"staplers" poems
Can you hear me out there
come in
come in
over
Radio Silence
I silence my happiness with a smile
don't look at me
when your ice cream falls from the cone
your baby crocodile tears won't work here
and we both know I'm a great terrible liar
are you still out there?
are you still out there circling that same stretch of concrete
with sunglasses a hoodie and a 20 oz black eye
with your heart on her sleeve
arterial spurts of blood painting these white walls
yes my dear I do love you
now come here and help me hide my hunger
We are having trouble making contact
Roger that
at noon he wakes up and croons at the open skirt of Apollo
well hello sir, might a catch a ride to fire on your chariot?
to the place where Kamel Reds are $2.80
and the diner coffee is good and watery
just like the diarrhea which follows
I'm a jack *** joker with a jester hat on each foot so that when you hear church bells it just means I'm outside of your front door
but **** it
you can find me at the park we grew up in
too scared to jump off the swings at the highest point
I read about Icarus and Mamma aint raise no fools
my self esteem ran away that summer I forgot to close the gate behind me
so now me and my ego, Id, and superego
are patrolling your town
armed with fliers and staplers
but hey, it's all good right?
when the nights are longer
the days shorter
and the thoughts darker
I want life to be one trampoline
like the one we held wrestling matches on in Middle school
can I get a double bounce?
I never lost a game of popcorn in my life
It's on my resume
We are experiencing some frequency interference
Is that you?
can you hear us?
I think we lost him
lost him to the radio silence
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
*She thought she was broken
So she began to search
She looked through lonely drawers for thumbtacks
Through soft cardboard boxes
For superglue
On worn wooden desks
For staplers and tape
She looked for
Fastening devices
Fixing tools
To piece herself together
She felt her heart was fraying
And that her buttons were pulling at their thread
She wanted to fasten
One sleepless night
To a restful one
One bad dream
To a good one
One rush of tears
To clear eyes
One cluster of confusing thoughts
To a simple idea
But fastening is for dolls
Dolls need fixing, adjusting
People
Don't
We come undone
Only to find ourselves
More strongly
Stitched back together*
~JLH
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
Allow me to
Take you to
Another side of Linny where
Rustling papers and
Noisy staplers and
Grades and records are
Abundant in number and
Children speak and
Children listen.
This is she.
Calm and cool as water
Never breaking her dam
Despite our endless
Relentless questions and
Talking sessions
She is patience.
This is she.
A world of second chances
And in our English classes
Forever with
Grace on her lips
Grace on her fingertips
Speaking out
Breathing in
Grace.
She is grace.
This is she.
Understanding and knowing
When you are struggling
She is there helping
Because she knows
She knows what it's like
The students' life
Sleepless nights
Bottomless cups of coffee and milk tea
Sometime between midnight and half past three
Trying to finish up essays and submit projects on time
She is kindness.
This is she.
A flowing, gushing fountain of
Ideas, ideas, and ideas
She comes in with magic in her pockets
Sunshine in her hair
Excited to share
A part of her life
A part of her mind
With us
Wanting to unleash the
Artist in everyone she
Tries to squeeze out every ounce
Of imagination and creativity we have in us
She teaches us to think
To ask "Why?"
To question our surroundings
To be open to new things
To find answers
To learn and to live
And be more
Than we think we are.
She is art
She is inspiration
She is patience
She is grace
She is kindness
She is a blessing
She is
Ms. Linny.
Yes.
This is she.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
this is bigger than the end result.
you found a way to hold the papers together:
a necessary tool, matte crimon, reliable by brand,
but what happened to those before?
have you forgotten?
small, ergonomic, stark white against teal--
designed to stand tall and upright on any smooth surface.
it seemed so promising, potentially the one that would
glue together the edges of paper neatly at a crisp corner.
then mishap.
a human error, as every error really is,
and the staples lodged themselves deep within a tiny cartridge, immobilized.
an enigma.
and it was on for the next source of solidarity and office supply strength
I keep them near, every failure, every disappointment, every almost was,
never will be
because when I am alone I am surrounded by family
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
If I were a bit braver
I'd pretend I was jumping when actually falling
And go to the bathroom at night, strolling.
And in that nice diary I'm afraid to start writing
I'd use a pen even when crying.
I would pack no sweaters for a summer vacation
And in the winter only one...or three for any situation.
And instead of "I'm fine"
I'd answer: "I wish I'd get a sign"
That everything would be all right
And I would someday finally feel light.
I would use staplers instead of clips
And teach myself to do front and back flips.
I would take a step and never look back
And live my life off of a sack.
If I were a bit braver
I would go climb a tree
And actually do something after counting to three.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 9:22 AM UTC
I hear music. In my head. At work. To drone out the sounds of the suits and staplers the wilting plastic flower dreams of once so close possibility. A sonnet to the diminishing flame of art that I hide beneath my desk between my legs please keep it alive let me not forget who I am. I mean maybe there's still a yes somewhere down the road a someday. Sing louder. Sing louder I won't disappear today
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 3:21 PM UTC
I won't eat
I won't sleep
I won't brush my teeth
Instead I write.
I won't cry
I won't laugh
I won't see my friends
Instead I write.
Eating does not fill me. When I try to sleep, I toss and turn. No need to brush my teeth when I won't go outside.
Stories are my nourishment. I drift off to dreamland in prose. My soul is cleansed with antonyms and synonyms, similes and metaphors.
Crying brings no freeing feeling. Laughing holds no joy. Friends will soon just leave me and take with them my heart.
I pour my tears into a song to convey all that I feel. I laugh along with Shakespeare as he inspires every play. All my friends are pencils because they're useful and won't leave. And if one happens to skip away, break or reach an end; aisle 4, below the staplers, I can always buy some more.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
Growing up
She loved staplers
They kept things together
Nothing was ever lost
Then one day
Mommy & Daddy
Became unstapled
Now she favors scissors
They cut things apart
So many things lost
Starting with her
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
She fell by her self crashing on me,
Her body felt like ice on mine, making me tremble and quiver like an earthquake,
I held her firmly,
looked it into the galaxies in her eyes like i was about to lose her,
We kissed,
Her lips pressed against mine like staplers;
I felt her soul, promises exchanged.
Our tongues intertwined and interlocked like two battling rams,
Sending me into ruptures
There was electricity between us, as we moved our heads in sync.
I sighed in intense pleasure, as i rode my lips all the way down to her succulent thighs, finally laying my head on them.
Never before have i felt as safe as this.
I found my soul mate
At this point i knew, we were tailor made for each other.
And then even after all these,
kaya left me the next day.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 6:35 PM UTC