"vacuumed" poems
a girlfriend came in
built me a bed
scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor
scrubbed the walls
vacuumed
cleaned the toilet
the bathtub
scrubbed the bathroom floor
and cut my toenails and
my hair.
then
all on the same day
the plumber came and fixed the kitchen faucet
and the toilet
and the gas man fixed the heater
and the phone man fixed the phone.
noe I sit in all this perfection.
it is quiet.
I have broken off with all 3 of my girlfriends.
I felt better when everything was in
disorder.
it will take me some months to get back to normal:
I can't even find a roach to commune with.
I have lost my rythm.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I have been robbed of
my filth.
16.8k
.
•a long time
ago in a galaxy far away
•the saga continues with fancy
new droids•characters in outland-
ish costumes put on display•impo-
ssible new crafts that dart and slice
through vacuumed voids•armed to
■■■■ the teeth with impressive weapons• ■■■■
■■■■■ spectacular battles between gargan- ■■■■■
■■■■■ tuan cruisers• never ending fight b- ■■■■■
■■■■■ etween opposing factions•where d- ■■■■■
■■■■■ ark and light wield fantastic sabers• ■■■■■
■■■■■ oh i love it... i love it! the day draws ■■■■■
■■■■■ near • where my childhood pangs... ■■■■■
■■■■■ **would begin to smart•in a week, the ■■■■■
■■■■■ long anticipated day would be here•** ■■■■■
■■■■■ where the sith in my veins meets the ■■■■■
■■■■■ jedi in my heart• ■■■■■
■■■■■ ■■■■■
■■■■■■ ■■■■■■
■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■
IIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIII
.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
/ *because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.*
you don't shout,
you don't disturb the "social", "peace",
of proverbial english society...
nope...
shouting does not good,
akin to:
silent water eats
away at the shorelines...
what you do...
is akin to what birds do...
you don't gnash your teeth:
i.e. clench them molars...
gnashing means clenching
your molars -
a gnashing a gnarling,
a pestle & mortar scenario...
no...
no shouting...
silent movie era of hollywood
translated...
you... simply... chatter...
you strike incissor teeth against
each other... crafting a lightling storm
like crackling sound,
like corn flakes...
in a bowl of milk...
you... chatter...
inspiration? birds...
bird calls...
you... chatter...
mind you, unlike the english,
looking into my mouth...
the jaw should fit within the confines
of the skull...
the upper set of teeth
should accommodate the jaw's
line of teeth...
but you simply... chatter...
which is embodied by attempting
to take a phantom bite at "something"...
you...
echo:
central incisors against
the lateral incisors...
you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...
i missed the eta (η): given that i also
missed the excess of tau - in what isn't,
a translation - other than a phonetic
equivalent of putting on sunglasses...
because, when your neighbour,
tells you... that you can't smoke...
in your own home, perched on a windowsill,
out of the window,
implying that the smoke is
vacuumed into his bedroom?
and somehow, the law,
and the air, we share, is somehow his,
and his alone?
and i can't do, what he can,
within the confines of his property?
NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW!
some english are ******* backward
hardly insulting the ****** community,
with some succumbing to prosopagnosia,
while some (notably down syndrome)
actually having a memory capacity...
that curious look and a familiar expression
waiting for a smile...
i basically live next to a mental illness
example, par uno...
and englishman who "thinks"
he's king, rather than a convenient
citizen...
****** won't budge...
guess all i'm equipped with is
my chatter remedy;
and english society still "thinks"
that i'm the "mad" one.
- because it's like...
how can you dictate, what someone can,
or cannot do, on their property?!
like smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill, outside a window,
with the accusation:
the smoke is coming into my bedroom...
oh right...
so...
erm...
you own the dynamic of air
to suggest such a bias?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
Mammy vacuumed
So the grandkids
Could play.
The kids have grown,
Mammy left,
Just the other day.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
I have become lame
riddled with disappointment and shame
these black days
broken dreams and shattered horizons
have made me feel like a puppet
that has had it's strings severed bar one
and there I hang
held aloft by one arm
swinging from side to side
helplessly broken and numb
my puppeteer does not care for me
too many dances have frayed my strings
yet as the light shines on this black stage
I twist slowly and look up with a heavy head
I see hope contained within a silver thread
that shaft of light which springs eternal wanting
if only I could reach what binds me to this parade
I would sever and be free forever
yes nothing more then a rebel rousing jester
a vacuumed packed mannequin of deceit.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
a girl found a crown on the street
clink, clank, and rolling to her feet
cold gold touched her pinkish toes-
during inspection the jewels bit her nose
she wore it all day long, in strength
found her chores list lessen in length
people blinded by it's brilliant glint
it gleamed eyes away, replaced the print
each precious stone reworked memories
envious green glass once enemies
now pink, mirrored, singular, hers
to match the crown, she wore silver furs
her cloak dragged upon the ground
other children picked it up, and found
themselves wrapped inside and gone
the village became smaller, the cloak became long
the elders dug deep at the edge of their home
while the girl was away, living alone
they discovered bones, gnawed to stumps
bugs and beetles, full, in mounds and humps
they fit the girl's old clothes perfectly
renewed dead flesh, but hurtfully
her eyes were gone, the crown's centrepiece
the flesh left again, puddled their knees
the girl had died and was eaten, long ago
it took some time, they cried, but now we know
the metal melted her fat and skin and sinew
pock-marked her bones, rotted right through
replaced a monster with her spirit, living dead
used her soul as the cloak's first thread
vacuumed others, knitted them close and thick
a pretty trinket turned poisonous trick
the elders chased the monster away
along with their children, that day
they cried and created new children, then
never let them wander again.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
I have this magnificent puzzle hanging on my wall that I made years ago.
I can’t remember exactly but I think it’s 797 pieces
Yes that’s right
797
Because there’s pieces missing.
All sky pieces, one sky piece toward the top and over to the left and two over to the right.
They stick out like sore thumbs and everyone comments on them. Like I hadn’t seen it before.
“Do you know you’re missing a few pieces of your puzzle there?” they ask.
Some even look at the floor to see if somehow they had miracoulsly wormed their way out from between the glass and card backing and fell to the ground. Because obviously it must have happened since last time I vacuumed.
So I just shrug and tell them that I know. And I tell them that they’ve always been missing, even when I framed it, they weren’t there.
This at least stops them looking at the floor.
Quite often they’ll tell me that I should have taken it back and got my money back or got a different puzzle. One with 800 pieces instead of 797.
But I tell them no. I like my 797 piece puzzle.
I like it because it reminds me of life.
Just because life is missing a piece or two you don’t put it back in the box and return it for a refund or a different one or throw it away.
Just because you put a lot of work into life and find out that there’s pieces missing you don’t just scrap it.
You should adapt to life with missing pieces.
You should be making the best of it and be proud of its uniqueness.
It especially reminds me of my life
My life is incomplete, my life is missing a few things, but the views pretty good.
And every now and then you’ll catch me looking around for those missing pieces, it’s a habit I guess.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 8:19 PM UTC
there’s always been a certain feeling
quite difficult to name—
discomfort, most likely,
or a vague,
blurry,
unhurried sense of fear.
a worry
that perhaps you can tell
that the floor was swept
and the carpet vacuumed
only minutes before your arrival ,
anxiety
making suppositions
about your x-ray vision
and delicate opinions.
perhaps you can see
the layers of sweat and blood
behind every painted wall,
perhaps you can hear the sound
of arguments and sweet nothings
seeping up from the floorboards.
i’m sure you mean well,
that you’ve brought some sort of lasagna
and cheesecake for dessert,
yet i cannot shake the feeling
that you are invaders
from a foreign land,
here to take
and take
and take
and take
everything your eyes land on.
this shakiness is formidable,
this unraveling so easy to do,
but i am not one to succumb
to anxiety’s follies—
so i open the door anyway
dissect the chambers of my heart,
throw open the shutters,
offering every bit of my soul,
my voice echoing
off every beam and wall and ventricle,
the word soaring into your ears:
“welcome!”
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
I once was a beautiful neutron star
Gleaming so bright, you could see from afar
But then my star collapsed & died
& an astrophysical object derived...
It shredded my light & vacuumed me in
Never to be seen or heard from again
But as my flames began to ensue
I discovered the entities undeniable truth!
It appeared that my light was being reflected from its core
Emitting a feeling I could not ignore
So, I relinquished my fears & spiraled down like a drain
(Realizing that space/time can never be changed)
Pass the first event horizon was the radius of no return
Where time stand still, lessons are sure to be learned
Because once I reached the tempestuous light
It repulsed me back with an inconvieble might!
My World may never be the same again
But the grandeur of our love was worth it in the end
& so it must be:
Angular momentum, nonzero; uncharged
Is by far the greatest result of a dying neutron star
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
John and Eric
had gone to New Orleans
to get drunk,
so when they saw the girl
hanging over the railing
of the balcony
pulling her shirt
up and down
up and down,
they hurled beads at her
aiming for the top of her head
so that they'd
circle the drain of her neck
in a circling, shimmering starlet
down
her shoulders.
"Come down here," John yelled.
The girl pulled down her halter-top
one more time,
exposing two
globes of bouncing flesh.
Thinking he had said,
"Pull them down."
It was so loud and everyone was whistling
and there wasn't just a single color of light;
the aura from the club
was a nebula of parti-colored flashing.
later that night
she did come down.
She bumped in between John and Eric
as they navigated her through the crowd
trying their hardest to keep her
from falling over and puking,
while trying to do the same
for themselves.
She hung to them like they were long singular beams of steel.
When she rolled her head around at them
she remembered that they looked
hard and unknown.
And while holding her
in the crooks of their arms,
they maneuvered the flesh in their jeans
with their free hands,
trying to subdue the worlds
rising out of their pants
like volcanoes.
They got her back to the hotel.
A small room
with a tiny old bed, with flower-print
comforters and
an antique dresser with swirling
sculptured wood at its corners.
John slipped off his black leather jacket
and shook his mop of
curly black hair.
Eric plopped onto the bed,
pulling her with him.
She felt him pull,
she felt the gravity of him;
the warp as she bumped against
the bed.
"You guys should come back next year."
"Maybe," Eric said.
She didn't know if she was here or not.
If she'd been here the whole night
or if she was dreaming.
But she felt something physical
on her body.
Eric sat in the corner--
beside the humming a/c
as it vacuumed out the room--
watching with lifeless eyes.
It moved across her stomach.
Slow and continuous.
It moved down to her
pelvis,
slow and continuous.
It reached inside of her
slow and continuous,
and she felt the vacuum of space.
John and Eric
tag-teamed her.
Eric
taking her mouth
and working it around his *****
saying
"Come on baby,
****
John pushing against her
his glowing body
making a slapping noise
as he struggled
with his hands under her stomach
making hard dimples of flesh
on her mid-section
as he tried to hold up
her limp body.
"She's out cold,"
he said.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 10:50 AM UTC
The esoteric emotion,
hidden in the back
of the cupboard,
pressed neatly
'gainst the wall,
peeling back the
paper, musty beige with
pale pea pockmarks.
The raunchiness
was a given;
anything will rot,
become rancid,
when locked away
with the light
vacuumed tight from
dusk to day,
with none but
a forlorn face
to think on.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
I found your Olympic gold medal
while I was cleaning in my childhood bedroom.
I almost vacuumed it up.
I can’t help but wonder how it got on my floor,
How you must have not noticed its disappearance from your empty apartment.
