Best Air Conditioned Poems
One hundred and six degrees was the rumor.
I checked at noon, it was only ninety-six.
Rumor fake news.
I sit on my front porch
lapping up the sun, enjoying the warmth.
Dog is panting like she has run a marathon
Sparkling wind chimes tinkle their happiness
as cat rubs against my legs, claiming me
as her territory.
Dog soon escapes to her air conditioned
fortress with her daddy who refuses to come out here.
I glory in this warmth, planning to go no where.
A humid, sultry, summer day.
Loving her for the warmth
she exudes, I relish in her hugs.
Categories:
air conditioned, summer,
Form:
Free verse
The night lingers, yawning,
Stretching its limbs across the sky;
It lies there so silently, so languidly
As if awaiting the early rays of morning
To come by- I wake-
I wake to the sounds of silence and
Like the night, I linger in my bed.
Nothing appears to me but darkness-
Darkness that twirls a million times
‘round my head.
Upon these cold, air-conditioned tiles
I find myself walking so slowly, almost
Crawling into the darkness.
I hear my head talking- talking so loudly
Even amidst all this silence.
How am I to know- how am I to know
Whether or not this whole night is but a dream?
A mere dream so trivial that it almost wakes me
And makes me part of its darkness.
From my window I see the night-
I see it lying there, painting all other
Windows with dark threads of sleep.
I even feel my eyes getting heavier,
Yet something-
Something endeavors to keep
Me awake through this night.
I continue to stare outside my window
Still listening to the haze of my thoughts.
How come all that is should be? And
Why are you, you and simply not me?
It seems that this darkness is not willing
To part away from me.
( Pause)
A voice- a voice recites its calmness through
This night and slowly approaches my
Window. I see it- I see it coming
My way, touching
My window, stroking the
Darkness away.
My thoughts once again begin to bellow
And say:
How come all that is should be?
And why are you, you and simply not me?
I succumb to the voice, regardless-
And deem my thoughts forgone.
On my window it slides- the voice-
Almost so artistically drawn. I stand upright,
Facing away from the night which has now
Become withdrawn-
I slowly kneel down, whispering prayers to
The cold-tiled ground
And finally it comes- Dawn.
Inspired by a Al Fajr Prayer which is the Arabic for Dawn.
Categories:
air conditioned, devotion, faith, passionnight, prayer,
Form:
Free verse
Four in one, nine baptised,
I hear you say legalised fraudlence,
Promises air-conditioned highways and streets,
Salaries and wages without working,
An easy life made sweet and comfortable.
Now, all can join the bandwagon of rigging,
Of Moonslide Marsslide victories,
With babies and peoples ritually sacrificed,
Received with glee by their lord,
The god of politricks.
Categories:
air conditioned, philosophy,
Form:
Ballad
A melody from yesteryear
Plays softly on the wind--
A mix of myrrh and honey,
A wistful sweet and bitter blend.
Fond memories of bygone days,
Of long departed friends.
Of hollyhocks and lilacs,
A reverie that never ends.
A vision of a one-room school
Set in a woodland glade--
Of children playing joyfully
There in a spreading oak tree's shade.
A farmer toiling in his field
Behind a horse and plow.
No air conditioned tractors
As modern farmers do it now.
A rustic, weathered, country church,
A Sunday morning bright
Glows fondly now in memory,
Bathed in nostalgia's hallowed light.
A barefoot boy with fishing pole
Beside a lazy stream.
A song in perfect harmony
Played in that golden summer dream.
Oh memories, sweet memories
Locked in my soul to stay.
Oh melody, sweet melody,
A haunting song of yesterday.
Categories:
air conditioned, nostalgia, people, places, time,
Form:
Quatrain
From my mother's womb I yelled into the room,
mattress on the living room floor,
my bro I replaced as the youngest, his face
as he screamed and ran out through the door.
I tell you (no fooling) my years of hard schooling
I'll remember as long as I live
Johnny Cash got it right sometimes you gotta fight
but my name isn't Sue, it is Viv.
My first crush was Joy, she beguiled the boys
with her cool attitude and demeanour,
but in the school yard I didn't try very hard
and lost out to Nigel who was keener.
