Though the carpet teemed with costumes, toys and figures, laid orderlessly, it was barren.
Distant echoes of the battery powered monkey clapped naively through the still air, and its dim LED eyes softly flickered.
A thread of light shifted through the overcast clouds and chipped window pane, placing itself where someone had once been. Each step creaked the empty yellowed racecar bedstead which ached in loneliness, weakly reminiscing.
Nothing is said, as superheroes lean against the bedframe and villains lay beside them. They keep their place, perhaps waiting for an end to the silence. I lay beside them, another still figure. Silent. Static. Hoping, foolishly, to escape this hollow world.
Categories:
bedframe, divorce, family, father son,
Form: Narrative
The bedframe springs had sprung off,
And the bicycle had a crooked wheel,
And the mattress had gone to sleep,
And the broken bench had a street appeal,
And the basket sat on the dryer,
And the old suitcase had seen better days,
Like the worn out fan and the TV set,
And the torn up toys and the ravaged games,
That nobody wants to use,
Because the kids had gone away,
And the spare room needs a clear out,
So all of this stuff is on display,
At the bulk kerbside collection,
When everything gets dumped in a heap,
The cabinet rests without its drawers,
In front of every house on every street.
Yep the basket has died with the dryer,
The basket died with the dryer,
The basket died with the dryer,
The basket
Died.
Categories:
bedframe, community, death, freedom, goodbye,
Form: Quatrain
To the memory of my brother
Sometimes,
I sit all alone
And think of you.
I close my eyes-
Close them tightly
And remember sitting beside you on those wooden buses that only Apia still has
I see you lying on the old bedframe without a mattress
And taste the fizzy-sweet Coca-Cola you’d buy for me
I hear your laughter as I smile
At the memories of running after you with a broom
And all your long prayers at lotu* time
Prayers.
When I think of prayers I think of you even more.
I wonder
I really wonder
If I said enough of them for you while they still counted.
Brother,
Did you know I prayed?
Prayed every day and every night
for you?
I wonder, did you feel my prayers?
Even on that last night in your cold motel room
Dripping with despair
Did you know I was praying?
Did you wonder, even?
I wonder, more than anything
If
As you took your life
You considered not doing it
Maybe…just for me?
Just to keep the promise you made that I’d never be alone
Or did you just go...?
Without even wondering
If I was wondering
Where you were?
Sometimes,
I sit all alone
And think of you.
*Samoan word meaning 'evening worship'
Categories:
bedframe, death of a friend,
Form: Free verse
The man on the porch looks out
over his property and towards his daughter.
Nervousness seeps through her plum-dark flesh.
Each eye contact signposts a wicked meditation.
Women are voiceless in those days, yielding to
males and manipulated Bible verses.
Poverty and childbirth loiters the screen.
White men protect segregation and Black men protect pride.
Are there no advocates or women’s lib
in that part of the South? Does anyone care about the mistreated?
Even the animals are sinister, and the young babes.
Horses burdened with stuff amble the pasture.
Fried ham wafts from kerosene stoves.
All the outspoken women are rebellious and prostitutes.
They wear thigh-high skirts, halters, and ruddy rouge.
Men swagger about in cut-price suits, wingtips, and thin-band ties.
They sweat into juke-joints or atop a squeaky bedframe
while records scratch against a dusty needle.
The girl in the front yard runs through hanging sheets
and swings bound books against Mister’s groin.
Her eyes are watery, her hair wild as those purple flowers.
She peers down at her attacker twisted on the red clay
and she shrieks.
Nobody shows up to save her.
She runs off into nothing.
Categories:
bedframe, culture, film, women,
Form: Free verse
The man on the porch looks out
over his property and towards his daughter.
Nervousness seeps through her plum-dark flesh.
Each eye contact signposts a wicked meditation.
Women are voiceless in those days, yielding to
males and manipulated Bible verses.
Poverty and childbirth loiters the screen.
White men protect segregation and Black men protect pride.
Are there no advocates or women’s lib
in that part of the South? Does anyone care about the mistreated?
Even the animals are sinister, and the young babes.
Horses burdened with stuff amble the pasture.
Fried ham wafts from kerosene stoves.
All the outspoken women are rebellious and prostitutes.
They wear thigh-high skirts, halters, and ruddy rouge.
Men swagger about in cut-price suits, wingtips, and thin-band ties.
They sweat into juke-joints or atop a squeaky bedframe
while records scratch against a dusty needle.
The girl in the front yard runs through hanging sheets
and swings bound books against Mister’s groin.
Her eyes are watery, her hair wild as those purple flowers.
She peers down at her attacker twisted on the red clay
and she shrieks.
Nobody shows up to save her.
She runs off into nothing.
Categories:
bedframe, longing, race, strength,
Form: Verse
what do we need?
i believe in stress relief
clothes off,
underneath
can't help but tangle feet
re-arrange and dangle
feet on shoulder
thighs make a right angle.
you want
Go.
speed?
Faster.
breath
me
sweat
you
Faster.
give up control
i can take controll
unpredictible?
Go.
like that
Go.
grab sheets
don't fall!
my bedframe
versus wall
you agree
and say
Yes
agree to nothing
say
Yes!
stretching
tensing
on the floor
exactly
what we came here for.
Categories:
bedframe, passion, romance,
Form: Free verse
Savage romance
And bloody passion
Another victim falls
Before the terrible temptation
Demonic desire
And abhorrent attraction
Another victim falls
Before an iniquitous instant
One more tally
Etched in her bedframe
A pile of bones
To pick her teeth
Manson eyes
And a Hannibal Smile
Another victim falls
To the serial seductress
Impaling interest
And strangling sex
Another victim falls
To a murderous mistress
Categories:
bedframe, loss, teen,
Form: Free verse