Best Doorframe Poems
My head rests on the doorframe, as I'm watching him at work.
I'm jealous of the devotion, and the motion of his hands,
much surprised at the green-eyed dragon that lurks within my mind,
while he rubs the pungent oil into muscles of the pine.
With rolled up sleeves, a sweaty brow, his rough, sandpaper hands.
he hones a smile along the aisle of every strand of wood
With even strokes, a time-worn cloak is peeled back and released,
where the onion skin of years and wear
had been entombed beneath the grain
He groans with satisfaction, (this Frankenstein, of mine),
while something worn, and tossed away,
is brought to life.
Back from the dead
A shimmering sheen, patina gleams while morning light slides in,
I think I see a swirl of smoke that curls above his head
And the warmth of the wood has sizzled hot, as if the sun came up
No awareness of the passion, engrained upon his face,
he sees me not, .... or my jealous want,.......His needs have been erased.
The lingering scent of linseed has claimed my breathing space
There are swarming nests of sawdust , cart-wheeling in the air,
a strand of hair, falls out of place.......and I cannot tear my eyes from here
The sensual, taunting, simple grace.......my eyes have begged to stay
I stare and marvel, for awhile
A shiver up my spine, implores.....to touch the man I face,
release his trancelike state of mind,
and let his fingers trace
________________________________________
Oh wow. Oh great. Look over there. Quickly now. Come on. It is the mitigating migrating mammoth mansions. Brick by brick and bone by bone. In a line. Travelling. Traversing the plains, fields and mountains but not on roads for roads are neither natural nor normal so always wear a tea cosy hat when pouring tea at a tea party. It is to show not to shine that has the sun in a pondering and philosophical mood. The auric rays are neither a moon sitting in a tree nor are they a kayaking planetary alignment. High seas then create high teas. Whirling in circling dresses of spotted green. But never in a greenhouse does one find a tomato in a tantrum. For tomatoes are very very mild mannered especially when given a drink. And this is good for compost can be crafty and doesn't like moods. A wafer thin biscuit is a flat chested mermaid moving around at the dusk. By the marina. Catching a glimmer is easy for the eyes of the octopus in an office with high rimmed glasses. Circle then dash. Tick tick tick. Form done. Signed. Signatures separate stagnant stale stupors. And the fat wading brat bird yawns on a front bench in a large ornately decorated room. How common. And yet rather uncommon is the master of the seaweed sermon whose speakers are never wise upon answering questions and questions are rarely answered so why play noughts and crosses with a jute duty bug? Inheritance is not to be placed in a kissing box for boxes are to be reserved for tiny biscuits who march around chaotically chairing and chanting at quite important times. Thus causing a lot of little flowers to sigh and droop their heads in an apathetical style. In a scrapbook posy position. The layout is not the layer and the label is a laugh. Numeration of a numerator is a numerical nautical nonchalant nerd. And the beast of the best bank is not to be trusted with a styrofoam cup. No never gi e it that cup. Always give it a baby bottle. For it is ignorant and infantile. Beware of the two foot clam in that drawer then when you are putting socks away. Hahaha a mist is coming to play cards and monopoly with a tree top, a hill, a perfume factory, and a zoo. Hahaha dolphin and duet with a dancing seahorse at a grand opera. Xxxxx desensitization Z now eat a nice scone and sing la la la to a doorframe. Z peacocks.
You are rock and bone,
sturdy eyes and heavy leaden shoes
line up by the doorframe like splinters.
The wood is peeling, and the
stairs cave beneath our feet in surrender.
My papa’s new wife would place glass paperweights
on every surface of the house, like tiny orbs.
I wonder know if she was trying to hold down
the whiskey bottles that were swallowed up
by each rise and fall of his chest on the sofa,
Instead of old tax forms.
I flick the lights and sit on the stairs in the dark
and think how lately
your hands are like the North Sea,
colder than the night we got into the elevator
staring up at our reflections on the ceiling
and you said, “I think I love you.”
You touch me with the patience of a jackknife,
apologizing up the thirty-seven stairs to my apartment.
“I am so sorry; you are my home.”
I tell you that homes are made of wood and metal,
and I am a human being
I am leaving you.
You kiss my toes and cry,
I shut the door.
The sirens loudly sounded
I perked up in strange alert as my heart pounded.
My fingers grew cold
I wondered how long my breathing could hold,
A flood warning and a tornado on the ground
The eeriness was filled without a single sound
I crouched and shielded myself in that old basement
I could feel the air seeping into my empty displacement.