I wonder if during one of those fights we used to have
I slipped it in my pocket, thinking you never deserved it.
The medal sits on my old desk by a trick dog coin bank.
The dog holds the coin in his mouth,
jumps through the hoop and hides the coin in a brown barrel.
This childish desk is a circus.
I can see the levers and
your Olympic gold medal is fading in the sun.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 3:11 PM UTC
My mind
again
drawn back
into the vortex
vacuumed hollow echoes
of these train tunnels
this blur
this smudge
against my thoughts
stains like fatigue:
Again dilutes
my mind
just like the wind
she stirs
dunes
by restless waters
wanting
sleep
.
.
.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
I am a reason to why
I am a treason to you & I
I am the grey in the sky
I am the very reason you deny
I am complicated
I am simplified
I am ridiculed
I am ridiculous
I am hideous
I am insidious
I am blunt like obvious
I am nothing of this
I am everything to dis
I am not but everything
I am the cause of because
The accused of excuse
The present of the past
The taunt in your haunting
The mad behind your madness
I am sad, thus I only bring you sadness
The miss in your miss me
I am the reason you miss me
The stress in your distress
A mistress, except to you
A denial when its not true
I do nothing for you
This time I am telling you
I am stone cold, ten fold
I con to pro
I am oh so inconsiderate
I am probably illiterate
My illustrations don't straighten ****
My demonstration is constrained
Disorderly, ashamed
Late like last night
Ahead during daylight
I am fine like irate
Chump change like castrate
I am last rate
I am vacuumed enough
I am in innovative
Therefore
I am freezing this..
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
8:30 A.M.
She wakes him up with breakfast
on the night stand.
Two eggs over-easy and lightly burnt
on the bottom so the yolks don't run,
two pieces of sourdough toast cut
diagonally, and a cup of coffee /
no sugar, no cream / brewed
at 8:15, two hours after
she got up to clean the house.
She mopped the floors twice,
tied the trash bags and set
them at the curb. She tested, dusted,
and retested the stagnant ceiling fans.
She vacuumed the rugs and wiped
down all wood, granite, and steel
surfaces.
She lemon Pledges allegiance to him.
While he's at work, she cleans his laundry.
She clean-presses his button-ups, making
sure to cut any stray threads and neatly
mend any loose seams. She irons a firm
crease in his pants and shines his all-black
wingtips. She doesn't use Kiwi. Something high-class
that I've never heard of.
When he comes home and sets his briefcase
near the furnace vent to sulk in his leather
chair, she consoles him. She pulls the lace hem
of her sundress to her waist and ***** his ****
until he comes to his senses.
*You look like a billion-dollar, gold-plated
monument feeding the world rosegold birdseed
from your immaculate palm binding my hair
like a Dutch Warmblood's tail, darling.*
She dabs the corners of her mouth trying
not to smudge her lipstick, straightens
her dress, and hurries off to wash
his car.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
Beyond the horizon lies silence:
empty-handed and empty-torsoed.
Home no longer entangles our motions of gold and twirling,
so quickly so that our spins become perception itself.
Our hair, previously matted, now catches on nothing.
It flows freely against a wind blown inward,
vacuumed through open windows
on opposing sides of the kitchen,
though and carrying the smell
of freshly baked apple pie, crisply crusted,
a thing so sweet and tasty
that tongue and nostrils beg for more
whipped cream and palate warmth.
They open their mouths and plead,
panting on their knees,
on edge of upper lip
fearing not the fall
for something that would just,
for Heavens sake,
give them something,
anything,
of indescribable necessity.
"Oh please, just another bite!"
dribbles out of lungs
until even the smallest of morsels
are licked clean from plate,
desperately, empty,
in front of all,
for all to see.
The world is everything that is the case.
