Best Mattresses Poems
1.
they say everything here is
somewhere in the middle of the road
where names get bleached and keys forget about their doors
and there is something we should dig our coated nails into;
the layers of regret and anger
that our mothers tell us to peel off
2.
but the sun bakes us too hard and rancid
laying down on styrofoam mattresses
where someone pokes their thumbs through the plastic
watching nothing but empty bubbles reflecting
and life is faded, glossy pages of a magazine
with a worn bar stool with cigarette burns thrown in between
3.
and we all carry this restless, tormented beauty
that gets up and leaves
as soon as they say
it will settle down
© Gry W Christensen
This rink ranks right up there.
My power skates, slice each ring,
the scent of ice assails my nose.
Funny in the absence of air, I breathe.
It must be a dream. I don’t care.
The wind of Saturn blows through my hair.
No wind, you say, but I will believe
what this dream gifts to me. Can’t believe
I’ve made it this far. It’s not Mars -
tired of the heat and the bars.
Brightly lit, I see a disco ball in the mist.
I am young again. Giddy boys showing off.
I’m twirling like a pro until I fall
softly onto my fairytale bed,
the one twenty mattresses tall.
I woke up a bit bruised. Saturn
on Saturday night, had no idea,
a princess performed on her rings.
This rink ranks right up there.
Spending the Night in a Temple
The ice rains hard upon the temple walls
As the fires within keep the visitors warm
The 2 brothers deep in a fever lie head to head
And hold hands
A girl raised above them on a cot reads sacred scriptures
Only she can understand
And the ancient grandmother and grandfather hold vigil
Over the shivering boys
The temple keepers bring bowls of food to the weary
As apparitions appear and disappear
In front of the dragon shrine
Another tired band of travelers wander in
Bringing with them a gust of frigid air
And take refuge on mattresses lined against the wall
Everyone gathers closer for warmth
Even the mouse cat braves the human presences
The boys’ fevers rise higher and higher
Hands are held more tightly
The ice falls harder echoing throughout the mountain night
And the entire temple slowly drifts into 1000 years of sleep
A fragrance, the tangy dagger
of plums down a road,
sugary kisses on teeth,
juices of life, seeping through fingers,
in sweet ripening flesh,
of meadows, haystacks, the hungry
hiding places in vast houses,
of long forgotten mattresses, wild green valley
glanced from aloft, through a secret window:
all of adolescence burns and drowns,
like a lamp dying down in rain.
***
February 21, 2017
Those who climb mountains
live forever
unless they fall.
They only drink icicle drip
and chew thorns.
Their soles are like thin mattresses
that are well used.
They breathe tinted air,
unfiltered.
Over and over again
the hill is calling.
No obstacle is too long.
They are blind
except by instinct.
A raptor circles, catching a thermal.
The climber would mount one
and ride higher
if he could.
A rock falls from its place
and like a seesaw
lifts the hikers.
Always there is imagination.
Always there is a goal.
Sky is no limitation.
Her imagination is married
to her distant goal.
Rules are broken here:
no time for fooling.
They are reaching,
reaching,
Like shoppers wanting stacked goods
on a high shelf.
The eagle flies in the day;
the climbers never stop.
Mountaineers are like people,
colorful as the Swiss.
Their cheeks glow like tomatoes.
Their toenails are steep.
Finally the launch is ready
and all who climb
drift down again.
Many children are picky eaters and I confess I was one
It's a challenge to many parents and not a battle to be won
For trying to make a child eat what they don't want to try
Can be a battle of wills and make all those involved want to cry
My sister and I didn't like peanut butter when we were very small
So when were given P and J sandwiches we weren't happy at all
We refused to try it and not a bite went past our lips
Our foster mother scolded us with her hands upon her hips
We were locked in our room, until our sandwiches were gone
Being just six and four it took us awhile before an idea did dawn
"We'll hide them between the mattresses and fetch them later", we plotted
We forgot and she found then a few weeks later full of mold and rotted
She screamed and she hollered and vowed to make us pay
Lucky for us our foster father was not at work that day
She never made us P and J sandwiches again, we were relieved
For the next time, sandwiches from her bed she would have retrieved
09/03/2015
Hast thou snow woman awakened?
Icy milky lips tightly compressed in the cold
For the frozen frost kept me forsaken
Frostbite confirmed there was nothing to hold
Layers and layers of warm blankets
Piles and piles of cosy mattresses
Eternal winter brought forth in a casket
She has to be Autumn’s mistress
She undressed into the unreachable thin air
She danced along the howling wind
Her gown would be ivory and her feet bare
She was a frigid ghost who became queen
Gliding on the pale silks to and fro
Raging queen of the snow
Dream Keys
by Odin Roark
A NY mantra
Rent the rentable
Move the movable
Key the keyable
Apartments
Four-wall-guardian of yesterday’s youth
Vacuous cellmates of old age loneliness
All part of a cyclic maze
All having a key
Urban life’s Rubik’s Cube turnover
Today’s the day
“Two rooms”
“New paint”
“Clean window”
“No-squeaky floorboards”
Superintendent loves to present
Move in
Keys
Entrance door
Mailbox
Apartment
Laundry room
All yours
A windowsill vase of plastic roses
Your welcome of faded memories
The window to the people below
Your traveled city as roommate
Through another glass darkly
Gotta love it
Pea green layering
Over cracked and peeling bygones
Your very own chipped-paint scrapbook
A giant shoebox of ghostly images
Once possessing your castle-keys
Settle in
Struggle
Dream
Survive
Stand at your window
Watch canyon updrafts
Swirl your make-believe snowflakes
Carrying them skyward
Mixing with sparkling darkness
Where every star is yours
Count the days
Where light to see
Will be owned by neighboring towers
Where former tenants came young
Left old
Where thrown cups and china
Christened walls
And confinement’s anger and tears
Found solace in an ever inviting empty bathtub
Where pounding fists
Rattled bathroom door hinges
While a child hid beneath a bed
Smiling tearful thanks
A wanderlust roach
His ever-faithful friend
All yours
Here
Where a Sammy Glick got started
And an undergrad
An engineer
A Radical leftist
A piano teacher
All touched
All turned
All once secured your keys
So
Add your imprint
Become tomorrow’s remembered page
The scrapbook knows no end
This is Manhattan
Scenes will erupt
Hysterics will rebirth
Life will live
Maybe live some more
Then
Your turn to pass the keys
Your turn to pile worn memories at the curb
Mattresses always appreciated
Stand across the street
Watch the ever-smiling Super
Hand the keys to the next habitant
And then…
Go
Never to forget your contribution
Leaving behind another preparatory memory
Allowing the coming year
Your next season of imaginings
To dream of another home
Somewhere
Waiting…
Gifted with keyless entry?
Loneliness gone?
Young and travelling Australia
A lovely water fall we were off to see
This water fall is a absolute must
To visit when in the Northern Territory
Though crocodiles have never been sighted there
They cannot officially say no crocodiles here
Though tourists have visited and swam in The Gorge
Without any issues year upon year
To get to this amazing waterfall
You must first paddle in the water quite a way
In between two large rock cliffs
To arrive at this wondrous waterfall display
Late afternoon we paddled out
On two cheap air mattresses to get us there
The water was full of activity
With people everywhere
The waterfall was not disappointing
We enjoyed and had great fun
When we decided it was time to leave
The sun was disappearing and everyone had gone!
I actually started to panic
It was late and we were alone
I was now convinced crocodiles were lurking
Just never seen before….or just not known?!?!
I started to imagine I heard splashes
Of crocodiles on the rocks entering the water
I grew completely paranoid and afraid
I could longer use my arms and paddle like I ought to!
My poor husband was now towing me
His air mattress quickly leaking and rapidly going down
Camera held in his mouth and paddling with one arm
He eventually towed me to solid ground!!
My husband was “really not” happy with me
As I had panicked and cried the whole duration
Continually saying “what was that?” “It was a crocodile”
I had actually convinced him we were a crocodiles ingestion !!!!
It was cold in New York City. In the dark,
alley, behind the lavish buildings among the
super rich, roam the forgotten.
Waiting in line at the redemption center,
turning in their plastic bottles, to pay for their
next meal.
The well off in their arrogance look at them
and look away in disgust. In their minds they
are nothing, of no value, they are the blemish
of society.
They have blinders on like race horses as they
make their way to Macy's avoiding looking at
them. Is it their selfish conscious, was it
the way they were raised? That causes this
self centered behavior.
What is lacking in a human being not to feel
the pain of others? Not to want to lend a helping
hand like a good Samaritan to a poor, or hungry
soul.
It is Christmas Eve. It is bitter cold. She makes
her way with a group. To the back alleys, to
find the lost, the hurting, the cold, the needy.
She holds them tenderly, tears flowing from her
eyes. She sees the purple hands from the cold
that some are experiencing. They huddled together
by the side of a building. A large blanket wrapped
around them. Cardboard mattresses they lay on.
She makes eye contact and reaches out to hand
them sandwiches. The group gives them blankets
they have brought. Clothing, socks, and gloves.
Their eyes light up, their hearts are overwhelmed
with appreciation and love for this woman and the
group that are with her. They say thank you. Just
before she leaves, she blesses them and says a
prayer for them.
As she is leaving one of the homeless asks." What
is your name, If you tell me I will never forget it. We
all want to know." She responded, "My name is
Mother Theresa...
Dedicated to all those that will remain homeless
during Christmas, those that will be hungry and cold,
those that are forgotten, those that are veterans that
have protected our freedoms and are homeless.
Those for one reason or another are destitute. Those
that are hungry and will not have gifts this Christmas.
May the good Lord watch over them and give them
comfort and joy, peace and hope.
12/4/2015
Froth
by Odin Roark
Come
Be my operator
Me your camera
Medium shot
Lower Manhattan sidewalk café
He in Armani suit accented with Ferragamo tie
She with Jimmy Choo and Prada outfit
Both with Latté and croissant
Low angle
Bottom of refuse chute
Zooming up through food trash
Hurtling downward
Tortillas
Rice
Chinese vegetables
Big Mac wrappers
Wide angle
Textile floor
Sewing machines
Steam pressers
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Back to back
Fans whirling
Sweat flying
Finishing food break
Quickly down the chute
Garbage
Traveling
Into subway car
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Heads bowed
Exhaustion at end
Night
Manhattan
Armani and Prada
Dancing
Drinking
Rolled $100 bill snorts
Night
Bronx
Yellow skin
Dark skin
Fire escape mattress
Bathtub mattresses
Wall to wall
Families on straw mats
Domestic fights next door
Depriving sleep
Night
52 floors up
Skyline view
Moonlit bedroom alight
Prada with Eye mask
Armani with face scrub plaster
Seashore CD lulling sleep
Wide
Night shift
Congressional mailroom
Rows of paper-shredders
Reams of documents
Header – “Minimum Wage Proposal”
Pages upon pages
Shredding into recycle bins
Low angle
Nightstand projection clock
Ceiling lit up with 4 AM
TV comes on
BBC morning stock report
Armani raises head from pillow
Puts on glasses
Stares at TV screen
Removes glasses
Manually turns off TV
Spoons Prada
Sunrise
Bronx studio apartment
Chinese family lines up
One bathroom
15 readying their day
Wide
Textile floor
Steam building up
Hundreds of idle sewing machines
Prepared
Close shot
Espresso foam machine
Latte cups waiting
Froth filling the frame
OUR LIFE
The word
That word, you know what it is.
The word that you call us that describes us like were a pig
You work us from dusk to dawn,
you know that you are healthy so pick your own lawn.
You call us dumb, but don’t allow us to read.
You close your schools from us and say “you’re a flea”.
You whip us and beat us and call us things.
You hit us so hard that we want to fly away like we have wings.
You sit there and beat us until we might die,
Then you just sit there, just there with that evil glare in your eye.
We don’t even get extra clothes,
Then you still make us work, even if it’s freezing cold.
We don’t even get mattresses, we sleep on the floor, we look at our children and they say “mama why” “Why do we stay here, get beaten then cry?”
“We’ll get our of here one day, I promise we will.” “We’ll leave this place and run up that hill.” “We’ll run far and fast and people will help us.” “I Promise, I Promise we’ll get out of here, we will.”
large yellow diesel machines coughed
coughed thick black smoke, caught their breath
struggled convulsively and after a series of loud farts
assorted groans and mechanical creaks
lumbered like broken old men waiting to pee.
Oh, they worked that day, from sun up till the orange red sky was upon them
shivering in the cold dark desert sand
parked together like defenseless tadpoles,
shaking and quivering in the damp night air,
their job done for another day.
Building what, sand ramps, that's what.
From nowhere to nowhere!
another notch in the creative history
duly recorded for potentates from the east
who understand & see cows in the sky
or not so pretty women with tight green skirts
whores, dirty mattresses and rats
who love the companionship
of pencil pushing addicts alcoholics
and assorted beasts of the mind
Squalor is the key here
rub your nose in crap is the meaning of their sage advice
promulgated by the ass kissing majority
who worship at the altar of mendacity
after all, they were at M.I.T. and were bored.
Who gives a shtt! Publish, it must mean something
If it doesn' they were the first to do it!
Eat flesh and die. Filthy flesh at that,
hardly fine dining, but that's another story.
Goodbye for now.
It scuttles the ground like an octopus
Leap by leap and lick by lick like an ocean current
With a viciousness that clings coldly into our minds
The fiery angry tongues of yellow gold goblets
Flair furiously at the first gust of wind
That billows at it as if lightened by
Another gallonn of gasoline.
Black coals of burnt debris meet our eyes
As the flames continue to choke the building
Into a dusty black chalk
We gather outside anxiously
To look for those who were on that same block
They are safe! By a miracle!
It remains a grim tragedy for us all.
My throat chokes dry with disbelief
My mind wonders how it happened
Because its an arson attack
The second time the block was burning down
As if not choked enough to death by its haters
And it was in our little minds that one of us
Was a little devil who enjoyed seeing
Suffering on the faces of others
The cold morning air stiffened with mystery
As we watched half burnt tooth brushes, books
And mattresses shoved out of the smoked inferno.
Distress and heart ache written all over
All our strained faces peeping into the deathly dormitory
There are so many ways
To use some lovely feathers
As a duster or head dress
It even goes with leather
I hear you have nice earrings
when they are used in them
Now many things are made of down
From pillows to nice coats
Mattresses to bedspreads
The best way I think
That they are widely used
Are upon the brightly colored birds
That God did flight infuse