Best Hotel Poems
Men enjoy the smell of Camel cigarettes at the check-in counter
just like they enjoy the sound of bones tapping on wood
in the late AM in the hallways. Stilettos are from God.
Then, the slow tapping at his door. The heart beats more.
The drunkenness of his eye. They enjoy.
Spider-like, how both women with dyed
blonde hair and coarse, rubicund skin
crawl to John on the bed.
The strange car downstairs with lights on still waits outside.
The women begin to kiss each other’s lips.
One with a small bump above her lip
quickly hooks her fingers at the top edge of his pants.
One bends down in front of him. The other, with her hands, touches what is sacred.
The rickety sound of the window air conditioner shakes and rattles.
The old stench in the carpet swells.
Outside, the rain begins to pour sideways. It bangs dramatically on the roof.
The man working the late shift behind the front counter
with an old, small TV on his lap is drunk again.
A sound of something on the floor moves. He lazily opens his eyes and sees nothing and closes them.
A light-skinned, middle-aged black man in a car parked car outside
with the windshield wipers still on waits in silence.
His body is slumped towards the steering wheel, gun in his hand
as if he was waiting for a sign to make a move if he had to.
Hotel... in the Song
I listen to the radio,
it is turned way down low,
but it is all that I care to hear, anymore.
The TV in the other room,
is going all the time,
but that is just fine.
Father comes home late,
from nowhere he works at all.
Mother stays home staring at the walls.
I go to school, until I do not.
Then I am grown without...
a place to be, you see.
Now, we live in one room,
my parents and myself.
Sometimes I get to sleep on a bed,
and sometimes the floor.
It is better than the door,
and the unknown outside.
We had a real home once,
but it is gone for now,
I doubt I will ever see it come back.
Instead, we pay each night,
or once each week,
to be allowed a place
among the many.
There is no privacy,
and everyone is starving.
No one has any money at all.
There is no reason to go, anywhere...
but the stair, to stare at the lost people,
as they set up camp in the parking lot
across the road.
A preacher man he comes by twice,
once to give a note, and then to give his coat.
There were no takers for his words.
They would rather eat the continental breakfast,
provided by the establishment.
Broken people living in a rut.
He lived in room 757
just like a haiku
thats what he said to me
just like a haiku
eesh
There’s a reason I avoid this part of town
if not for the psuedo intellectualism that spreads
faster than herpes at a swingers party
then for the cheap drinks for too much money
the door guy that thinks he deserves a tip
keeping out the ‘riffraff’ as they used to say
The Polo shirt with the Raybans over in the corner
makes eyes at the one girl his buddies brought to the bar
if he plays his cards right
he might just have a chance
and why not?
Did I walk into a bar
or some sort of reality show
where are the cameras and who’s
ing with me?
The carbon copy cut outs of people all staged around the place
talking about haikus
and their twitter account
and their many followers
not my scene as I head to the door
As a pick up from my coat from the check
the girl tells me to have a good night
I doubt it
no one writes Haiku’s anymore
Outside,
footsteps in the corridor
grow nearer then pass,
only to stop and knock
on a door
further down
followed by voices, sobs
and muffled sounds
wheeled off into a silence
until sometime hence
when footsteps again
will tread the floor
and there will be
a knock
on a door.
I went on vacation to Hell,
The hotel was hot, with a smell,
And The Devil was rude,
When I toyed with my food:
He cooked all the dinners as well.
For Carolyn’s Vacation contest
I was speared by a Cupid star gazer
More likely the devil's hell-raiser !
With much mischief, his darts,
like his poems, would impart
a wit that's as sharp as a razor !
It's time for his shame to repent !
The Soup wants to charge you some rent
Your arrow and name,
that flared with hot flames,
died out, and I'm here to lament !
_____________________________________
For Skat's Contest: "Heartbreaking Poet"
You know the one, it stands tall, regal
looking to some grand, to others ominous, dark
Pick a room , any room , big, small, shadowy, light
it won't really matter it will all end in the same place;
I know what your thinking, right, same place,
it can't be the same place, bitter, sweet
The hotel will tell you they can, in no uncertain words,
or actions, yes I did say actions or words;
Whisper here, whisper there, moving, from there to here
touch on your arm, whisper so close you can feel it,
Taste it on your breath, bitter, caressing your nightmare,
causing you to shiver, though very sweet in gesture;
So come on in, the hotel awaits, to show you a sweet time or
bitter time, it welcomes people from all walks of life,
The time your shown will be the hotels choice
bitter, sweet, it awaits silently, serenely.
All of this I have spoken about of course you won't know,
you will be expecting a grand stay, carefree , full of fun
Oh, you won't be disappointed, in the beginning,
when it is daytime and there is laughter in the air....
In a hotel room I lie on my side
watching him scramble to find his tie
She lay with gloom upon the bed
as outside blinked a garish red
which found its way into her room.
Upon the bed she lay with gloom.
She lay with grief; she lay with rue,
with shabby walls a gray milieu
and circumstance the unmoved thief.
She lay with rue; she lay with grief.
As neon flashed, she lay and thought
of coming west, how hard she'd fought,
and how her dreams had all been dashed.
She lay and thought as neon flashed.
She lay with shame; a thrust of fate
had left her with a wretched weight
and stole her hungering for fame.
A thrust of fate. . . she lay with shame.
Behind closed doors she'll take each john.
She lay with one, and so hereon
she's joined the order of the whores.
She'll take each john behind closed doors.
For the Contest of Black Eyed Susan
Halloween at the Bates Hotel
The attendant in the Ghostface rig was kinda creepy,
When I came in to pay the gas I owed.
“Is there a motel nearby? I’m really sleepy.”
He pointed down a dark and dreary road.
No kids were Trick-or-Treating that Halloween night,
Nothing was open. I couldn’t buy nor sell.
I could barely see. There wasn’t a single light.
Then I saw the sign for the Bates Hotel
The clerk in drag, carrying a dripping blade,
Said they had a sudden opening;
But first he had to get the room remade.
“Why don’t you stroll outside, see what’s happening.”
Some spaced-out dwarves were shuffling ‘round the mortuary,
While a Tall Man looked down from up above.
Nearby a big dude in a goalie mask was swinging a machete,
Taunting a burned guy wearing a freaky glove.
Another dude was gardening, cutting something at night,
Sporting a leather mask and a gas chainsaw.
But a walking-talking Good Guy doll gave me the biggest fright--
He was probably the weirdest thing I saw.
I decided to head back; this town gave me the ‘willies’.
A big shape and a clown grabbed me outside the Bates Hotel!
“I’m Mike Myers, and my friend’s name’s Penny.
We’ve come to convey you back to Hell.”
The ghats,grey serpents in green thickets
cool and moist, dampens restless midgets
There ,in a hotel ,in the lushness of the tropic's crown
are trees mighty tall with neat flights of stairs hanging down.
stood perched on trees, a cabin each of uneven logs
with wooden planks hand-polished to parqueted floors
A large cypress cot,an inviting bed ,the sensuous Umrao-Jaan
on canvas overhead, glowing in hues from a crystal pan
white porcelain figures, lovers dancing on mantle;love lounges,
windows open to wild flora , a few ripe mangoes hanging in bunches
On the rails ruddy jasmine vines flaunt little white stars
antique bamboo lanterns at the door , happy to be ajar
warm aroma from oils of wild-herb toiletries exude
wanting a trickle on the heated hearts' pursuit
cute candles whispers roses and jasmine in the air
nothing more, the imp of the mind feasts on love in the air.
on the small balcony , the cool breeze of the underwoods caress
In this tree-house,bask in nature...at its best to soothe five senses.
In A Hotel Room
In a hotel room, she lies, literally to herself.
Their meetings filled with desire are brief.
How can she put her dignity on a shelf
Lost, between the crumpled sheet.
As a friend I helplessly watch
As her happiness turns to shame
All the joy before is lost
Falling for this hoodlums game.
There is no love in a hotel room
Used for trysts and rendezvous
As she leaves she's filled with gloom
Not the girl that I once knew.
Players play for keeps
no conscience they can sleep.
Kudos to Eagles for their wonderful pastiche that renders a polyphonic message to all,
Ranging from LaVey's Church (of Satan) through marijuana to clandestine corporate world,
Which – to think of it in retrospect – forced a war for oil with an add-on motive of double profit,
Seeing that the warheads used were American makes all!
The lyricists employed a contemporary idiom, echoing Blake, Browning, Eliot, et al
And composed, for subliminal appeal, a haunting melody plus a distractor-solo,
So that the lilt would easily sink into the subconscious, for the message(s) to follow:
Thus this pastiche serves a purpose, which a parable or parody possibly cannot.
To deconstruct, a lyric meant to deconstruct commodification
Came to be commodified—ironically!
— Ram, R. V.
Winner (III place) of the Iconic Song contest, sponsored by SO, September 4, 2017.
I had a lot of trouble
In choosing a hotel,
'Cause with my expectations
Nothing went too well. -
There's one right up the cliff,
But it stands up way too tall
It might just break and tumble,
And what if we all fall?
There's one that's in the ocean,
And it's good, I've heard before
But what just if the tide comes in,
And washes us to the shore?
I love the one that's high in air,
It's called the "Cozy den",
But what if we face breathing troubles,
'Cause there's no oxygen?
All these places aren't too good,
They all just leave us dead
The only thing we can do right now
Is to stay back home instead.
Pasadena Big Band, On With The Dance
Nostalgic swing, singing the blues
So put on your dancing shoes
Get out of your chair
Dance like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire
Imagining we are stars in a speakeasy movie
Dancing the Charleston, we're ever so groovy
"CUT", shouts the film director, "next scene"
The music stops, it's the end of the dream
Tea Dance with the Pasadena Big Band
The waitress serves on a silver cake stand
Cup cakes, petit fours and cress sandwiches
Just like in the black and white movies