When it is all eaten up
yummed and stomached fully,
it will be the next green field,
the next orchard on the horizon
with golden apples ripening at sunset
against orange and purple perfect skies
to fulfill that longing for Next.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
As we explore the debts of our own soul we could contemplate our alter of imagination circle it in our being and to walk with the untamed, instinctual side of our nature is knowing the power of being aware of the creative pregnancy and continue to focus on the nature of the unborn talents for them to continue to grow.
Inspiration comes after reflection, after the seed is planted. When you begin to do the work the universe comes to your aid in fill the requirements.
Imagine all the people who contribute to the universal thought pool, Can we all think for the better of the planet? If we were sitting on the air of the cosmos would we be safe? How can we be sure that we aren’t a controlled experiment of the largest lab ever?
If we were I am glad it was my father’s design and he has it all worked out I just have to trust in his vision and plan according to the will of the supreme being who has man’s backside in a vacuumed lock to preserve life and not destroy it.
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 4:47 AM UTC
I am not afraid of death.
I am afraid
of leaving nothing behind:
no legacy, no memory, no lasting impression.
I am afraid
I will not have a mark, a footprint,
a story worth telling generation after generation.
I am afraid
everything I ever do
will have absolutely no meaning
after my conscience is inevitably whipped from existence.
I am afraid
all of the tests and assessments will count for no grade:
none of the points will have ever mattered,
whole nights awake and exhausted stress for nothing.
I am afraid
each word I wrote and every line I drew will be erased,
the rubber shavings swept to the floor by a careless hand
vacuumed away in spring cleaning,
and emptied into a trash bin months, even years later.
I am afraid
the lyrics that sprang spontaneously from my lips
soaked and soapy from shampoo in the shower
will only survive dripping through dank, rusted pipes
echoing with hollow drops in an empty bi-centennial home
for no one.
I am afraid
what I saw, what I understood, what I thought, and what I spoke
will have no impact on the interpretation of the universe
through the eyes of others;
there is no continued learning through humanity,
only amnesia
forgetting and loosing
until our entire species dies of sheer stupidity.
I am afraid
my essence will be forgotten.
But then again,
I am also afraid if I am not.
I die and then what?
Mourning?
Wailing and depression?
Screaming and fury and reverberating shrieks?
Pure, blessed joy at relief from my existence on this Earth?
I cannot decide which I fear more:
my last breath passing as not an eyelash bats with nerve for care
or my memorial lasting eternally.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Today,
while cleaning
my car,
I vacuumed out the spot by the
ash tray and uncovered
a tiny purple ring.
It was put there two years ago
by one of my best friends.
Suddenly I actually remembered
her doing that,
and countless good memories
came flooding back.
I actually stopped what I
was doing,
and couldn't stop saying
wow!
Driving around,
jamming music and
"Cruising for dudes."
Talking about boys,
sneaking beers,
and smoking ****
She spent some of the best
days of my life with me,
and she was the best,
best friend I've ever had.
I miss her.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
Night, gripped by future thoughts I lie,
Mind nocturnal, never blinking eyes,
Day's events and those to come don't rest only rush
Heart hastens shadowing pace, moves respite out of touch
Perspective the enlightener sprouts a shoot,
A momentary distraction which begins to take root
Breath is vacuumed slowly from nose to chest,
Streaming laden air out, a peaceful wind lays upon breast,
Mind slows recognising nights familiar touch,
Sleep content, knowing, I'm but a mindful piece of dust
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
in utter radiance two bodies meld,
in decadent tenderness; emanating
from one another in mindless bliss,
like silken sheets fluttering in a
midsummer day breeze; flapping out
a heart's symphony as each mellifluous
tune is carried along effortlessly of fallen
petals in an upward warm wind...alluring
when lips touch their essence is as
delicate and soft as a newborn's first
breath and visions of meadows as
burbling brooks eke out nature's
wonderous animations of life; hidden
amongst conifers naked seedling in
cones of yews procreative life...caressed
eyes gaze upon one another in trancelike
looks of longing; in ponderance of love's
accepting embrace, to feel it's enraptured
warmth; skyrocketing moans in resonating
tremors of gossamery affection...cloud nine
emerging gasps are born to undulate in
waves; awakening love's cupidity to be
forever within one another's limelight,
delighting each other's ambiance of
life's many truisms; our spirits bountiful
and serene as we live and love in our own
paradise on earth...in spirituality
becoming excited in our veracity to
understanding the complexities of
love and living in moments of bliss;
standing still vacuumed, absorbing
one another's vitality to be as one,
soulmates until heart and mind
collide in hungering want; holding
onto thoughts only we can see
within one another's eyes...heavenly love
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:54 AM UTC
(in a thick Scottish brogue)
Reality bites,
And so do I.