Suddenly and just as quickly as it had come... It had disappeared
I emerged from underground and took a look around, but everything looked weird.
My house still stood, but it favored one side
I had never feared anything enough to run and hide.
I looked to the sky and thanked god I was alive still
Unfortunately that wasn't the case for the neighbors on the hill.
Husband and wife had been killed
From their house to the yard was nothing but shrapnel from doorframe to feild
I stood and I cried
Why had two good people just died?
I didn't think it seemed fair
but did that mean god didn't care??
No
Because storms come and storms go...
dying to myself I saw
a shadow of a man
stranger to himself
plodding over salted pan
true heart lost forgotten
shriveled down a mossy well
a soul's darker midnight
a fearful wood both dank and fell
standing up for naught but living
another drear and sunless day
eyes dropped down from bright horizons
life turned hardened shapeless clay
when did a path turn rocky
broken cobbles, broken selves
when wounds bled out a smile
dusted on forgotten shelves
turning faces through the cobwebs
burning off the moorish haze
reaching for an inner ember
stoke desire's holy blaze
only fear and static bind us
cradled in their caustic arms
leeching will, sapping sinew
teeth behind a siren's charms
reaching for the doorframe
leading to a greener glen
tarnished knob, tumbler lock
stumbled foot and then,
the door opens...
My name is, and I find I'm nearly there
Breathing amidst life, not even the mirror stares
My name is, as I continue to wonder where
Breathing amidst life, I know their darkness dares
My name is, and I wish they wouldn't remain
Breathing amidst life, not seeing my nightly strain
My name is, being chased to frees doorframe
Breathing amidst life, it's openings not the same
My name is, when living was the game
Breathing amidst life, and now my life's drained
My name is, when my living's now engrained
Breathing amidst life, I feel I'm going insane
My name is, now close to their succumbing pain
Breathing amidst life, for they're never to attain
surely this had to be the moment of truth
he hit the closed door with a huge bang
headache clangour irresistible pain
he had not even been moving at great speed
but both coat of paint and skin
rubbed off each other
when slow motion came to a halt
grazed and bruised his forehead swelled
as if to poignantly point to
this moment of growth
apathy had formed a coalition
with a mindless body
sheltering his soul with arrest
and yet something had shaken
his timely corrosion at last
a few flakes of rust mixed with blood
both of similar colour and disdain for his slip
somehow called for sanguine composure
for if he could bleed he was not dead yet
scabs would form and try to heal scars
his feet and roots became moist
overcome with tears that finally flowed
while he considered to drown
in increased sorrow defeat
and ultimate capitulation
he could not hide his surprise
when he oozed through the gap
between doorframe and threshold
opened the aperture behind him
and switched on the candle
that had been patiently waiting
for such split second of verity
just a flicker
merely a cierge
but now he was able to smell
the waning and waxing
scent of freedom
he longed for so much
Who the hell is Gordon Bennett
Some think there’s insanity
In the fact we call his name
As though it were profanity
Not so famous nowadays
As once he used to be
But still I call his name out
When a doorframe whacks my knee
I put my hammer to one side
To take a tiny break
And then cry Gordon Bennett
Where’s it gone for goodness sake
Did poor George Armstrong Custer
At the massing injun nations
Cry out Gordon Bennett
We’ve made underestimations
Or is our Mr Bennett
Just a UK kinda guy
Who’s name is shouted loud
As one more bus goes speeding by
Well, frankly I don’t care
That English language travels on
Gordon Bennett is world famous
Back where I come from
This unknown hero all my life
My unpretentious tenet
Is by my side in times of strife
His name is Gordon Bennett
Another overwhelming day passed in the pastures of plenty
The scene was tired and did not warrant a space on the news
Just one more place with no conscience for mind numbed souls
It was bitterly chilly and bones stuck out on frozen bloodstreams
Sore thumbs hurt from pulling blighted triggers for icy salvation
Sanguine convictions floated on ichor and the gods were pleased
Fatima’s house now bereft of ‘infidel’ prayers was not easy to see
Its ruins blended perfectly into an infernal landscape of conquest
Like an icon of madness only the doorframe stood gruesomely tall
Tempting as it was the gateway to heaven refused meek entrance
For forsaken survivors who had fallen on insanity’s greedy onslaught
A child’s doll felt the pain of limbo with an eye missing for an eye
A dismembered mosque lay in prostrate incineration ready for burial
Its intricate stones would come in handy for grave stones and tombs
Everything has its purpose even when reason and feelings have died
The muezzin’s last farewell to scorched arms depicted in charred coal
A final solution encrypted in banality of evil and trivial calls for justice
The winner takes it all and the home front of terror spewed fury and hell
Thousand fewer mouths to feed must surely be a passionate blessing
Relief organizations had not been able to quell misery and starvation
Their trucks would not find a path through devastation and rubble
Victorious armies assembled their weapons and went home for respite
Foot soldiers in trenches and tents as the officers went to their wives
Made love to their women and caressed perfectly groomed deportment
‘Darling I love you and it has been a splendid day for righteous triumph
Are the children in bed yet and have you read them a tale from the Bible?’
‘No worries they took solace in the lullaby and slumber in effervescent dreams
Hailed to the good Lord and their father who made sure that they rest in Peace
Jordan still wants to be a shunter where the tracks point to chambers of mercy
And Abigail promised to be a good girl to eat her greens and make you so proud'
03rd March 2020
Furrowed down deep within
Burrowed while walking in a crowd
Silencing my thoughts & opinions
For fear of drowning
Existing in a world where I don't belong
Except for the saving power of love
Sculpting angels from the earth
Breathing life into everything I do
A maker of my own universe
Living in traverse
Visiting worlds from some forgotten dream
I am mortal, made up of memories & countless desires
Ashamed of being myself
Afraid of revealing too much of my fragility
Embarrassed to express myself
For fear of being judged by out of work actors & subjugators
Lingering in the doorframe
Looking for someone to blame
For the life I named
Never owning my intentions.
“And the doorframe!
And the door itself!”
“And the hinges!
and the termites!”
“And your hand, after
you push it in!
And you, after you enter!”
She must be operating on
some other plane of existence.
Zoltar moved in quietly,
carried up the stairs by no one
I remember seeing.
At night, his gears murmured
through the thin apartment wall~
a soft metallic prayer
to whatever listens in the dark.
Occasionally,
I heard his cards shuffle themselves~
paper whispering secrets
it should not know.
Sometimes his lights flickered
under my doorframe,
as if he’s pacing,
as if he’s thinking.
One night,
he slid a fortune under my door:
The visitor arriving tomorrow
died twelve years ago.
Another one follows:
Your shadow will leave you
before the week ends.
At dawn, the hallway smelt
of burnt incense and cold metal.
His lights flickered wildly,
as if he’s arguing with something
I cannot see.
Then a final card appeared~
edges singed, letters warped:
Do not open the door
when you hear your own voice.
The cat knows he will get food in eight minutes.
He is on the porch, quiet, waiting for the front door to open.
His dead mice are pushed up under the doorframe, stiff and headless, tails proud.
He begins to stare my soul awake.
Guilt snatches me out of bed, and has me running to that door to get Shark his wet food and dry food.
He has to be fed by six a.m.
I have no idea how he manages to do this every day, but he does.
It is 5:55 and my heart starts beating double time.
I have no time for a bathroom break.
I grab up the cat food and run toward that door.
Shark is one powerfully hypnotic cat.
Hot as hell and bloated to burst,
I’m filled with this desire to tame.
You’re wild but I have such a thirst
as your shape fills my doorframe.
Overstimulated and underdressed?
Proceed to the pernicious playroom.
I knew before your whisper confessed
that such intensity was not a costume.
Sweet is more than it seems my dear,
a dash of mouthwatering strawberries.
Mix in the heat of a Carolina Reaper,
I tend to become loud, my voice carries.
Have I raised a bit of interest yet,
do you possess a gambler’s mind?
Are you willing to place a small bet,
put on a scarf and enter my room blind?
You are in us - we will never die,
We come alive as you breathe Life inside.
Our spirits rise and soar anew,
Forever awakened, alive with you.
Your Cross has sealed our destiny,
Now we hold every victory key.
Life's doorframe, marked in Blood so pure,
A sign that your promises endure.
We love your presence, thoughts, and ways,
Your Words ignite our hearts with praise.
We have the mind of Christ within our soul,
You move and shift, you make us whole.
You grant us wisdom, insight so rare,
Unveiling life with tender care.
Once hidden in parables, now made plain,
You break the bonds of doubt and pain.
You are our awesome God, so bright,
Who turns all things to pure delight.
No weapon formed shall do us harm,
Your angel armies guard with strong arm.
Your eyes are on us, ever near,
You bless us with gifts beyond compare!