"restocking" poems - Hello Poetry

I read a poem once titled "the ballad of the lonely masturbator" and I laughed because her name was Anne..... Sexton..... then I found my self cleaning floors.... by myself.... restocking toilet paper.... and suddenly nothing was funny... anymore...

0

Jun 1, 2013

Jun 1, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC

quentin-briscoe

lonely masturbator

I read a poem once titled "the ballad of the lonely masturbator" and I laughed because her name was Anne..... Sexton..... then I found my self cleaning floors.... by myself.... restocking toilet paper.... and suddenly nothing was funny... anymore...

9

energy surging, heat begetting heat expands to dark expanse to cool and brew what slow restocking weight with white supernal flare between around an equipoise of center you imagined as you write and what non-being-being residing in beneath the deep? inspired by the question-thought embracing death beyond what death to value life a blissful state in even darkest reaches found the pain a sundered gate of joy you capture with poetic greeting ploy, that coin is split to join opposing worlds as when blind Shiva blinded world unbridled lust arrayed from hut to hut obliging them his ***** to rip but then extinguishing their rant to foster pleading for the dance again collecting yoga as viyoga in samanvaya chiaroscuro maya-vidya or adept on cosmic player focus hate-trancendent into vast eternal love which even Luke (14:26) dropped lovely clue to un conditioned by contingent fondness for what myth of real play we stage together evermore to frolic in the uncut hair of graves (greenest grass to know what past) whose leavings are for future sunrise lush to celebrate another self envisioned in another set of singing eyes the literal, empty, formless mien a synthesized good-bye recursion rush .

0

Nov 9, 2012

Nov 9, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC

vircapio-gale

रजस्

energy surging, heat begetting heat expands to dark expanse to cool and brew what slow restocking weight with white supernal flare between around an equipoise of center you imagined as you write and what non-being-being residing in beneath the deep? inspired by the question-thought embracing death beyond what death to value life a blissful state in even darkest reaches found the pain a sundered gate of joy you capture with poetic greeting ploy, that coin is split to join opposing worlds as when blind Shiva blinded world unbridled lust arrayed from hut to hut obliging them his ***** to rip but then extinguishing their rant to foster pleading for the dance again collecting yoga as viyoga in samanvaya chiaroscuro maya-vidya or adept on cosmic player focus hate-trancendent into vast eternal love which even Luke (14:26) dropped lovely clue to un conditioned by contingent fondness for what myth of real play we stage together evermore to frolic in the uncut hair of graves (greenest grass to know what past) whose leavings are for future sunrise lush to celebrate another self envisioned in another set of singing eyes the literal, empty, formless mien a synthesized good-bye recursion rush .

31

emotions stacked neatly beside one another like the novels on the bookshelves in your best friends room each tucked away, exactly how she liked them to be refusing to be opened (felt), for fear of their power and then he stumbled in lightly thumbing through the pages of many emotions seemingly in awe of their beauty encouraging their existence, giving just enough only to slam them shut once more damaging their spines ripping those delicate and untouched pages until every book is empty she found herself shoulder-deep in the pages of past emotions restocking her shelves (and wishing that paper could ****

0

Apr 17, 2016

Apr 17, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC

kaylascruggs

Untitled

emotions stacked neatly beside one another like the novels on the bookshelves in your best friends room each tucked away, exactly how she liked them to be refusing to be opened (felt), for fear of their power and then he stumbled in lightly thumbing through the pages of many emotions seemingly in awe of their beauty encouraging their existence, giving just enough only to slam them shut once more damaging their spines ripping those delicate and untouched pages until every book is empty she found herself shoulder-deep in the pages of past emotions restocking her shelves (and wishing that paper could ****

14

And won’t you tell me If you decide you’ve weathered one crack Too many, after all this time Don’t you know that I have tape Or glue if you’d prefer Though perhaps that won’t help I know it’s still too much to ask That I could be all you need and I know it isn’t your choice That the splits won’t stay closed Despite my glue and my passion I spit out the wrong thing and it’s no stronger Than a post-it note, just too old that Wont Quite Hold But I have glue Or tape if you’d prefer Though I think you grow tired of me Pretending that it’s sticking And even worse that I want you To pretend with me. I wonder if I keep restocking For your sake or for mine Do I think one day I’ll find the one That will hold like cement Maybe think I’ll coat you in thick resin A case of clear fiberglass that won’t chip Won’t crack and you’ll be safe forever Or do I hope only that you believe I will That you only turn to me Is it monopoly I seek? Or absolution.

0

Dec 29, 2013

Dec 29, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC

becca-4

Stuck

And won’t you tell me If you decide you’ve weathered one crack Too many, after all this time Don’t you know that I have tape Or glue if you’d prefer Though perhaps that won’t help I know it’s still too much to ask That I could be all you need and I know it isn’t your choice That the splits won’t stay closed Despite my glue and my passion I spit out the wrong thing and it’s no stronger Than a post-it note, just too old that Wont Quite Hold But I have glue Or tape if you’d prefer Though I think you grow tired of me Pretending that it’s sticking And even worse that I want you To pretend with me. I wonder if I keep restocking For your sake or for mine Do I think one day I’ll find the one That will hold like cement Maybe think I’ll coat you in thick resin A case of clear fiberglass that won’t chip Won’t crack and you’ll be safe forever Or do I hope only that you believe I will That you only turn to me Is it monopoly I seek? Or absolution.

33

We moved back into the residence yesterday - we were jubilant - and had a slumb-over last night, to celebrate our reunification. We woke up joyous, on the right side of the same bed (slumb-over), and we’ve been bouncing off the walls ever since. We’re in the ‘settling in’ phase, restocking our Keurigs, getting our same-’ol furniture in the same-’ol places, picking up our books. In this liminal space, between sugarplums and sutures, our shrinking free-time will sag with increasing weight. Even last night’s normally fabulous martinis began to taste metallically laced with formaldehyde. Once we’re settled in, our leisure will begin to have the tight, mangled fit of a borrowed jacket. “We’ve got to gear up.” Lisa said, just this morning and even as I type this, my eyes are flitting between my dog-eared copy of Gray's Anatomy and the mcat prep hub. Classes start in 5 days. Free days burn bright, but disappear in a blink. Time is a precious coin. slumb-over = slumber party.

0

Jan 11, 2024

Jan 11, 2024 at 9:54 AM UTC

anaisvionet

move-in

We moved back into the residence yesterday - we were jubilant - and had a slumb-over last night, to celebrate our reunification. We woke up joyous, on the right side of the same bed (slumb-over), and we’ve been bouncing off the walls ever since. We’re in the ‘settling in’ phase, restocking our Keurigs, getting our same-’ol furniture in the same-’ol places, picking up our books. In this liminal space, between sugarplums and sutures, our shrinking free-time will sag with increasing weight. Even last night’s normally fabulous martinis began to taste metallically laced with formaldehyde. Once we’re settled in, our leisure will begin to have the tight, mangled fit of a borrowed jacket. “We’ve got to gear up.” Lisa said, just this morning and even as I type this, my eyes are flitting between my dog-eared copy of Gray's Anatomy and the mcat prep hub. Classes start in 5 days. Free days burn bright, but disappear in a blink. Time is a precious coin. slumb-over = slumber party.

5

I like my coffee really hot. Direct from the coffee machine, Freshly brewed and steaming skyward, Nonetheless to the nearby microwave, I digress, For 90 seconds of steam room added bathing of my mourning Coffee, bathing in a Vincent Van Gogh almond blossomed mugging During said 90 seconds, I flutter and putter among the kitchen countertops, hithering and dithering all about, wiping, swiping crumbs of prior day's excessive remaining excesses, carcasses of grains and grams, fruits and vegetables, restocking coffee beans, watering said machine's infernal thirst for double pure ground water, ect. etc. etcetera all of the above takes a little over a minute, whence I return to my still pre-re-intializing heating microwave clock is advising twenty four seconds till my additional brewing will be finite finished… gawd, what the heck am I supposed to do for the next 24 seconds besides rock back-and-forth watching my coffee cup turn Vinny's almond blossoms slightly more yellow? Nah. the internal ding resounds, with a write a poem dummy! and so I did, even if it ain't exactly short and sweet or more pissy than pithy Ha! while dashing off this scripty nitty gritty writy, guess what? my cafe au lay grew cold again, and so the poem repeats itself...grrr... now, me extra very hot & pissy

0

Aug 11, 2025

Aug 11, 2025 at 9:15 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Pithy#11: what shall I do for the next 24 seconds?

I like my coffee really hot. Direct from the coffee machine, Freshly brewed and steaming skyward, Nonetheless to the nearby microwave, I digress, For 90 seconds of steam room added bathing of my mourning Coffee, bathing in a Vincent Van Gogh almond blossomed mugging During said 90 seconds, I flutter and putter among the kitchen countertops, hithering and dithering all about, wiping, swiping crumbs of prior day's excessive remaining excesses, carcasses of grains and grams, fruits and vegetables, restocking coffee beans, watering said machine's infernal thirst for double pure ground water, ect. etc. etcetera all of the above takes a little over a minute, whence I return to my still pre-re-intializing heating microwave clock is advising twenty four seconds till my additional brewing will be finite finished… gawd, what the heck am I supposed to do for the next 24 seconds besides rock back-and-forth watching my coffee cup turn Vinny's almond blossoms slightly more yellow? Nah. the internal ding resounds, with a write a poem dummy! and so I did, even if it ain't exactly short and sweet or more pissy than pithy Ha! while dashing off this scripty nitty gritty writy, guess what? my cafe au lay grew cold again, and so the poem repeats itself...grrr... now, me extra very hot & pissy

29