My senior school was a boy's own affair,
all mortarboards, chalkdust and gowns,
atmosphere never placid, like Hogwarts on acid
at home it took hours to come down.
Exams taken and passed and so onwards at last
out into the big wide world of work,
how well did I do at my first interview
I'm surprised that they'd take on a jerk.
After six years of grammar that felt like the slammer
with no females on a daily basis
this place was Nirvana I tried to keep calmer
in this female infested Oasis.
For a short while I waited then finally dated
the friend of a colleague, named Ruth,
wedding plans from her lips, I took fright and jumped ship
I was too immature, that's the truth.
From there my next job for an extra few bob was in warehousing,
driving fork trucks,
stacks of pallets to lift on horrendous night shifts
but to honest I didn't give a hoot.
I was by then resolving with my problem solving
to find me a niche in I.T,
nine to five, air conditioned, needing no permission
to break for a smoke and a tea.
Nine years flew by me and also my family,
my mother began to be ill
I quit work and stayed home, looked after her alone
watching sadly as she went downhill.
She finally went and as was her intent I care for my youngest today,
these trials we have to bear, no-one said life was fair
but I won't have it any other way.
The good lady's poorly and sometimes I'm sorely
being tested, but I keep good cheer,
the days may seem long but I cannot go wrong-
I've got Poetry, music and beer.
For contest 'where are you from', sponsor Joseph Soper
Categories:
air conditioned, humor, life,
Form:
Rhyme
The middle east, the north, the south
Are suffering from heat waves.
The populace is retreating to
Their air conditioned caves.
We in our Skagit Valley homes
Are enjoying a cool breeze.
The sun is out , we’re basking
In mere seventy degrees.
The farmers, rising early,
Are busy reaping crops.
Bringing riches from the fertile fields
Means labor with no stops.
In early spring the daffodils
And tulips steal the scene.
Replacing them a second crop
Is sprouting emerald green.
Our educated farmers know
How to get the greatest worth
From the richest, most productive soil
Found anywhere on Earth.
Ripe berries and fresh vegetables,
Potatoes, grains and seeds,
Our Skagit farms attempt to fill
The whole world’s hunger needs.
Our mighty Skagit River
Carries salmon in its stream.
Fishing from its sunny banks
Is an Izaak Walton dream.
Nestled between the mountains
And the waters of the Sound,
Fun in our Skagit summers is
Quite easy to be found.
Categories:
air conditioned, seasons, daffodils,
Form:
Rhyme
The busted fire hydrant on the corner sprays water down like rain.
Water gushes down the dirty gutter, relieving this humid pain.
Sipping iced tea in their air-conditioned houses on the hill or in high-rise,
They don’t know how the streets burn little feet, or pretend not to realize.
They call us poor white trash, no charity we are shown.
I can virtually live on nothing when nothing is all I’ve known.
College I finished on top of the class. How far did it get me?
I have nowhere to hang my hat or wall to hang my degree.
The streets teach lessons of a hard knocks life.
You learn to survive despite hunger and strife.
You learn how to rob Peter in order to pay Paul,
And that stale, day old bread’s better than no bread at all.
You quickly find out just how warm the newspaper can be,
As you hold a cardboard sign, begging change from society.
Laid off from your job with no severance pay,
It doesn’t take long ‘til you’ve got nowhere to stay.
No family to help you when the chips are down,
You find yourself walking the mean streets of town.
How will you turn your whole life around?
Get a job and regular pay when you’re sleeping on the ground?
You need more than a meal and night’s stay in a shelter,
You need society to give a damn and be a real helper.
Quit ignoring the problem. Don’t look the other way.
Do something to help. That could easily be you some day.
Categories:
air conditioned, life, people, social, urban
Form:
Rhyme
HE STRUGGLE
Heated walls Suffocating air
Warm bed sheets
Soft, steaming pillow.
Prickly heat, Trickling sweat
Crossed midnight, exhausted body
The cock’s crow disturbed my rest
Need to rush to the field ,
For the day’s bread.
That’s the life of a poor man.
The rich have a life
Just contrary to it. How do you feel?
They hold one, a pot-belly.
