"refridgerator" poems
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refridgerator.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
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
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
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
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
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.
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 4:21 PM UTC
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
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 1:14 AM UTC
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.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
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.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
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.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
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
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
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.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
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
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
They asked me what I did on my week off
I told them I was busy out front, yea! I was busy shining my ideals
Making them look nice and pretty and prim
All the people passing they'd look in and say in admiration
"My! you got such lovely looking ideals"
I'd smile and nod back knowingly
When they'd gone however I'd go in my back room
I'd smile again then I'd hoist my Jolly Roger.
(Every morning for breakfast I eat a big bowl of moral fibre
Then I mount my pulpit to lecture everyone
"Woe onto you if you do this, woe unto you if you do that"
But during the night when it's quiet and there's no one about
I sneak down the stairs and...ha!ha! I raid the refridgerator).
Jul 2, 2025
Jul 2, 2025 at 2:24 PM UTC
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.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
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.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
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
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC