Best Ceiling Poems
Like fallen warriors,
we collapse side by side,
glistening in the sweaty afterglow.
Limbs still entangled,
too exhausted to sing the other’s praise,
we stare at the blades of the bedroom fan
slowly circling above.
A lone,
satisfying sigh
escapes in between your deep,
cleansing breathes.
Your smile
reflects in the brass, ball base
of the rotating fan.
I smile in return,
unable to rescue my gaze
from the fan
cooling off our steaming bodies.
Slowly,
your right hand moves;
fingers entangle with those on my left.
I still taste you on my lips.
I silently laugh to myself
upon the realization that I still have one sock on;
the other dangling on the end of a fan blade.
The remainder of our clothes
strewn around the room
as if the hamper had exploded.
Your brassiere
ruined when I removed it
with my teeth.
Beads of sweat roll down my thigh
where our legs remain interlocked –
I love the smooth contrast of your skin
against my sun dried legs.
The ever so slight breeze
created by the fan
is starting to dry our exposed skin
as we slowly regain strength.
The circling blades hypnotize.
The subtle,
rhythmic hum
from the fan motor
mixes with the recent memory
of the rhythmic dance
just concluded.
Your hand,
now lightly brushing against me,
is re-energizing my engine.
Slight,
involuntary movements
near your finger tips
indicate our dance may not yet be over.
I blink
to interrupt my transfixed,
mesmerized relationship
with the ceiling fan,
so I can once again
concentrate on you.
Energy restored –
as if pumped back into our souls
by the bedroom fan –
the warriors re-engage
in battle once again.
A battle in which
each warrior wins.
Categories:
ceiling, passion, dance, dance, smile,
Form:
Free verse
I find delight in bright stars and moonlight, a cooing dove, and wooing for love
'Happy' is a feeling without a ceiling, can't be bought, is more than words impart
It's a smiling child, wild flowers, afternoon showers, and the powers of God above
Happiness is pure pleasure, a treasure we can't hide and starts inside our hearts
:) August 11, 2017 (:
Rhyme Battle: Happiness
Sponsor: Juli-Michelle
Categories:
ceiling, happiness,
Form:
Rhyme
Tweet tweet tweet
I hear the birds speak
I wonder what they say
Perhaps it’s a song
Or a prayer strong
To welcome golden day
The sunshine glows
And wouldn’t you know
By their cheerful chirps
Perhaps they’ve learned
To get the early worm
And whistle while you work
I lay here nude
Enjoying their tune
Of rainbow inflections
Tan ceiling fan on
Creating my own song
Sunny disposition suggestion
Good morning soupers
May you all be troupers
As you earn that early worm
May you keep hope
With or without clothes
As the world turns
Categories:
ceiling, america, animal, bird, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
A budget we need
Time to heed richer measures
Clarity indeed
Categories:
ceiling, political, social,
Form:
Haiku
28 Cracks In The Ceiling
I take my red-inked dagger in hand
And succinctly spew its secrets for all to see.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
There’s a storm moving out of the west.
I can smell the thunder and
The titillating turbulence of tintinnabulation.
An old lady sits cross-legged and knitting,
Waiting for the sweating sun to sink.
“I was just a girl in 1925… and now…”
The endless strained faces out there
Tell stories of death, disease and depravity.
They know the eternal worm is the other one
In this passion triangle.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
Snakes frothing in suburbia.
The megabytes of Zanzibar jettison out naked bone chips.
Later months and trivial dimes.
Smokestack realizations in a tent.
Church buttresses holding up my whining soul.
Green Edsels down in San Pedro.
Michelobs and round sassy broads fingering erect nipples.
With a Susie in each arm
He lights a cigarette in honor of grand appeasement.
Sensuous sinews entwine effervescently.
More loose chicks in short skirts,
Pouting and scamming.
Times are hot in the old town tonight.
Music and misery, wine and wickedness.
Stubborn clocks disarm with water-resistant influx.
I was a princox in petticoats.
We met at a Tastee Freez at twilight.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
Categories:
ceiling, confusion, old, lost, lost,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I was born in Green Valley, west of Liverpool, west of Sydney, Australia.
It's like being born in the Bronx, or Tottenham, or Shankhill, or Govan in Glasgow.
I might as well have been born there too.
Where those of Green Valley's DNA
Kiss the ground with a bent neck, and are proud to do so
When they look up, their face smears on the glass ceiling
But they can't feel it.
The only escape is a poor paying job
So they keep saying.
There is no door with a happy label on it,
Or a sign that says "this way to an improved life".
So here I am in Scotland.
I went through the unnamed door
I think it was called "risk".
It broke the glass ceiling.
Categories:
ceiling, change, class, faith, history,
Form:
Light Verse
the debt ceiling talk
led to so much tension that
the room's ceiling burst
Categories:
ceiling, business, fantasy, funny, history,
Form:
Haiku
The Glass Ceiling
“Woe there sister, where do you think you're going?
Turn around, go back, stop, cease, desist!
Nothing for you above my see-through barrier.
Yes, yes, I know you can see them up there.
They are welcome up above.
Why?
Well, because they have an outie and not an innie.
They have their ice cream with nuts and you don't.
They are the plug, not the outlet.
Only snakes and snails and puppydog tails.
Keep out all of the sugar and spice and everything nice.
Blue is better than pink,
Mars vs. Venus…. Bla,bla,bla.
Oh-ho! That's rich!
Don't make me laugh, YOU BONE THIEF! YOU RIB STEALER!
We ALL know you can do the exact same work, as good or better than them.
What's your point?
And don't make it too sharp, huh?…we wouldn't want to crack the glass.
What you need is a good dose of Saint Paul, girlie.
Saul or Paul, sure had some gaul!
Ha! Oh man, I crack myself up!
We'll, not literally because…well.
Now, Sing it with me!
…”anything you can do, I can do better! I can do anything better than you!”
No. wait! nevermind! Forget I said that…
Hey, hey!? what are you doing?!
No! Girls aren't allowed here!
…Stop that singing!
Soprano is my Kryptonite!”
…Walking on, walking on, broken glass…
”
Categories:
ceiling, culture, funny, gender, hyperbole,
Form:
Personification
Glass Ceiling
Crouched here in the corner of the ceiling
watching myself – fighting to endure –
I stifle tears, for I am but his essence
growing dimmer as his color pales.
He struggles to make sense of life – in death.
Whereas I struggled to make sense of death – in life.
I watched him weep at the passing of others
who would not find time for him.
I tried to touch him, to reach him,
to let him know that we were not alone,
that we had each other. I think he felt it – once-
then pulled away with a shiver.
He – We – were so much more than memory,
so much more than tissue, and sinew, and pain.
We Were, dammit! Even now, as he struggles
to decide our fate we still – Are.
None but me have know the all of him,
his deepest fear, the enormity of his love,
his loneliness amid the crowds,
his presence among the lonely.
I have always been there for him – in spirit,
had his back, echoed his spiritual song,
directed his eyes toward the sunrise
of a troubling night’s trepidation.
We were the best of what we are
so I am saddened. Not by his imminent death,
but by the inevitable separation of
the animator from the animation.
10/12/2016
submitted to – Personification – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Lewis Raynes
Categories:
ceiling, death, spiritual,
Form:
Personification
When stuck at home for convalescence
For prose or poem choose acquiescence
Scribble a thought about what is what
Soon you’ll be caught, and boredom forgot
Categories:
ceiling, recovery from,
Form:
Rhyme
stars on the ceiling
mesmerizes the baby
until sleep arrives
Categories:
ceiling, baby, stars,
Form:
Haiku
BREAKING THE GLASS CEILING
Deborah,God annointed Judge&Prophetess
a matriarch,overseer of men,..no less;
Mary,at Jesus feet,studied...just as a man
in Christ there is no gender ban
Categories:
ceiling, christian, spiritual, teacher, today,
Form:
Didactic
Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann furnished apiece with brush and pan.Each
Victorian 'Miss' tied in service's abyss.Far off days,now long gone,their toil each
day was lengthy and long.With fires to light,floors to scrub,and carpets to brush
and drub.Mops forbidden,as they smeared the dirt and begrimed their prim
alpaca aproned skirt.They cleaned 'his' tub,emptied 'her' commode,a regular
chore in a housemaid's daily load.Must rise at six but never to mix and no matter
what,keep a stiff upper lip.Never lose your cool,a formal curtsey the perpetual
rule.Half day off once per month,so free to roam and catch the omnibus home.No
other opportunities in store except a marriage at eighteen or before.Upstairs and
down stairs ,no in between,starting out at just thirteen and just there to please as Master and his Lady take their ease.
Categories:
ceiling, family, history,
Form:
Ode
I hate that I can touch the ceiling in my bathroom walls.
I hate that eerie lonesome feeling that I'm getting tall.
I hate how e'erything now is small and how I've grown so high.
I hate how petty tiffs are teeming and I'm asking "Why"
I love that I can now explore the world without a care.
I love that I can sleep and snore until the midday's air.
I love that I have learnt to share and my how I can swim!
I love my aura and galore, expressed with but a grin.
I hate how all my fascination with the world declined.
I hate how sky clouds' animation perished from my mind.
I hate how no one's ever kind to me and I'm alone.
I hate how alcohol's temptation over me has grown.
I love how I can feel emotion t'wards another soul.
I love that I can sail the ocean, always in control.
I love how in my life, a hole is no cause for alarm.
With simple grit and great devotion I shan't come to harm.
I hate that I can touch the ceiling in my bathroom walls.
I hate that eerie lonesome feeling that I'm getting tall.
I hate how e'erything now is small and how I've grown so high.
But never will I cease my dreaming—
—That I'll someday touch the sky.
Categories:
ceiling, childhood, happiness, hope, timeworld,
Form:
Rhyme
The black little spot,
On the white ceiling,
Moving about in slow motion,
Like an ancient dhow during monsoon,
So little so moving so black so soft.
Categories:
ceiling, allusion, assonance, change, creation,
Form:
Imagism