Beer and whisky
Fatty special for a bulky body
Persecute the vehicle,
They often travel
Unlimited consumption
Air-conditioned bed rooms
Soft beds with fitting companions
Rich and poor, you need
Only six feet of soil.
What do you say?
Categories:
air conditioned, anxiety, change, conflict, depression,
Form:
Free verse
When I was a lad, we had a dunny out the back,
just a hundred feet away from the house,
down a little narrow track.
I never paid a call, as often as I should,
because upon opening the door,
the smell, boy, was it good.
Once inside, it was cold, dark, and clammy,
sitting there with my parts all bared,
sent shivers up my tummy.
At night, with the blankets over my head,
I would give thanks,
for the chamber pot, stowed under my bed.
Once, while in the toilet, in the rain,
a large spider, bit me on the leg,
jeepers, what a pain.
I was up, and out of there, as fast as I could run,
screaming, dad, dad, dad,
a bloody great spider, just bit me on the bum.
"Quiet, quiet, son" he said,
"you are making enough noise to wake the dead."
Now, when I am in the toilet, with its air conditioned heat,
sitting ensconced upon my china throne,
my mind drifts back to that old bush dunny,
with its solid wooden seat.
Categories:
air conditioned, childhood, funny, me,
Form:
Blank verse
(Transit Lounge, Dubai International Airport, circa 2007)
He answered
that he was from far Kazakhstan,
“Exotic place,” he added,
which I know but could not pinpoint
on my mental map.
She smiled
and said, “I am from India somewhere
farther to the northeast bordering China.”
“Hence her fairer skin,” I thought.
And she piped in,
“From Ethiopia,” and I could not
but think of just how much she paid
to have her curly hair straightened.
From the counter
of their air-conditioned, compact
caravanserai, they all chorused
the suggestion that I opt
for king prawn salad
which, indeed, was so delicious
to the hungry eyes but just so rich
for my already travel-thinned billfold.
Thus I settled
for some salmon sandwich
and a bowl of curly noodles
that the Chinese had perfected
long ago in those steaming kitchens
of their fabled silk road inns.
“Fragrant tea
from out the hot and humid hills
of southern India,” the Ethiopian
said with flourish, bringing me
my mug to wash away
the fishy taste still lingering
along the silk roads
of my taste buds, as I vainly tried
to pinpoint far Kazakhstan
on my travel-weary mental map
while waiting, sleepy, for the call
to put me, once more,
on my way.
Categories:
air conditioned, travel,
Form:
Blank verse
Appointment to have organ removed by robot-assisted surgeon.
Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive
You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses
Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique.
Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine.
There's always governance even if there's little or no government.
Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it?
At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill!
Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been
Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident.
Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford
But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife.
Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty
And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get.
The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek
Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot
To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town.
Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus
Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome
Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion
And the whole known world from India to Britain.
It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy
Although after a while you stop remembering
To fear. That's when everything becomes clear
Purpose v. purposelessness matters less,
Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference
Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents
Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust.
Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room.
Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion
That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised
So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business
Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with eyes
open,
Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work, imposes
Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
Categories:
air conditioned, beauty, death, father, fear,
Form:
Verse
Madras
Hotel lobbies, hotel bars
Hotel rooms, air conditioned cars
City sights and sounds and smells
A smile, a frown, a shout impels
The thoughts within to exude
And express themselves without interlude
Here no blossoms, no sweet fresh air
Save the scented jasmine in the women's hair
And the two don't mix, as we all know
Like the fires of hell and virgin snow
Flowing bright and silken dress
Saris adorn the putrid mess
Hems lifted gently to protect them
From certain ruin in the amalgam
Of open sewers - each gutter one
Of refuse tips - the pavements on
Rotten, decaying, organic matter
Dried up dung and vomit spatter
From the mouths of the unlucky
Poor and destitute - never plucky
"They are content with their lot"
(Steeped in drink, their guts they rot)
Laying near the dirty door
Their filthy rags bright no more
In the street or on a stair
Ignored by all without a care
And yet...and yet, life goes on
Each to their own - their God isn't one
Some are born to thrive and prosper
Others to poverty and despair
And here we are, visitors just
Though we discreetly watch - as we must!
And absorb each heart rending sight
Forsaking those in their plight
But if we give - sometimes we do
There are no thanks, nor feelings due
Because are we helping them buy food
Or alcohol which kills? Then we brood
And the rich they come in chauffeured car
Or the latest model bought by Pa
In designer clothes, their scarves unfurled
The stench, the poor? Another world!
Categories:
air conditioned, feelings, image, introspection, sad,
Form:
Verse
Wending my way down a country road in my air-conditioned car,
In yon vale a weathered church steeple beckoned me from afar.
'Twas Sunday morning and the clarion peal of its bell caught my ear.
There stood a simple House of God with a graveyard in the rear.
My faithfulness in matters religious had never been that good,
Since attending Church and Sunday School in my childhood.
But something ethereal drew me to that bucolic setting so serene;
I craved deliverance from my stressful and very hectic routine.
I unobtrusively entered the sanctuary and sat in the very last pew.
An elderly pastor ministered to his flock, who numbered a scanty few.
The ancient hymns they sang evoked fond memories as a lad;
My eyes grew misty as I recalled singing them with Mom and Dad.
The pastor preached a simple sermon based on John Three-sixteen,
That would have stirred the soul of a reigning king or queen!
I left that modest but sacred place with renewed hope in my heart,
Inspired by those timeless truths that old pastor did impart.
I've heard profound oratory in majestic cathedrals o'er this sphere,
But never a more soul-searching sermon will I ever hear,
Than from that humble pastor imparting that message of old,
For the ears and souls of his faithful, God-fearing fold.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
air conditioned,
Form:
Rhyme
Well perhaps I should talk about foreclosure,
Let’s see, at first as it begins to happen
it feels like your life is being flattened
By a big ole dozer.
It is an especially dire , disheartening fate,
When one’s credit has been almost eight.
You’ve toiled hard and cleared the land,
remodeled the house in the course of seven years
and built a six stall barn by your own hand
with literally your blood sweat and tears.
Oh yes, the post and board fencing
In a Florida sun that’s unrelenting
And the two small rectangular decks
built by dumpster material specs!
Built a sixteen by sixteen air conditioned man cave,
Or it could be a dog house, I guess
If this week you’re not your wife’s fave…
anyway, a nice place, a hobby nest.
All this done while working for the man,
Scraping by with an upside down loan,
Gratefully doing the best you can…
Notwithstanding an occasional moan.
Had to work a few side jobs
To make ends meet.
Some for unethical slobs
But some folks were sweet.
We’ve grown a lot of veggies on our seven acre patch.
Home grown maters and string beans are hard to match.
Then after nine years the man leaves a message on your answering device..
“Found someone cheaper move your stuff out now.” …That ain’t so nice.
Well it’s been hand to mouth and now looks like we’ll lose this place,
Real upset at first but then, one just can’t keep up that pace,
At this age I’ll just roll with the punches ; of late, it’s come in bunches,
Now we’ve graduated from upset to feeling grateful,
God’s got a plan, much better plan; no sense in being hateful.
We’re looking forward to the best, in God’s hands we’ll leave the rest.
In this market, to all who have lost their home,
we’re with you, we understand, God bless you all and…
Shalom.
Categories:
air conditioned, adventure, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Johnny played video games till his mouth was dry
He never glimpsed at the midday sun
Or turned his head to see the star lit sky
He would have seen a world for the taking
Just a couple steps outside
But he never played outside
He played every sport on a gaming console
Every sport he never tried
Maybe he saw the shots he could have scored
Through his dilated eyes
Through his bloodshot, tired eyes
His parents were as wealthy as could be
But life was spinning and they were dizzy
Maybe him and his father would have thrown a football
But life was just too busy
The law firm was just too busy
On parent teacher day at school
There was a limousine waiting after the bell
With a chauffeur to inquire
Whether Jonny was doing well
But he wasn't doing well
They found out about those b's and c's
So they tried to give him hell
Driving straight into the heights, straight into the ghetto
So he would know what could happen if he did not excell
But when he stuck his head out the window
He didn't mind the pungent smell
He saw kids his own age kicking a makeshift soccer ball
And that air conditioned lexus
Felt like a prison cell
By Kyle Kriticos
Categories:
air conditioned, sadlife,
Form:
Free verse