Best Futon Poems
Similar sounds and letter alliteration are literally leaping and precipitously punctuating the
perforated pages of my mired, muddled mind..
Making mental maps for future fun in meditation mired muse, meticulously masks the
real reasons I rise from my favorite fluffy floral flecked futon.
It seems somehow strange but my favorite finely fitted floral flecked futon is infested full
of flippin’ fleas. I feel flabbergasted!
It could be the culprits causing this consternation are cats coming into the corridor
constantly carrying the creepy critters in. Crap!
We’ll have to hurriedly heave the whole heaping kit and caboodle of carnivorous cats into
a crate and fumigate the frolicking fun loving finicky felines. Fine!
Fortunately, I’m finished..…….finally.
Categories:
futon, funnyfun,
Form:
Alliteration
For Matt Caliri's contest-that's not my elephant.
"That's not my elephant, Ella"
You have to sell this junk by yourself.
The faster the better.
I have the second graders coming by for a tour of the museum later, so I have to go.
Just get rid of that thing somehow!
Ella states that the constitution's Bill of rights gives us rights to freedom.
I will keep my white elephant if I want.
I pay half the rent on this apartment.
By the way it is your time to make spaghetti tonight and don't forget the meat sauce!
We are out of parmesan cheese too.
Ella, that futon is taking up too much space and has to go.
Call goodwill.
Categories:
futon, fantasyrights,
Form:
Narrative
30.
For to say I see beyond your face
To a soul on fire is but a trace
To how deep we interlace
Entwined bodies golden grace
We began our habitation on the floor
Old futon mattress, bedroom no door.
The classic poverty roaches and more
To twenty years later, king size galore.
For to say I hear you beyond your words
To a sound blown sweetly for little birds
To a refined quip on artists preferred
Defined ideas inspiration spurred.
We began our love song in a basement tomb
One broken bass amp, an unfinished room
The classic garage band dreams and fume
To twenty years later, still bride and groom.
Categories:
futon, love, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
He cast a crouton on the water
Watched it sog upon the swell
What came back was lava bread
And Chelsea buns as well
She threw in an expensive cake
‘Twas softer than a futon
But what came back upon the waves
Was just a soggy crouton
© Gail Foster 2016
Categories:
futon, bible, humor, irony, judgement,
Form:
Rhyme
oh gee he is a bundle
of dog as i have the same brindle coat
on a mantel they remind me what it took
of my life to make them gentle to the world
and futon come handy as we listen to operas
and with my I camera should I show the peace
or the war the cat hiding as I told her will be ok
just give a day or two or adjust and learn or teach
Categories:
futon, care, celebration, chanukah, community,
Form:
Free verse
Teeth freed late of jaw
Catch feign vulture caw
Keep time with thumb gum massage.
Three jiggers to rinse
Fire stick of incense
Lifted induced camouflage.
Shirt off shorts glued on
Vision of futon
Once upon a time life rocked.
Tent wants repairing
Sirens shrill blaring
Dumpster score steel trigger cocked.
Yawn fingers through beard
Glance field-mates look weird
Two toe-touches old time's sake.
Fetally grounded
Mortally wounded
War's horrors too much to shake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Nancy Jones after an ok day at work on 8/24/11
Inspired by nette onclaud and her contest “Allouette”
In honor of Don and Donny and Dean and countless others whose long list of struggles now include poverty, health woes, homelessness, and extreme loneliness.
Categories:
futon, life, time,
Form:
Rhyme
Here is my story, raw and uncut.....
I was a DJ at a small gentleman's club - I loved music, and so I had an "ear" for mixing
tracks, plus with my passion of creative writing I wrote lyrics to songs. But working in a club
you're around alcohol, and drugs. I quickly got hooked on cocaine, the rich mans drug.
Liquor and cocaine was my thing. On the night of my crime, A "homeboy" of mine came
over to my apartment with some coke, I had the liquor. So we begin getting high, drinking
liquor while playing the Playstation2. We got a call from a mutual friend, a girl we had both
dated. She asked us to come over. We said we were on our way.
Now by this time, I remember, I was soooo messed up man. But I got in my car, him in
the passenger seat - on the way to Jenny's house, we are passing the bottle of Jack back and
forth. It's around 2ish in the morning. I was off that night from work.
