"windowless" poems
8 fifteen in the morning,
huddled around a wooden framed door,
awaiting today’s moderator,
another professional development,
Restorative Practices,
the art of inclusion,
the art of accountability;
Skill building,
Cooperation,
The mutual hate among us as we stare into a dark room,
windowless,
Awaiting another 7 hour day of ice breakers,
We clutch our coffees and populate the lone corner —
— 12 capacity room in the basement,
All 15 of us,
Good morning: let’s begin
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
Today the Irish people witnessed an eclipse in their senses. The morning came over all queer. Nobody noticed, except the king of bookworms in the book of Kells, and the mice in the Campanile. I witnessed the eclipse from a windowless room on the 4th floor of the Arts block. Edmund Spenser's poem, The Faerie Queene, shall henceforth be named, *Long **** by jury of 5 English Lit. Students and a Lecturer. Also, Sinn Fein plans to build Jerusalem in Ireland's green and pleasant land.
Lines written last night over a cup of sugary tea in a public house in North Dublin.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Isolationist theories
of my brutal development
A mask
In the world of passengers
Regretting every slight disruption
Making icy chatters of teeth
As we wonder
How will these small altercations
Affect the grand course
of my surreptitious collapse?
Just a violent object on an axis
A washer head
thrown into a tumultuous ocean of visions
A flickering correspondent
Lying on an abolition
The worst things happening to the best people
It spins and breaths and *****
This molested scared demon
Anally penetrating all that I believe is genuine
Reels of my childhood development
Played on repeat to search for ammunition
The tunneling rib cages of my insanity
The forest nymph of all that is good
The one who created me
Locked away in a windowless world
Analyzed as if lockness was one of them
I always thought it would be me
Falling to where I could not be found
How am I still standing?
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Planes fly into the towers
Planes fly from out the craters in the towers
Black plumes of smoke choke the sky
Windowless planes flying into the towers
And now another, now another
The towers rattle
Planes take-off from in the fire
And go off into the city, into the stars
into our minds.
Planes like laser-lights, jetting off,
imprinting themselves
into our minds.
Over and over and over and over
and over and over and over
There were as many as 1,000 planes
or more.
Desks, glass-shards, people
High-heels, telephones, people
Falling, smashing down from the towers
A Warholian dream
Dying icons on every TV set, 24 hour access
On every channel
For months on end
On end
Headlines recoiled by an antichrist
Rumors he was in Pakistan
In Switzerland, at the mall
In your mind.
The towers burn forever
The towers burn forever
Frozen in pixels online
In our minds.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 8:51 AM UTC
i am convinced now that
no passion exists
like that between
a man and his craft.
no love
like the love for solitude,
by which one can enter
a world all his own,
and plunge to its unfathomable depths,
carelessly disregarding his return.
no quest otherwise compares-
oh how could it?
when countless years of history
can never be retold,
never be reenacted
with different players and different settings?
a man plays a role for
a day, a month, a year, a decade,
then withers in the sun, a palm in the desert.
no amount of memories can be remade,
and no amount of care is remembered.
he is destined only to be vessel of loneliness
for others to mistakenly join and unjoin.
but in his craft
a man loses himself.
he has only his love to invest
and only his love to be returned.
when stricken with failure
he selfishly laps it all up,
gathers it close to his heart,
and holds it as treasure, locked and filed.
he searches for the bottom with lighted torch,
the end with relentless fervor,
finds no evil along the way to be a hindrance,
has no expectation dashed and destroyed.
his eagerness for success drives him deeper.
his delusions of grandeur,
perpetually emboldened.
come find me, i am waiting for you
the solitude beckons him into its fissure,
the cleft in the crust of civilization,
indescribable and hardly intelligible to others.
yet its perfection is infinite as the stars are remote.
with enthusiasm does a man pursue that perfection,
does he pray to be with that god,
Lord of his life and Giver of his breath.
he is a post for flags to be hung,
seen only by those who wander the same mountains,
searching for a chasm of their own.
he is unaided in his walk with the stars,
windowless and guided by celestial phosphorescence.
a man needs silence,
darkness beneath his eyelids,
and space in his bed to breathe.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
it seeps like sap down the spine
this tar, or fear, or hate of mine
beads opaque and thick and full of sin
i pick and peel
but they get in
i still dream
but blue, it blurs to black
deep seascape of a tormented hand,
i bind, am bound, to the things i pretend i understand
circle of a girl
eyeing squares of man
light is the letting go
hoping you pull, forgetting you won't
each time i forget, i melt and i drip,
a bad trip.
but when i think of teeth
discerning meat from bone
alone,
i float back with loose palms,
a calm.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
It's the fragmented relationships and the attempts.
It's the strength you have to believe is in there,
somewhere
It's the hope for the future and the bible verses that hold me,
and you,
together.
It's the tears and the shame and the relatable lyrics
that hold you,
like a warm blanket after hours of terribly poetry in a cold, windowless room,
that cradle us in our flammable youth,
that extinguish the flames of potential misery,
that relay the truth after months of running from just that.
I don't want to feel this way anymore.
The simple lies are, I don't know what I'm blindfolding myself against.
Sense?
What for?
Who needs to make that?
These words are the fragmented seashells alongside the shore of my emotions.
As often as you find a sand dollar whole,
will my poetry (or lack thereof)
appeal to anyone besides the lies personified that reside in my flammable heart.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
Everything is such fun in the beginning,
when it’s new and undiscovered.
i’ll try almost anything.
What is meant by almost?
All these stupid sick **** roles we play,
all this pretending, why?
i want to believe there’s something
behind the curtain
besides a windowless stone wall
Something inexplicable
his/her majesty of everything/
living/dead/never existed.
William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter.
Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.”
Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost.
is it possible to love after what has happened?
the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal.
my ex still stalks
as recently as two mornings ago,
all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury.
Why so desperate to return to crime scene?
An admission of her own guilt?
Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)?
Another excuse for getting drunk?
When we waited for the elevator going down
You said, “Let’s just get this over with.”
i understood completely.
i, who worships my own death.
i, who ****** on my own grave.
i, who gets bored faster than speed of light.
i, who suspects killing around every corner.
i, who sleeps restless.
i, who worries.
i, who loves women.
i, who does not understand women.
i, who is a woman.
i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career.
i, who is a nobody.
i, a man with no place to stand.
i, who belongs to a family of
blustering flirts, flatterers,
kidders, thieves.
We sit at the table,
monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives.
Forget about the eyes.
Watch the fingers.
Don’t listen to the speeches.
Words are intentional distractions.
Where’s your wallet?
Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies,
more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets.
Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you?
No, none of them are our kin,
but we know people who know people,
infidelities in very high places.
All i’m saying is,
once you reach a certain level,
we’re all family.
i will make success happen,
with or without you.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
Mondays belong to
Trash coffee
Work piled up
Windowless buildings
When they could belong to
Sleeping in
Coffee with you in the mountains
Art days and daydreaming
But I guess I have bills to pay.
Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 2:41 PM UTC
windowless day,
particles of strange salt on his brow,
generator man
on the coil,
double-sided,
a love for radioactive honey:
a storm in a teacup...
but for some reason
could not reciprocate
due to the metallic taste in his mouth,
and so he seemed driven
to build his electrical dream,
and took comfort from his pigeons,
the “lightning machine,”
the hair on his head bristled
as he discovered his purpose
in rings of glory that died
as flags of dust...
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 9:15 AM UTC
Within the enclosed
Walls of the
Windowless cell
Huddled in the corner
A man sits motionless
The coldness of the
Damp brick walls
Around him
Creep through his
Sweaty skin
Clogging the pores
Causing a fever
No window
Breaks the brick walls
Of the dwarf sized cell
No light
Just darkness
Ensnare the space
Around the cross-legged man
He feels his eyes
Will soon go blind
From the choked
Layer upon thick layer
Of blackness
He feels his skin
Will solidify
Into a frozen fever
Of cold
All the blood and veins
Beneath
Slowly turning to crusts of nothing
These are terrible
Terrible as the jingle of
The key’s click
Meaning the door is locked
Not to be opened
Until his executioner
Decides is right
Terrible as the moment
He caught his last
Glimpse of the sun’s beams
Gifting the outside world with
Simple happiness
But neither of these
Could amount to
The horrifying
Sound of a single
Clock’s steady
Ticking
Ticking
Ticking away the minutes
And hours remaining of his life
The man sits
Sits and sits
Never moving
His ears are continuously
Invaded with this
Ticking
Ticking
Ticking
How will he survive?
