spent flipping thru the radio dial to find a station worth listening to and settle the over talking of voices raging against the walls of my thoughts when the threat of silence permeates the thickening air and I'm sickening myself with the withering ashes of three too many cigarettes as the near empty bottle of wine laid hazardlessly on the carpet spilling it's last red drops of merlot taunts me into lighting up another smoke and grow weary of the song playing on the radio to the sound of my inner monologue screaming.
Nikita May 2015
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refridgerator.
Ma Cherie Jun 2016
After a weary journey
through chaos
rest here
Embrace Life
be still with
gentle serenity
touch this
eternity
nourish hope
love
inner peace
magnificent sweet ache
of warm love
transform
flow
and endure.
Cannot take credit for this was left by someone I love on my magnetic ppoetic word and I just reread it and realized it was quite important to me.
Alan Maguire Feb 2013
I encountered your spiritless body swaying gently
as your dangling tiptoes longed to reach the tips of the dandelions

I found tacked to the tree, the christian leaflet with the sellotape crucifix that asked
HAVE YOU FOUND JESUS ? , then saying WELL, HE'S FOUND YOU and your Vermillion lipstick scribbling on the reversed side.

Poor you, I could imagine you frantically searching for the sticky notes
( they were on top of the refridgerator Irene)

Poor you, I could visualize you searching for a pencil, realizing that they needed to be sharpened  (you coulda used my Swiss army knife Irene, it was in the rusting tackle box in the garage, sure it was covered in dried fish guts, but you coulda cleaned it)

Poor you, I could picture you finding the pen depleted of it's precious writing fluid, then exploding it's flimsy frame, beneath a lone rabid pink bunny assassin

WELL **** YOU IRENE, **** YOU FOR LEAVING ME
Katie Nelson Jun 2012
In the quiet of the night,
poetry on the refridgerator can be heard,
along with the chirping of crickets,
which was not there before.
 
How long have I been asleep?
How long have I been dull?
Self-interest and possession quietly tuck the light behind 
the horizon,
 
 
but if you don't notice, you can't pull it back.
It might be too early. 
It might be too late.
 
It seems the best course of action is to join the crickets in their singing
               and become the thrumming world
Feedback is appreciated.
ASB Feb 2013
We used to spend hours working together,
drinking coffee, drinking wine,
watching films in my bed, on my laptop.
We used to decorate our imaginary home
and come up with names for our children.
Once, we bought a cactus together,
named it, too, discussed our future pets,
future plans.
You told me about your dreams and I
used to be in them.
I used to know your quirks, your favourite tea,
how you drank your coffee.
I used to know the shape of your face and the
smell of your hair.
We talked about our parents and went to 99ct stores,
mixed different liquors, took random trains.
We made a bucket list together but threw it out.
I used to buy you puzzles and erasers,
you bought me Disney stickers and I
read you poetry. I used to leave you
messages on your voicemail, you used to
leave me sticky notes on the refridgerator door.
We had grilled cheese sandwiches at 2AM and
we had diet coke for breakfast. We spent
our days talking, laughing.
Life was easy, we were free.
We realised couldn't change time,
but time did change us, you did the right thing
and I should have never let you.
I have not finished a single cup of coffee
since you left. I haven't slept through the night.
I no longer remember your voice, the touch of
your skin, the way we used to be.
You are the best thing I ever had,
but you weren't mine to keep.
Matalie Niller May 2012
No problems, just theories
and excuses both lame and creative
extravagance in rare form,
perfect, really
if you wish to boil down the exteriors and denature the proteins
fleshy and energized, totally organic
like a Tropicana Sunday
complete with yellow Voltswagons and STDs.
Why speak of such things?
Shock value isn't worth much,
just a fist in the ***
if that's what you're into
and even if you're not
(especially if you're not)
because then you can't appreciate a good smack when it's deserved
and you begin to feel lonely
like a kid who can do no wrong
so never enjoyed the beauty of time out
only the isolation of magnets on the refridgerator,
domesticity a promise but not an end
only the beginning, a cycle of strife that is fully necessary and advantageous
when placed on the plates of the right eating bunch,
and goodness it's a lovely night
because the stars are still shaped like those homely spoons and beasts
and all the world's at the feet of the manor's Lords and Ladies
such wonderfully pitiful people
though can't blame them for much
only for being so flea- bitten and haughty
when the serfs are just as alive.
You're funny. When you smile it's like the moon resurfacing over the tide and your eyes aren't stars. But fireflies from the bottom of the box of childhood which I keep in a chest within my chest. In the garden that night, I jumped around and caught those flickering gods and stole them if only momentarily from their kingdoms which stood like metropolitan cities...and the lighted tube that zigzagged like lightning across the heart of that city was simply my heart escaping from me. I liked that night. I must have been about seven or eight. Or five or twenty. Because time does not exist in this chest within the chest. And my childhood never ends. So I'm surprised when I see you sitting across from me.
And for a moment I wonder if you can hear my words floating from the other side of the glass. If the glass exists at all. Sometimes it flickers, you see...like the fireflies. Sometimes even I wonder about my 20/20 vision. Maybe all this time I've been blind. And if so, then I'm glad that I see you. It makes the darkness sleeping underneath the light of my room during the early morning hours bearable. Do you know that you make the night feel more like a mystery than a refuge? And now I've got bags under my eyes which are heavy carrying images of things I don't understand. Of places I haven't been to before but are familiar, like yellow Post-It notes on the refridgerator.

....I don't know what you want exactly. Or what any of the things that are unravelling have to do with me. But we are talking now. And I've stopped shivering so that I could listen to you breathe.



- 10.14.09   9.55 PM
Faizel Farzee May 2020
covid -19
a killer unseen, without uttering a threat
it has the world pulling at every nerve, it has them down on their knees.
It has people creating songs about going crazy in quarantine
While Trump is really going crazy,
he cant throw money at it
for someone like him, this is unseen,
now his true colours shows
his fake, while the world bleeds
he is still trying to save his stake.
he has ample, yet he still pulls at every last cent.

If you cant see this, he must have stolen your eyes
he keeps it with all his supporters minds,
it's in his refridgerator, he keeps it on ice.
locked in a safe
now they all mindless, so they play by his rules
yet he control the outcome of dice.
he dont care about the human race
you can clearly see it on his unsympathetic face.

Why dint he react in haste,
maybe his just slow?
He is worth 8 billoin dollers, i really dont think thats the case
he cares more about the economy,and  losing face
he knows if the US economy drops
at the table in the whitehouse, he has to set china a plate.
give them the morning paper run their bath
and under his breath, he would have to quietly hate.

He would rather let the world burn,

They miscalculated this whole situation
they thought they were unleashing an attack
they forgot to disable the homing pigeon
it did a 180, knocked at their door, politely disclaimed Hi , I'm back.
Talking about money he has to track, that they paid to create this monster
is it just me or has the whole world been smoking crack.
we glossed over that, i get it  
He can even in song confess, our hands will still be tied
money is power, an intoxicating lust
the jury has already been bought, the justice system unjust.
truths are not pretty, neither is the world
so the darker truths we have to highlight
this whole situation, it's like im living in the zone of twilight
my mind cant compute, it doesnt feel right, what nex, t get abducted at night, now aliens can be real, parralel universes
truth shivering in fright this unholy night.
JC Lucas Jun 2016
The rain hammers on the whistlepigs outside
like an organic xylophone
they fiddle with bits of grass in the dark

It's night and the chorus frogs
back it all up,
the humming of the refridgerator
the whistlepigs
the water in the pipes,
the rain.

I've been in this cabin in the woods
**** near a month already
and the incessant buzz of electricity trying hopelessly
to ground through the faulty wiring
in ten million appliances
still cannot be escaped.

Better to be a whistlepig
living beneath the floorboards in the damp
than a mouse in the walls-

but I guess I've never
been either.
Emma Louise Jul 2013
My grasp is failing
on this thing that like
a silk sheet filters through
my fists, I am starting to understand.

This thing is
the embrace of blood
flowing circulary
in our fingertips and veins.

Together and ebullient
bouyant, bouncing
at the bony freckled feel
of arms, the soapy smell
of our dirt hair and lemon eyes.

It is not the warm months of
being sticky happy in the dark
wooden, refridgerator-lighted
kitchen.

I grasp at something greater
a finish and a start
to pull me back from
poisonous tides,
slipping hillsides.

Its the track of
everyone I've ever been
Because my truth
is that I'm only
me with them.

A track to run
and time to spend.
Finding our ways
back again
in little toothy
smile moments

Stars in the daytime
or ships in the dark
They're my finish
they're my start
poetlefemme Jan 2013
I follow the light at the end of the hallway
Towards the kitchen, where all is dark and I swallow the fear.
As I creep towards my destination,
I realize that our future is never quite as clear.

It pains me to say goodbye to the ones I loved the most
But it doesn't help matters to stay and ruin everything we've ever managed to save
I open the refridgerator and grab a beverage of my choice.
Close it softly, tears fall down my cheeks, strength and control---- I have to be brave.

Tiptoe, tiptoe, silently, quietly back down the corridor to the light
Keeping my secrets in the closet, getting pretty full in there, I THOUGHT.
Planning my escape, within my heart and letting my mind be in charge of this.
Slowly, I pack my cases of ****, careful to only take what I have brought.

Never again, will I allow myself to be prisoner and confined to anywhere
I feel like I'll have a tough time finding a new home,
But nothing in life that is hard, is always so comforting when its unknown.
I just know that I have to trudge forward and no one will be there to comfort me, I will be all alone.
Brendan Thomas Oct 2014
As I sit in my chair
I listen
         eyes closed
                      I hear the raindrops
such a soothing symphony they create

       no pattern
                        random
but ,
magically musical

my old refridgerator running in the background

the clock ticking away the seconds

isn't it funny how much we don't hear
when we don't listen,
                                  Truly listen
3:35am just sat listening to the rain
Waverly Oct 2016
Disaster starts at home,
in the hearts and minds of lovers.

No insurance to sustain us
in the aftermath of storms.

A hurricane force, burst the windows
bowed the walls.

The joists screamed, twisting.

the roof hollered Hosana.

All night long, I made you stay
in that house covered in rain.

Shackled to the refridgerator
I waited feverishly,
you waited to go.

I didn't hold you, just had to have you,
a firefly I shook in my glass bottle.

A firefly, I wished those wings would break.
You wished your wings would break.

For different reasons we remained,
love of prison,
or love of self.
Lydia Nov 2017
i Thought the fields were on fire until you Reminded me thAt it was just dawn
you took me to your graNdparents' farm so i could ride horseS again
it had been a very, very long time
but i remembered theIr bodies as much as my own
and you were good
The animals knew you like a god
all bent and hIdden in the light
we didn't get hOme till late
your parents were asleep, they left dinner iN the refridgerAtor
it was the only ilLumination in the entire house
i saw you in the faint, shadowy glow
Sequal to "You."

Please comment :)

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