So we pulled in the driveway, we went around back, like we always do at her house.
(Everyone goes to the backdoor). The door was unlocked, lights were off, all was quiet - we
figured she was asleep. My homeboy goes straight to the kitchen to fix him a sandwich -
don't ask me, I have no clue how he could eat. I go into the living room, she's laying on a
futon, I jump down next to her, playfully saying, "Girl get your ass up." But to my surprise
an older woman jumps up saying , "What are you doing in my house?" _ Now understand I'm
high out my mind, I was invited to Jenny's house. Who is this woman screaming, "Get out of
my house!" I say, "Where is Jenny?" And she says "No Jenny lives here!" - Then like a light
switch comes on! I realize, "Shoot I'm in the wrong house." - Now I know what you're
thinking (How would I not know?) I can only say with the amount of alcohol and coke, and
the fact, the houses looked the same (It being a subdivision) I believe that's what they call it.
So I take off running "Man we in the wrong house" I tell my homeboy. As we are leaving
I'm asking him questions like (How we not realize this isn't Jennys office?) He's got this big
stupid look on his face - A lot of what happened that night has come back to me over the
years. And the look on his face when I asked him that question confirmed - we sure was
trashed!
Continued in Part 2
Categories:
futon, dedication, inspirationalwoman, night, night,
Form:
Free verse
Today I rode into Tucson
Determined to buy a new futon
A squirt in a skirt
Got down in the dirt
And flashed me a discount coupon
Categories:
futon, culture, discrimination, gender, prejudice,
Form:
Limerick
his last gasp was quite lengthy
trying to go out with a bang as usual
a rationalist manifesto covering his face
accompanied by a cotton field work song
his grip went slack under the torrent of images
fortunes have been lost in that snapshot parlor
shook the money from the pockets
of many a surviving Siamese twin
blessed with a rugged set of mouse buttons
he pitched head first into the theocratic miasma
since a rescue by wisdom eluded his pilgrimage
and its inner parade of flailing penitents
he died to a real slow slide whistle tango
from a regrettable strangulation of debate
and terminally transparent eyelids
at least the bastards left me to my fate he mused
just as a legion of parachutists
crashed and tumbled through the roof
it was an Exist-o-Gram from my dear mother
but first a word from our sponsor
Hi there Mel Linger owner of Mel's Futon Corral
so jump in the calaboose and come on down
for a steal of a deal and a big gold tooth smile
clear and sunny in the lowland swamps
now for some traffic from overhead
fully awake after the reservoirs of hell broke loose
his mathematician’s mind calculated
how long until earthly paradise
it was a delusion but a lot of them work
time to risk the entire skin layer he fielded
searching for the trail to civilization
he shinnied up his collective unconscious
an optico semiotician on a paranormal safari
and began to read mom's holy missive
son, your persistent mania for self dialog
requiring a frequent bath in statistics and terror
has left you under the juggernaut's wheels
for some fashionable occult mystery
humor him it's a mud fest in there
relaxed again and ready for
the ever enchanting silhouette of flames
he spread his wings and noticed
there were no wings too late
his nipples were erect with drama
moms lips floated above and spoke
the extraterrestrial rushed up at him
the Cherubs chirped and twittered
as he rowed over the spillway of oblivion
and stood before the ancient ones
boy were they ancient decrepit even
connected to bubbling jars by their sex organs
apparently this made them really smart
the one labeled mom bubbled and spoke
lose the kilt festooned with skulls son
later that day a marsh fire swept through heaven
and a humming bird took nectar from his ear
Categories:
futon, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
It’s days like this that my mind returns to Raleigh
The pitch, sandy futon, and our intertwined deviant legs
Pushing for a fix
I for one goal, you for another
I would be more aware by the end of the night
of the smoothness of your forehead, and your full Latin lips
While you would know my hips
and fistfuls of my golden hair
We would each know the fire on our tongues
and the familiar feeling of a heavy mind, tossing and turning
chest to chest
I loved you, but was surprised to find your hands rough
and your lips untempered
Like a child, you indulged in me
without the mind for what I am, or the culture to know better
Though still, you press and carry me
under the door frame, to the floor
and as we rest, night continues to sink, like theatre canvas
And We are disposed to move
With your golden skin, you lie
As your fingers trace circles in my skin
I thought that you loved me too...
But when my mind returns to Raleigh
My thoughts return to you
and your cold bed, our swimming heads
and how at dawn, you dropped me off
My bitten skin looking redder in the tail lights
Categories:
futon, girlfriend-boyfriend, lost love, romance,
Form:
Free verse
Farewell to our futon.
Oh, my gratitude runs deep
For all the years you've given us
Or guests the gift of sleep.
Yes, you were tough to open
And a bigger pain to close.
You also scratched our wall up,
But that's just the way it goes.
You have surely served your purpose
Though by now you're past your prime
Which is why it's adios, man;
For all things there comes a time.
Soon there'll be a brand-new sofa
In that newly vacant space
But you'll be in futon heaven,
Which should be a saving grace.
Categories:
futon, farewell,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm getting married
to man who only thinks of me as a Friend
I sit here and watch you leave with your friends
While I sit here on this lonely Futon
Waiting for you
You say I'm not your type
But your mine
My heart aches
Cause to you I'm too fat
you like the girls in the middle
I will try to lose weight for you
If I could make you mine
I will anything in my power just to get you to notice me
I can't keep these tears from falling from my checks
Because of the pain you put my heart through
I'm sorry that I am not perfect enough for you.
Categories:
futon, sadheart, heart,
Form:
ABC
Crossroads
I woke up this morning with a question on my mind
What the Hell am I going to do with my life
I am sleeping on a futon in the basement at a friend’s
All because I fell out of love
I didn’t want to hurt her and I would never leave
But I’m not surprised that she asked me to go
I didn’t mean to hurt her or make her feel deceived
But I wasn’t happy and each day it showed
No, I wasn’t happy
And each day, another crossroads
I woke up, got out of bed, and moved on through the day
I wish I had some words for her, but I can’t explain
We are two different people, with two different ways
And two different maps, lead to different places
I didn’t want to hurt her and I would never leave
But I’m not surprised that she asked me to go
I didn’t mean to hurt her or make her feel deceived
But I wasn’t happy and each day it showed
No, I wasn’t happy
And each day, another crossroads
I’m coming to a crossroads, another burning bridge
I’m living in the crosshairs, the enemy within
The victim is the saboteur; the saboteur shan’t win
I am my own worst enemy, the enemy within
I am my own worst enemy
Now, days and weeks and months have past; and here I am alone
She may have put the blame on me, but the fault is not my own
I know I need to find someone, to share and make new dreams
But, first I need to find myself (and love me, for me)
I know I must forgive myself (and love me, for me)
I know I need to love my…. Self
I’m coming to a crossroads, another burning bridge
I’m living in the crosshairs, the enemy within
The victim is the saboteur; the saboteur shan’t win
I am my own worst enemy, the enemy within
I am my own worst enemy
When I woke up this morning, my decision has been made
No longer will I live like this; it’s time that something changed
I know I need to find someone, to share and make new dreams
But, first I need to find myself (and love me, for me)
I know I must forgive myself (and love me, for me)
I know I need to love my…. self
And find someone….
That loves me…. For…. Me
© 2017 Jeffrey Spencer
Categories:
futon, divorce, introspection, moving on,
Form:
Lyric
Lynn Mibell and I slept
on a flattened futon and dreamt
of better days. Days when her
dear brother was not dying of AIDS.
Days when our love life flourished.
When we walked hand in hand
along the bold face of
Stone Mountain. We were giants.
We danced all night in New Orleans.
After partying all day on the horse-
racing track of the Heritage
Jazz Festival. We danced on clouds.
As if our legs, our feet were
divinely influenced, kissed, kissed
kissed, by the gods, superhuman.
Now, Lynn Mibell lays
on that old bed and dreams of
nothing short of monumental
change. Nothing short of
ending good and evil universally.
Categories:
futon, caregiving, death, life, loss,
Form:
Quatrain
Heart robbers
Chasing after fine brothers,
Prior to a valentine arrival,
This elfin figure had no rival.
Hobgoblins are hobnobbing again
Playing games for a heart to sprain
Plastic surgeons with harpoons and weapons
To bludgeon emotions for coupons, sine qua non.
But this gossamer heart’s gone to bed, futon anon!
Heart robbers,
Costumed as fine brothers.
Categories:
futon, betrayal, emotions, feelings, friendship,
Form:
Romanticism