What seem
To be weeks pass
And he sits
In that same corner
Motionless
On the edge of madness
Ticking
After
Ticking
Pass
And soon
He understands
To fall in love
With this sound
Is the key
He listens now
And soon
In place of the
Ticking
The man in the
Windowless cell
Hears music
Soon an orchestra
Of deep fathomless cello
Smooth whispering piano
Melancholy violin
Echoes throughout the
Tunnels of this man’s ears
Now
With music his companion
This man
Cross-legged in the corner
Of the windowless cell
Smiles to the
Music
Through his sorrows
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:16 PM UTC
It was social experimentation
To be locked away, windowless
Four walls, perpetually fixed
- as his figure in a lightless room
Ears removed, mouth sewn closed
Eyes blinded, no light, no sound
Muted humanity, no dignity
He happened upon a laughing child
before the procedure
and that sound echoed inside
Deep within his bowels it reverberated
Through his blood
Distorted in his stomach
Youthful innocent laugh,
it grew monstrous
It began to talk
and the beast within was personified
Day one he lost his mind
Day two was still day one
(how irresponsive time becomes)
Day three the laugh became a growl
Day four the voices started
Day five in absentia
Day six he was done
Day seven, bizarre interim
- that between life and death
Profoundly lost in swingin' psychosis
Met by the devil in detailed cerebellum
Watched memories deteriorate
like some reel-to-reel burning, spluttering
His wife now only a hydrogen hallucination
Do you, the reader, know true loneliness?
The observation deck was packed on day eight
Muted, yet guttural screams of anguish
from deep within his throat
Were haunting reminders of the damaging effect
of psychological studies and the fragility of humanity
The cataract voids in his stoic face
they betrayed fear, and begged captors
for some respite from this hellish dream
Until in a tormented blinded haze, the voice was clear
His ears still dead, though this voice was true
Spoke but three subtle words
The subject experienced simultaneous neurological
Joy and fear
He had heard the de facto vocalisation of some supreme
he spoke them aloud
his only utterance
and the teary eyed scientists gathered
sterile needle
no words
dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
This self-imposed darkness I have put in place
Runs like wildly tumbling water in my veins
Expressing itself as I release in words from each pore
All of my self-imposed pain
This proud isolation that I hold myself captive within
Contains no flowers to brighten its view
Only my infatuation with this sentence I’ve imposed
On myself and these chains I wear too
In fleeting expressions of freedom to be found
I stare longingly at a windowless door
Then tremble in fear and confusion at the mere thought
Of even walking across the floor
My idealized image of how my life should be
Holds me captive here in my own war
I am the only one who can release me from this space
Untie myself and walk out my windowless door
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 8:01 AM UTC
Anesthesia seeps into me and settles
like plaque into my arteries
where it converses with my blood.
I let its ugly yellow fingers swagger through,
waving their malicious banners
proclaiming my surrender.
My lungs breathe chafing dust
that conspires
and leaves me suffocating
under the silent sands of guilt
that build up into graceful dunes.
My mind loves the desert in my lungs
despite the lifeless contours;
it is far away, removed and sees
a sweeping landscape, patterned
by the winds, my rattling breath.
But my heart lives next door
to that forsaken terrain.
It feels the pain of the parched *****
gone unacknowledged by my mind.
It feels the lecherous caress
of the ugly yellow fingers
that violate my blood,
stroking, disgustingly, inside my veins.
Still my mind remains
Doorless
Windowless
Refusing to see.
Serenely smooth, impenetrable Reason.
My heart has no hands
to hold a hammer or a sword.
Yet Your tongue is a sword,
Your words a hammer of consciousness,
Your expression the oil to reignite
shimmering embers buried under ashes.
My mind’s shield becomes an eggshell—
it shatters, flinging shards away,
letting the newly lit inferno roar
through every capillary, burning away
the ugly yellow fingers.
Winds from within gust through my lungs,
force the desert from my chest.
The sand rends my throat and lips
in its storm of escape,
and the blissful tears that rain from my eyes
quench my arid lungs.
The fire recedes into my heart, where it burns
white-hot and pure—
My eternal sun that gleams within,
to You, I surrender.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
I wish my lotion had glitter in it
I also wish my head didn't hurt
I had a nightmare that I was back in the hospital the day my insurance company denied my medication
I can't afford it,
So I can't sleep now
But yesterday I dreamed I was back in the hospital like when I was a kid
I was only there a couple of times, for testing and for times I forgot my medication
There was a bit of a learning curve for a seven year old
But I'm moving out next year
I've already learned
I take my vitamins, I go to my doctor visits
I finally got my sports clearances,
But I can't drive a car without my medication
I can't work somedays either
So as I lay here, by myself, I can't help but remember the nurse who gave me a friendship bracelet in the emergency room on Christmas
The saline in my arm was cold, and they stopped giving me blankets because I had a fever
I was twelve years old and it was snowing in Atlanta for the first time in years
I couldn't tell from my windowless room
The nurse put lotion on my hands with glitter in it
I had a fever because I was dehydrated
I was dehydrated because I forgot my medication at home in Pennsylvania.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
A book shouldn't be judged by its cover they said.
