Best Loveseat Poems
Of Beauty,
All I know is that it varies proportionally to the label on your jeans.
Of Physics,
All I know is I get up in the morning and fall down at night.
Of History,
All I know is what I can't see anymore is past, and what I'm afraid to see is future.
Of Music,
All I know is one man's Bach is another man's Zeppelin.
Of Stability,
All I know is that it's unstable.
Of Humor,
All I know is that it makes us realize what idiots we really are.
Of Economy,
All I know is that it's like a lobotomy.
Of Adolescence,
All I know is that it caused my parents to lose all of their brains.
Of Maturity,
All I know is that somehow my parents found them again, probably under the loveseat or something.
Of Cars,
All I know is that my stereo works.
Of Marriage,
All I know is that it's something my friends do occasionally.
Of Divorce,
All I know is that I could lose more than everything.
(1986)
Here i sit on the loveseat
Which is my writing place
Slash and the computer
I sit in stillness and ponder
Which seems like long hours
Wondering what poetry form
I will create next yet
No idea comes to mind
So I sleep on it all night
The Ghost writer speaks
She gives me a title
On paper i write
By my night table
Then I sleep again
Pondering my thoughts
So with the pen and paper
The pen wrote these words
A poem created
Ready for submit
On the coumputer
My neighbor lady, Treena, has a 'thing' for cats
Says they keep her home free of mice and rats
She pets their heads and their butts, she pats
when some of the snippy felines get into spats
She shares her loveseat with all her furry friends
On tasty cat food, a huge amount she spends
Three smelly kitty litter boxes often offends
the noses of her suitors, her visiting boyfriends
Treena took some offense at a certain politician
who has dissed cat ladies in his own admission
She won't vote for him in vice president position
and signed it "Cat Ladies Against Vance' petition
So, there she sits with blue clogs upon her feet
Content with saying, "My life feels so complete."
When the cats all meow, begging her for a treat
She gives them a pinch of catnip instead of meat
Her home is filled with lots of scratching posts
and there's not one cat that she loves the most
If they could speak of Treena, they would boast,
about their kind human and drink to her a toast
Hello Chair, Hello Loveseat
Hello chair, hello loveseat
Good afternoon glass table that my father gave me, among
other illustrations of gentleness and concern he gave me.
Greetings book of Shakespeare.
Hello to all those things around me;
...things.
Hello to the beautiful view outside my
bedroom, giving me a sense of sleeping in a jungle,
a wonderful sensation of beauty.
Say nothing to people in my apartment,
say nothing, because no one is there.
Oh, but how my mind thinks of others.
Toodles loneliness, toodles pictures of isolation.
Thoughts of living breathing friends and family
trumps isolation...
My friends and family are in my heart; singing.
II
Good afternoon glass table a kind soul gave me, among
illustrations and encounters of warm greetings he gave me.
We meet again, smiling.
Greetings book of Shakespeare, hello John Donne.
Continue speaking dog underneath my not so Elvis
of the 1970's jungle view, bringing sound to green
leaves and morning getting ready time.
We meet again, listening.
Greetings fellowship, Greetings "Young man, I
hear what you are saying."
No more down-time, no more solitary sad salutations mid-day
to the couch, thinking.
People, places, things....We meet again heart.
...heart connecting with mind, sitting alone, truly
knowing friendship and giving.
Sitting in my rocking chair
I feel myself relax,
A quality that every couch
Or stool or loveseat lacks.
The gentle back and forth harks back
To infancy, perhaps,
When we were rocked while being fed
In moms' and daddies' laps.
No matter what the reason
There is nothing to compare
To an hour spent unwinding
In my comfy rocking chair.
By trees and water the loveseat waits
For wanderers' chance meeting there
The outcomes will be the choice of fates
As stories repeat in spring air
We left the bench shaded by flower pots fair
Round the loveseat the white trilliums bloom
On rocks, in swamps, each face a star
They fear not storms’ nor winter’s dark gloom
No weak rose, they surmount forests' scars
Spring's galaxy blooms in my sweet home so far
Written February 7th for the poetry contest english quintain a spring day
It’s the seemingly endless five minute walk up the lightly graveled, manure filled drive, dodging the expired cow patties, led by the dim light of the reflection of the moon on the thin tattered blanket of snow.
It’s the smell of livestock resting on the hills in the distance, which burns the interior of my dry frozen nostrils. The elated barks of my furry companions pierce the cold silence as they wait for my arrival with sopping, wet tongues in the smoke filled house of broken families past.
It’s the aged, exhausted face that waits at the door, instantly brightened, energized by my reckless youthfulness. We sit in our self sabotage on a very tattered loveseat, in bizarre contentment with smiling hearts, a cup of warm chamomile balanced by slippered feet. The faint hum of a ukulele, the TV waiting for a command, as it plays the remains of a long expired program that was prompted by the other.
It’s the feeling I have when I drink that cup of hot tea. The way my heart feels in a certain presence of another. The eagerness to get to the top of the snow covered driveway to this place I call home.
UNSPOKEN MIND
I woke up
Still sitting on a loveseat
Dreaming in the songs of a loverbird
And in the re-incarnation of the days
When love letters make the network busy
When it seems like a love loin
Thus bringing love sick
In the making of a match with loveliness
Many days i remembered
When the feeling goes like time
Seemingly as if it was a bottomless pit
I saw a heavy laden, unspoken words
Until my eyes saw from the rupton of a whirl wind
That which roars in the great forest
The only one that keep the two warms
Always, whenever, wherever and whatever
I woke up still,
A rising rose i saw drenching me lightly
There on the loveseat sat a Giant Grouper
Right beside him a Red Snapper
Well, the giant wasn't a giant
Sitting isn't correct either for they were fighting
Of all things over the remote
The Giant Grouper wanted to see Captain D's commerical
Red Snapper wanted to see Sponge Bob
They were out of their element
Gasping for air
Well, I was in my element
I put them in their place back in the ocean
Well, not a real ocean but a fish tank
I told them don't mess with me in my element
I got the remote and found MY movie_
The moral of this story is don't mess with momma
For when momma is unhappy everyone is unhappy
Just for fun..Free Verse ..Prose..Prose Poetry(no I don't think so)
Fight each fight. Find the joy in stabbing the heart of another nieve friend. No way
out for me now;my memory knows to shut the door while my heart waits and
cries hoping you want back in.
In only a dream I can look you in the eye and feel only your selfish hand drawing
me near. As you start to ask how I've been I will casually answer without regrets
or a tear.
But for now,I will wait comfortably by a drafty window in my loveseat most would
simply call a chair. Hoping you will let me know you will not be by in a phonecall
so it would be easier to pretend you care.
A moment of awakenment I can only dream to find.My feelings up until now
have been so fickle even to those, unlike you,were kind.
So fight each fight. deal with your feelings,your temper, or your past. I do hope
one day you win. For recreation,look me in the eye, and stab me with that hollow
gaze, so my bloodshot eyes can see you smile because I keep giving in.
soon enough I discovered
her neighbor calls him Caspar or Caspor
but it wasn't long
before I named him Auguste
he has claimed my love's apartment—
even hypnotized her to have ready
water and treats on one corner
but what impressed us most,
the first time he laid eyes on me,
he started rolling over and over me
on the loveseat
thus, he has seduced us entirely
every time he prances down the hall,
when the back door has been left slightly ajar,
our eyes light up—each hoping to be the one
he'll first approach for petting
~
This is my Hell
Frigid and frozen
No furnaces to light my way
A dark, drab den
One half of this lonely loveseat
I occupy incessantly
Join me for a jump into this
Quiet quarantine
Capsizing the Costa Concordia
Divers wreathe silently through
the submerged corridors of a
140,000-ton wreck. Little fish
dark haphazardly through
the juxtaposition of tilted ballroom,
granite bars fixed in place.
Black waters lit green by headlamps
provide a surreal spotlight
for a loveseat drifting by
A vase of Chinese dollar plants poised delicately
on a marble counter.
Across the underwater tomb,
toppled chairs, tumbled together,
wait patiently to be repositioned
outside the dance floor.
There was nothing graceful about the dramatic demise
of this giantess,
listing to her death.
She was fatally wounded, being coaxed
too closely to the coast.
A hidden reef stood ground to gore
a 70ft gash, portside.
There was the moaning of mangled metal,
the shrieking of splitting steel,
as dark torrents were unleashed into her belly,
extinguishing her light.
“Go back to your cabins!”
and corridors flooded
“Go back to your cabins!”
and pumps failed.
“Captain! The passengers are making their own way to the lifeboats!”
echoes pointlessly through the abandoned bridge.
“Vada a bordo, cazzo!”
The Coast Guard thunders across dark waters
and the captain is stealing into his own lifeboat
to listen from the safety of shore.
Listening to the chaos,
interrupted by the agonized silence of passengers
too terrified to scream.
They hold their breath and try to calm each other
in the absence of authority.
“Vada a bordo, cazzo!”
But it’s dark, he pleads, and I can’t see anything...
A rope ladder is flung over the bow,
drowning passengers slinging, and
crawling crablike to Coast Guard boats
as the ship sinks to her side,
gripping 37 passengers in a horrifying embrace.
Scuba clad stewards of the dead
open the possessive clutch
of an atrium elevator
to extract bodies
protectively closed and sealed
in a grisly pantomime of protection.
The remains of the deceased
are floated to the light
to break the surface one last time.
The Costa Concordia shudders heavily,
sliding into her death repose.
Nagging mate
framing blame in accusations
Beliefs fed on
self deception
Pressure valves bursting
Calm reason hijacked
No loveseat reception
Words peel off
unfiltered
unschooled
unheard
through spent thoughts
of love
complications in
a jagged code of conduct
Toxic infusion
a mate's cactus grin
desert prickly
an "I do" wasteland
Banter
burly
bitter
black icing on a wedding cake
ditched
shifting possibility
She slips then misses her seat
As the chair crushes her feet
She lets out a cry
That made it to the sky
That drops her a beautiful loveseat