This little worm on a hook, called "distraction" is wriggling wry...
Let him fill my insides!
Terrified, I now fly!
Wired to a wizards whimsical wishes
Flying fishes wondering why.
Lost it, from snowballs to fishes;
Did the point get diminished?
Illustrating imagination,
Illuminating our kingdom nation;
To the darker side.
That Joker cannot hide.
S'come down to You & I.
I'd die, to hear a reply;
Wade through the ****** tears in Your eyes... please, hold me tight!
Alone; I'll never defeat, "the other guy".
God knows, my mother tried...
But the warlocks worm...
She swallowed a juicy lie.
But, through repentance-true...
She will turn around and choose to,
Follow You.
Lord God, I'm calling You.
Please hear my cry, I am so blue.
Know I'm not trying to impress anyone,
Just looking for thee open Son.
The snowflake it takes, to deliver an avalanche, must have a similar feel for that;
Just how I feel in-fact.
The ground from which I "fell upon"
Lets loose, now I'm falling so fast and all my friends are falling too!
Are we tumbling to our doom!?
The air in the room, is vacuumed out;
No doubt your mind is frozen solid now.
With the Genjutsu shout;
Your feast is ceased and now,
Its only famine and drought.
Why all this camotion, inside our souls?
Who speaks it? Who needs it?
Distractions, just aren't enough, and they're starting to take thier toll!
**** it. I'm done.
Guess I'll just let the dice roll!
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Rereading the poems of others
and my own. Community across
time and graves. What's left
exceeds in significance
one's last moment. Yet
his last moment must have been
exceedingly important
for the poet.
Nothing he did that day will seem meaningful.
While we prosecute the war
a pileated woodpecker and red squirrel
compete for sunflower seeds.
A winter slow
to assert itself.
I can still see my mother's father and his bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts
quiet weekday mornings.
Both grandfathers read sports
pages religiously. I don't know
if my grandmother who gave me the
anthology of, to date, dated
unreadable poems read poetry.
I remember my mother's mother spoke
rarely as an animal.
Writing but not knowing where I'm going
unlike Joan Didion justly
cannibalizing candidates
who didn't read the Constitution, Bill of Rights or
Federalist Papers. It's late,
I have not vacuumed or shopped for food.
Instead I reread
Phil Levine's Salami.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
I appear to have found your address
myself I have lived in the same house
for twenty-two years
I have been meaning to write
leave an ‘xo’ of my own
tomorrow I say it will happen
so you know today is not a blue day
but more of course will come
others from long ago
have blown away naturally
age will do this to us
circumstances relationships
only widen the gap
I do not converse with them anymore
they will miss my funeral instead
I search for meaning in writing
happiness comes in ****** bursts
then vacuumed back up
I can only find solace in little pleasures
why has this not happened to me
what am I missing did I lose anything
I point my finger
I sigh my fault
or so I tend to believe so it goes
I carry myself as if I am a mirror
reflection the same but looking different
every day I mean to play my guitar
in the same house I have lived in
for twenty-two years
besten wünsche mein freund
I feast on your words
a delightful banquet
and so I said your address
I will send you a letter
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC