Best Couches Poems
..............I could write you
...................poetic images
...............that would make
............other women drool.
...............Speak of sunsets
...........wired, computerized
....................................to
.....................................P
...................................PU
..............................PULSE
............ ...to the rhythm of
.........your striking features
B............Build you a ladder
.............from light, that we
..............could climb to the
..............gates of euphoria.
..............Tell you that they
.............named it after you
E..........................Ecstasy.
............I could and I would
.........but I know you better
.......... ....than that. I know
.....................what you like.
.........................I can taste
..............it on my buds. You
....................want a man of
......................simple words
..................spun from truth.
A.........A man that will never
.........run out on you. A man
..............that when you hold
......................is steady and
.............rooted. I am steady
..............and rooted but also,
...........I am in love with you.
U............Not by the waterfall
.........or against the light of a
..........full moon. Not walking
...................along the beach
....................while the ocean
..............whispers in my ears.
............. I love you first thing
.......even on a dingy morning.
........................I love you on
...........evenings when it is so
.........cloudy there is not even
................one star in the sky.
........It is just dark. I love you
.........when we're on separate
.......couches reading different
.......books. When we're alone
...........or together in a crowd
.......I love you from the other
........side of the room. On the
.......first floor when you're on
....the twenty third. When you
.....have a cold and even more
........when you are sicker still.
T.....The simple truth is you're
.........stuck with me from now
.............to eternity........why?
Y.................because the best
............part about you is that
.........I know you love me too.
01~22~2015
Sponsor: Rhonda
Contest: Hidden Beauty
Categories:
couches, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
Little houses deep asleep
In beds with down pillows
people are
in wooden miniature houses
dogs are
on couches cats are
(not in their dedicated sleeping
places no they don't)
I sleep in far away places
in cold beds no duvet
fingers clamped in soil
Return to me what was taken
for granted, this home
all that was stolen, return
Return to me flowers
with butterflies and bees
and honey sunlight poems
From little houses fast asleep
birds fly
spread their wings
and lift on wind
fill the sky
a dark cloud
for blind eyes
sombre screams
to deaf ears
So many words
misunderstood
***
July 27, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Categories:
couches, anger, metaphor, poetry, words,
Form:
Free verse
I’m from the piano in my living room,
from the music and melody.
I’m from the old, shabby couches,
(Placed proportionally,
opposite side from the TV)
I’m from the mirror,
the clear reflection
whose face I remember
staring at in the morning.
I’m from the mud under the cemented ground in the yard,
(Brown, lumpy
filled with the elements of Earth)
I am from the fruits grown in my garden,
delicious when freshly picked.
I’m from the swing set,
run-down and tattered,
yet bringing back sweet
and wistful memories of the past.
I’m from the neighborhood mailbox,
beaten down and ragged.
I’m from the local Starbucks,
freshly brewed coffee.
From the dental clinic my father
worked hard to build.
I’m from my Uncle Benajir’s love,
an unconditional and spoiling love.
I’m from Aunt Helena’s
big mouthed personality,
causing trouble and anger amongst many.
I’m from the love and support from my cousins,
Rahat and Tasfia,
whose love has affected me greatly
throughout my life.
I’m from the judgmentals
and the backdated,
from the close minded and ignorant.
I’m from the Islam is the one true religion
and a Quran I have learned to read
throughout my childhood.
I’m from the Dates eaten
during Ramadan.
I’m from the fuchkas
brought from Artesia,
the Indian market of California.
I’m from the biryanis,
the cultural grain
of my ethnic group,
made especially for get-togethers.
In my closet are family albums,
filled with old pictures,
an array of familiar and unfamiliar faces
bringing about stories from the past.
I am from those memories --
stories about my long distant cousins
to my maternal grandparents --
I am from those memories.
Categories:
couches, childhood, family,
Form:
Narrative
O MINE VALENTINE
We are a twine of
lines...vines
limbs
hair
fingers
sheets
blankets
couches
streets
signs
misgivings
mistakes
retreats
agressions
2 chairs
2 drinks
a fire
an oven
a burner
a melted finish
and a perpetually unmelted finish
longings
clutchings
graspings
open doors
unopened doors
closed doors
slammed doors
cracked open doors
wide open doors
tears
cries
beggings
wishings
promisings
spinning wheels
rising roads
falling rain
calls
texts
silence
long extended open unbracketed Silence
dark thick silence
light bright silence
hopeful silence
cresting like a star being born silence
....we begin again
Categories:
couches, love,
Form:
List
An orb of light flashes through the window
and I see a new day arrive.
Reflections of yesteryears with Winters coming
and going before me. With each new season
of Winter, I see remarkable beauty.
I see snow-capped pines in my yard and they
look as if they were meant to live in that
majesty forever.
Lovers skate on mother nature’s delight
and hold hands as if they were in love since
the dawn of time. They see each other in
a different light when dressed in warm attire
with scarves of wool made by grandma that
will be passed down through generations.
Children dance in angel’s wings and snowballs
fly in the daylight on snow days. There’s
something about watching a child play in
the snow. Maybe it reminds us of our
childhood, or maybe it is just the way they
laugh inside a fort made by the help of
daddy.
Fireplace gatherings on the Eve of
Christmas brings joy in our hearts.
The children run around the couches
in circles, as “Up On The Rooftop” is heard
from our old record player we kept from
when we were children. We drink hot
chocolate and eat sugar cookies but
always leave some for Santa, as well
as carrots for Rudolph. Santa visits and
the chimney always seemed to be too
small, but the story has been told for many
a year that’s how he brings joy to our
families.
Magic is but a sense of wonder and wonder
is but a dream of imagination. Watching water
turn into icicles seems to bring the most
fascination to me. As if they were born to
bring such a reflection of a new reason to
shine with hues of a rainbow. The season of
Winter is full of amazement and enchantment.
Charisma is born and as each year passes
the beauty never fades.
Winter Magic Contest
Mystic Rose
January 1, 2017
Categories:
couches, beauty, childhood, christmas, snow,
Form:
Free verse
Harmless guest
Underneath Zoom chair
Some small creature fleeing in confusion
Ah ha, a brown lizard, harmless four-legged guest
Hiding and scared, aren’t you?
So am I
Please do not visit me in bed tonight
Mi-casa-su-casa
prey on insects and spiders all you want
and Thank you
for house cleaning service
Mi-casa-su-casa
Enjoy this big playground
hanging out in small covered spaces
under any couches, chairs, desks, bookshelves, or tables in the house
Closets, vents, baseboards, cushions, and potted plants
unlimited places to hide
One early morning
A two-legged guest picks up his underpants
Surprise!
A four-legged guest skydive dropping onto the ground
fleeing in amusement
Categories:
couches, animal, clothes, funny, house,
Form:
Free verse
How Times Have Changed~
We ran so innocently in lush, soft, beautiful grass!
Dreamt of wonderful futures on the finest, fresh smelling sheets.
Mother treated each child as her very own angel creation.
When apart, we pigtailed beauties, actually called each other on real phones!
Sadly, the deliciuis times of being together, are no longer here,
And no, sorry! Facebook and a child stuck in front of any screen.
Can never bring back the joy, the togetherness, the very vibrancy
Of loving and close human conviviality.
Love has transformed, so that, it's like looking for it in a rear view mirror.
We lost our love for one another, in tragic totality!
A God, a church for some, just is far too demanding,
Besides, we might have to leave our house, or worse be standing.
We killed God and became ravenous, selfish beasts.
We cannot connect humanly anymore, as once we fearlessly did.
That feigned pretense of "caring" is absolutely the worst.
It is nothing more than electronic symbols on a device!
Our once sparkling, spiritual souls, that belonged to God.
Totally stone cold,like the dead, under the sod..
666 and his minions launching their final work.
Theit goal? To see that God is never once mentioned.
We really think we are bigger than God? Yes, we consider Him a clod!
We never attribute any success we have to Him
Drunk on our own wonderfulness, indeed hollowness,
In a world that we never created.
Detachment, no-speaking is the word of the day,
We never consider or think that another human,
Might need a hug, a visit, from another soul.
In fact, we rob them of hearing our voices at all.
So busy are we, destined on a train to hell.
Deaf,are we, totally to our own death's knell.
On fine new couches we sit, huge TV's captivate us,
Our stomachs, full and bulbous, but it doesn't bother us.
So off to get manicures, haircuts and more.
We are horribly prideful and vain, strutting like arrogant roosters.
We can't stop playing vainglorious games.
Never for God, oh, no~just for our personal,insignificant fame!
Panagiota Romios
4/10/2018
Categories:
couches, god, heaven, inspirational,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
The Galilean sun smiled down
upon the dusty little town
and lingered o'er one humble spot,
a peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
to lay bright carpets on the floor
where children played in perfect peace
about the shop. Their joy increased
each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
the carpenter who worked within.
His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
and as He worked, He did not mind
their ceaseless chatter, endless play
nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
they scattered sawdust with a broom.
the wood chips falling at His feet
became for them a fishing fleet
or beds and chairs for little dolls,
a manger or a cattle stall.
Surrounded by the commonplace;
and yet, uncommon was the grace
with which He faced each daily task
as if all Heaven lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
the wood responded, unafraid.
beneath His hands each piece was formed
into an object to perform
some deed of usefulness or skill,
the needs of men to fitly fill.
Precise He was in all His craft
from oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
to couches for a nobleman;
he was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
no painful splinters could be found
to pierce the flesh of those who bought
the items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
beneath its own Creator's hands.
Does it seem strange that He would die,
suspended between earth and sky,
upon two rugged beams of wood,
this carpenter whose work was good?
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
Categories:
couches, christian, easter, jesus, religious,
Form:
Narrative
the man with a crown on his head
has likely to spend time in bed
the Queen, misbehaving
the cause of much raving
preferring most couches instead.
Categories:
couches, abuse,
Form:
Limerick
rolling, shaking my heart in red
out of the blue you're soaked and fed
loving hearts that feed on rails
leaping souls that heed, not wails
eaves of heart-shaped leaves overflowing
reign of adoration outlying
couches or bench seats of hearts that drift
over your body levitate, not sift
a heart rolling over like wave
sauntering caterpillar so brave
tis immortal soul that roar and dwell
easterly winds will blow and tell
rollercoaster of hearts made in heaven, not hell
Categories:
couches, adventure, body, devotion, life,
Form:
Personification
A single golden light
Danced through the frame,
And spangled out of the dark house
As snow spun downward
Into the abyss of the night.
A man trembled inside
Shaking his head in pain.
Tears grew off his face and
Watered the floor.
He sat for sometime,
Then slid off the couch
And heavily trudged up the stairs.
He opened the door and saw his son, sleeping
Soundly in the swollen room.
The hushed raspy breaths of the boy
Echoed in the stillness of the man's heart.
Moonlight spilled through the pane
tricking the blue curtains to shine.
And in his heart he knew,
All is well.
Then moving to the next room,
Where the form still lay,
Of his teenaged daughter.
Headphones jammed loud in her ears,
Playing the beat of her resistance.
The man was glad she could escape
What he could not.
Softly he leaned over and kissed
Her forehead, whiffing the smell
Of her fresh hair die.
And in his heart he knew,
All is well.
Shutting the door behind him,
Staggered down the stairs,
Leaned on the banister.
His gaze met the open room.
Empty with lace curtains,
Plush couches,
And his spirit glass.
Then through his swollen eyes
He lingered over the pictures on the wall,
And silently walked to his desk.
He pulled the drawer open
A brush of cedar hit his nose,
He use to love that smell.
He pulled out a revolver.
And in his heart he knew,
CLICK
It wasn't.
Categories:
couches, death, drink, loss, sorrow,
Form:
Free verse
Well, drip the juice
turn off your
Sunday suits
Fried chicken crackling
Rerun, what's happening
Brothers givin dap again
ain't no O'Jay
whistlin
back stabbin-in
Bill Cosby
found a friend again
Fat Albert
workin off pork rinds
and gubment
cheese
sinners gettin
on knees
Faith returned
Heaven turned warm
Just a little sumthin
sumthin
remindin us how
a man's actions
added volume
to his words
Kids were seen
not heard
and grandma
kept couches
wrapped in Saran
wrap.
I'd give a limb
to see a kid
climb a tree again.
Sweet bye and bye
days gone by.
Grab a palm leaf and
wave it on Sunday
We live in a world
with so many
discrepancies
God has abandoned
Sunday and puts in
work Monday
through Saturday.
Cotton field
work ethic
and a King's
mentality
We need to overcome
One mo gen.
I'd rather see
the human race win
than watch another
Superbowl commercial
Facts of life
that feel like lies.
A Mason jar,
Fireflies and a dad
changing diapers
were such good times
Categories:
couches, black african american, easter,
Form:
Free verse
Can you not see?
All the ducks inside your arm?
Did you think hotel paradise,
Came with no illusions attached?
Violins and rats
Rats and violins
Conductor in a white suite
Playing musical roulette
Slow motion squirrels a symphony
Dancing death on my head
Hotel paradise is the rats meow
Old couches and peeling paint
The evil Mickey mouse is really quite quaint
Oh Susanna sings in this hotel
Ethiopian Nelly checked out long long ago
Dear friends and gentle hearts
I pass on with 38cents in civil war notes
With 3 cents to spare
Bury me amongst the minstrel songs
Among quiet flowers gleefully listening
I have composed stately song
As I decompose, My epitaph shall say
Beautiful dreamer down below
I lie in my suitcase
Ships are made for sinking
Whiskey made for drinking
I am Stephen but who am I?
Form: Disjointed Double Verse
Can you guess who is Stephen?
Categories:
couches, culture, sorrow,
Form:
Lyric
Un poème pour mon pays
Chère patrie
Le berceau de races
Vous êtes parmi les nombreuse
Avec une grande diversité de vue
Dans ce mulâtre des langues occidentales
Oh grand triangle!
Tu te lèves et te couches
Comme les marées océaniques
Dans ce beau paysage
En patois et en cultures
Dis-moi que tu n'es pas corrompu
Refuse la discrimination raciale
Pays de paix
Rivière de crevettes, Afrique en miniature
Oh Cameroun mon beau pays !
Categories:
couches, appreciation,
Form:
Free verse
Hoping everyday there will be a vicissitude in your thinking.
Irritation and repose.
Waiting.
For a text, a call, reticence.
White space on paper.
Empty.
I drank your wine.
I reveled in your game.
Laid nude and bent over your couch while you created rudiment on the floor beside my foot.
Vessel.
Held my breath, eyes shut while you finished yourself.
Watched you cook steak on the grill.
Men get hungry or sleep, you were hungry and I have told you;
I don’t eat red meat.
You tell me to retire myself from cooking because our duties are equalized though our genders are not.
I ate the steak.
Copious house, sizeable paycheck, exiguous man.
Microbic consort.
Missed appointments.
“You should have reminded me….” you say
But I know anything important is worth remembering or writing down.
I am sullen.
In life I am compensated to remind men of various appointments.
“Could you jot this down…….remind me on this date….”
Though it’s not my berth, my disposition to succor puts me in this bearing, and in my own dash, I don’t find gravity to prompt a man that we have a reservation once every few weeks outside his couch.
I won't ask again for what I demand in whole; time, allotment, an epoch.
Time spent unbent over leather couches in precarious manners, minds soused with wine.
I am letting you go.
I am detestable, inconsequential.
You are pulchritudinous and astute.
White space on paper.
Someone is waiting to write me a poem.
Categories:
couches, aubade, break up, dark,
Form:
Free verse