A person should be judged on their heart they said.
Plenty of books go unread
They are too small
Too thick
Too old
Too beat up
People and love have the same fate as a book.
Love is hypocritical.
How can an emotion, that is said to be
Judged by the heart,
Consider the optical cortex's opinion.
Before it weighs a soul
Hypocrites.
Predators are lead by their sight as well.
Killing off prey
In blood lust
That is interesting.
Perhaps lust is the issue
Their eyes devour what they want
While the heart is left empty.
If I lose weight am I subscribing to this belief?
Am I not fit enough to be loved?
Would being devoured by predators truly mend my heart?
My windowless soul bleeds.
While their eyes ignore me.
Am I changing myself to be loved, or
Can love change itself to find me?
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
"I have two cats!"
he said with a laugh...
as he fell to his knees...
and rolled on his back...
The time was all there
but the money went flat.
The essence of nightshade
That will do that.
So onward he marched...
and later he squeezed
but rightfully so,
the windowless breeze.
With fortnights on days
and cherry blossoms in bloom,
Mr. Finnegan woke up.
It was half past noon.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
The first time we ever spoke,
I thought you were annoying.
I asked you what your favourite colour was.
You said
"White, because when thinking in terms of the light spectrum, it is the combination of all the colours. When you look at a white light, you are actually looking at colours that human eyes can't even process. You are looking right at them, and you can't see them, but they are still there."
I thought that was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
-
-
-
*I was sent to a white palace when I found out what happened to you.
I searched for you in every windowless room.*
-
-
-
Our romance was a
flash flood in the middle of a drought,
quenching my parched soil,
and then drowning all forms of life for miles around,
but it was over far too soon
and left me ravaged,
yet thirsty for more.
-
-
-
I took my new husband-to-be to the place where you and I met.
He didn't leave my side the entire time
and we listened to the music echoing around the mountains
while he said beautiful things that I would have died to hear you say
and he kissed me in front of everyone,
just like I used to dream that you would,
but you never did.
I realize now that you weren't my soul mate,
but believe me when I say that
I did love you.
-
-
-
I still don't know what to think when I look back on it.
My open and paranoid mind
can never draw definite conclusions
as to what truly happened.
Reality is subjective.
All I know is that this world is much more quiet than it used to be without your constant chatter that I thought was annoying when we first met,
and the only closure I will ever get
is accepting that part of who I once was died with you,
but an even larger part of who you were lives on within me.
-
-
-
My favourite colour is white now.
I have loved you.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
Fearless dreaming has brought me here
The warmth of spent flesh
asleep in the tides of a fickle moon
a cool breeze in a windowless room
I pull back the sheet slowly
and watch as tiny bumps form in the chill
Peaches and cream perfection
Dare I touch
Dare I risk awakening
The warmth reaches me before I reach the truth
Hesitation and a slow exhale
I have dreamed this dream before
The dream where there is no time, no rules, no distance
I have dreamed of joy and love
I have dreamed this very dream
and as I touch you... I cry
In those moments lost in the union
of love and passion
right and wrong are a blur
on the edges of souls bound in time
Until...
I touch you and
for a moment
you are my truth, my reality, my dream, my life
Gone in the gasp of a waking sun
Dare I risk losing you once more
My heart breaks anew as the new day dawns
But how do I yearn and not sate
Yes, I touch
I love so that I may live in that moment a lifetime
The warmth of your skin greets mine
as you turn to me in your slumber
embracing all I could hope to be
Your comfort with me melts doubt
And I pray that the sun never shines
I pray that this moment is my ever after
That you and I are where we once were
where we should always be
I open my eyes at daybreak
and still feel the warmth of you
I bask before the tears come
I love you more with each moment of perfect slumber
I dream
That you will keep me with you
so I shall ne'er again wake
to a world where you no longer reside
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 5:37 AM UTC
first breath,
Eyes wide open
take some time,
Enjoy the moment,
when you aren't born
because it's safe
inside the utero,
inside the mother
of all children -
and come along,
we're not alone,
we are together
see to eye, stay awake,
put the past behind
your shoulders,
as you are,
as you ought to be,
to say the words you
need to mean them,
& wipe the powder
off your nose,
& bring some light
to the windowless
houses
grey is a color. That's fine,
but how come we're not envolved,
I like that you don't like my favorite colors
because mine is already taken.
and he lives in a car, with a record out there,
crying and refusing to live in such human state,
such is his condition,
and he remembers Andy Wood,
but he doesn't care anymore,
because his life is better
without him.
and those who stay
will never understand
why the dragon spread his wings
& took all of them to far away
from this frail stage.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
It's raining,
Ambulance sirens drown the,
Silent slumber,
No one is on the road,
A mobile maddance,
Mad chanced,
Or mild happenstance,
No change,
But the toll keeper keeps,
Jingling coins,
What have you got to pay?
The windowless hospital waits,
With a unacknowledged anxiety,
No one is on the road,
Will this be the last time or,
Are you trying to make,
Every one stare longer,
The rain wont stop,
Shot, shot, shot,
Drip, drip, drip,
It'll be a few days,
Till the rain,
Decides to quit,
The toll keeper has better things to do.
And the ambulance rolls on.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
Candy cane soldiers
roll her down like a boulder,
Her wet cheeks nearly speak
with that bed of concrete on her shoulder.
Could it be? It is she!
Redundant locks trapped in braid
Suddenly, squirming around the corner
a mustached man repeats
"Your wish is mine to fade,
you hold no recognition in the decision youve made.
So its time you come with me"
The princess and her scruples finally flee.
Unsteady warp
blurring corpse after corpse.
One with a top hat
and 3/4 of a profile pose.
Horns surrounded with fur
turned to a hairless neck for a nose.
Useless change changed the pace,
as far as walkin' goes.
Each taste is heavier,
Each word is touchier.
Their fingers grew legs
runnin where answers grow on a tree.
Could it be? I see he.
How can you not
when he hides in the most obvious of spots!
Im serious.
He's as clear as the beer on your beard,
you're delerious.
Take a look at the windowless reflection
pointing in the direction back at thee.
Sneaky little red-eyed bumblebee
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
There's a complex on the corner of three streets
Just south of something and north of something else.
One time a girl stood there crying in the rain all alone
Waiting to get picked up by anyone who wouldn't ask where her tears came from.
All she could say was she was sorry.
At night there's this dog that barks for no reason
No matter how loud you are, or how quiet you are. It must just be the flowers.
They look like a 13-year-old girl's experiment with make-up.
And they smell like dust in your nose.
Follow the road north to the pharmacy and the convenience store
Conveniently next to a windowless brothel and an indie movie theater.
Follow it south and you'll get an organic market, loose tea shops, and gelato.
Funny how that happens.
If you stand on this corner you'll see cars lining the street in every direction
Squealing and shaking with each extra body shoved inside to enjoy the beautiful dumpster view.
And maybe a pool that no one uses.
There's a complex on the corner of three streets where Atlas goes to shrug his shoulders.
And complain about how heavy his job is.
Loudly tending to his messed up joints.
Drinking with passers-by and sleeping with women who came by to massage his limbs.
Gently, tenderly, and maybe a bit rough every now and then.
Atlas lives, owns, and runs this whole **** town.
And let me tell you, he's in great shape.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
How are you still here?
Are you locked in a maze of my memories?
Trying franticly to escape and
screaming your way into consciousness
New pills but the same tunes
It’s been so long and yet some days
It feels like I’m still trapped
In the personal hell you constructed for me
You owned not only the key
Nor the concrete windowless walls
Nor the velvet-thick darkness surrounding me
as I begged for you to let your light in again
but you owned me too
You didn’t even need chains to keep me there
My heavy heart held me down more than any metal could
I can’t even say I escaped
Because you
let me go
Twice
Both times reopening the deadbolts to call me back
And obediently I came crawling in
And then you shoved me out again
This time without warning
The light burned my eyes and my skin
My hands bled as I scratched at the door
Tears choking all the words back to my stomach
And when I couldn’t feel anything anymore
I grabbed a knife
and carved a map into my skin
Desperately waiting for you to call me back again
But you didn’t
And I’d like to say that I’m ok now
That you no longer torture me
But I’m not.
And you still do.
Of course she helps
I swear someone sent an Angel
And I’m not worthy of her
But she still loves me
And I’m terrified that one day
my demons will tear through her wings
just like you tore through my heart
And though she helps mend it again
It will never be whole again
Because you stole a piece for your own sick collection.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC