Best Reclining Chair Poems
When my chair speaks it says so much to me
We have a conversation while I sip my tea
‘Hello my friend’ my chair will say
‘How are you and how was your day’
I reply to my chair ‘My day was not too bad’
My trusty reclining chair is the best I’ve ever had
My chair says ‘Relax my friend, switch on the TV’
‘It’s time to settle down, watch something nice with me’
‘It’s time to unwind from the day’s displeasure,
Time to reflect now on each moment’s treasure,
Nothing to worry you, now you are here,
Recline with me now, tonight my dear’.
‘Work is over now and the night is still young
Life is for living and a song to be sung’
I reply with optimism when I hear my chair speak
‘Thank you chair, you help me get through the week’
Entered in Matt Caliri's contest.
Dad is long gone now - nearly twenty years.
I still see his face with the deep lines etched
at the corners of his mouth from the beers
he’d consumed with smacking lips - beer I’d fetched
home in a jug from the pub. Dad appears
the way he was before the day he retched,
puked, and lay back in his reclining chair
the cushion crushing flat his steel-grey hair.
Dad never got up from that chair again.
His body shriveled like an old apple
left lying on the ground in sun and rain.
He died within a week. At the chapel,
unknown mourners said, “He’s been spared the pain,
Thank God.” But we remained, left to grapple
with grief at the dimming of those bright eyes
hearts heavy as we said our last goodbyes.
But life does go on, pain passes. I see
Dad in my mind’s eye still - giving pleasure -
sipping from his pint pot of sugared tea
telling tales of finding buried treasure
on ghostly wrecks in the Sargasso Sea,
battling giant squids for good measure.
A boy’s own hero fearless, strong and proud
by all life’s terrors and, in death, unbowed.
by Ralph Taylor
Contest: Inspired
When I want to write and the urge is there,
there's one place I go, so I can prepare.
It's a spot I know
that makes the words flow
I just go sit, in my reclining chair.
I don't really know why, it happens that way.
Why it's easy to think, what I have to say.
To write something new,
all I have to do
is mount my recliner and write away!
The forty-hour work week
kept same its firm streak,
but aging held a revealing
of different Friday feelings.
Beginning work at eighteen,
Monday became a wait thing,
a crawl to Friday night’s scene
when I was up for any
of mostly everything
with little sleep in between.
Even when newlywed, Friday
eve fun was weekend spread.
Then came baby, mortgage
a freedom shortage,
endless yardage, garbage,
cleaning and laundry bondage –
all with no rules or stoppage.
Friday lost all past flare
as my present life tone
shone it as a day for prayer:
that once I got home
I would be left alone
to merge in silence rare
with my reclining chair.
After a business tour
I returned to empty home
Wife and kids had been away
enjoying holiday at her mothers home
Everything was same
TV, Fridge, Oven, Music System
accepting my operating command as before
bed, sofa, reclining chair all comforting my body
Missing was the vivacious vibrancy
of laughter, arguments, silence, love and affection
Walls, curtains, photo frames, flower vases staring at me
Tongue and ears jobless, eyes doubling up for speech and sound
No one to offer glass of water or cup of tea
Breakfast awaiting preparation by me, and eaten too
Lunch and Dinner from menu delivered by hotel waiter
Nightime no one to kiss goodbye, bother for next day wishes
Learned, not that uninhabited homes only haunt
Clamour of near and dear ones is what actually counts
Amidst noise decibels we try to squeeze out some solitude
Like fools among living souls we often seek silence of graveyard
Telephone bell rings
wife and kids indicate early arrival
Suddenly the empty home turns into lively fair
staring walls joyous on early prospect of baby hands caress
Emptiness camouflaging along with feelings
Haunting brick and mortar springing into lively atmosphere
Hated apartment while alone, fool was I to blame innocent structure
Learnt, futile to be in heaven after leaving, create heaven where one is living
(Entry for Members Contest – Empty Apartment by Matt Caliri )
I have learned in the reclining chair,
while the dentist mined deep veins of decay,
how to transfer pain.
The needled anodyne of novocaine
is inadequate to allay
the harrowing ache he engenders there.
But not even by bending fingers until they pop
or stabbing nails into the tenderest flesh
can I get the dedicated ache to stop.
Nor did my visit to another woman
after the last set when her shift was done
soothe the bruises on my heart
that blossomed when you stole the sun.
“Fling open the windows to peek into wider vistas opening and let in light and fresh air”! ~ By Poet
Every day, he walks up to the window,
A practice he has recently developed.
This window is his sole opening to the world.
Sometimes he sits on the reclining chair by its side,
And watch for hours life unfolding.
This morning from his lonely cottage
The old man vacantly gazed,
At the lazy curl of smoke from the chimneys
His eyes further wandered over,
to the dew dampened meadows
And the sloping paths that ran round.
Over them how many times, he had rambled leisurely,
With Jack, his spaniel that died a few months ago.
Though single with no legacy to leave behind,
Never he felt so lonely as of late,
And the memories of his dog keep haunting him.
One morning he found his dog lying stretched out.
Alas! From that slumber, he didn’t rise!
Now with nothing to look forward to in life,
He is in no hurry to leave his cottage as before.
Each day of his life starts with the same ritual.
Every day the old man would brew his tea.
Pour it steaming into his large porcelain mug,
And get settled on a chair by the table,
Looking through the small window,
His only opening into the wider world!
___________________________
April.24. 2023
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘W’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
I hear the rush of cars rushing by in the rain
outside
from my place in the fabled Lower east Side
Staying dry indoors
I sit down and write this ode
Just attended a short story discussion group
We discussed tales of war and murder
But now I feel peaceful
as the sky opens up
on the Lower East Side
I hear the rain falling on the LES
The Latino domino players
are so into the game they play under awnings when it rains
The rain won't stop the Talmudists
at the hose of Sages
form studying
holy works
Grey sky above
Yesterday was bright and sunny
Today is so wet that I skipped my volunteer work
at Poet's House
and skipped my friend's concert
Maybe I'll flip on the television
Relaxing with the "cool fire" is sometimes
quite nice
I live next to the FDR drive
where cars are rushing by in the downfall
Where are they going?
Where are we all going?
I have time to ponder such questions today
As I relax on a reclining chair
Here on the Lower East Side
Where so many American stories have begun
I am sitting in my light brown leather reclining chair
after a strenuous day at my office glad to be home
no more stress no wife just my dog Bandit at my side
I'm holding in my right hand my favorite relaxing drink
a single malt scotch on cracked ice with a twist of lemon
as I was about to close my eyes just a little past seven
counting the blessings in my life from heaven
then out of the unexpected blue everything changed
never I mean never to be the same again
or maybe I was just going insane
out of the corner of my right eye
what I saw oh God what I saw was something that really
scared the hell out of me
as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up
and my flesh turned cold
a man dressed all in black and red
with a haunting evil look in his coal black eyes
I believed he was from the dead
stepped right through a solid wall made of brick an stone
and stood there looking around the room
then looked right through me as though I wasn't there
my dog bandit backed up in fright and hid behind the chair
making noises like I never heard him make before
as my goose bumbled flesh turned cold as ice
I sat paralyzed could not move from my light brown leather reclining chair
then he smiled a shark like pointed toothy grin
as he placed his gaze my way
and pointed a long gray boney finger right at me
the only sound that I could hear was the beating of my own heart
as though it was going to tare my chest apart
then he spoke in a low evil raspy voice and said
I'll be awaiting you on the other side
then he turned to leave the room
the way he entered by stepping right through a solid wall
made of brick an stone
now I sit here all alone wondering and shaking
what the hell just happend to me
is there something in my life that I must change
my life do I have to rearrange
I do not want to meet that messenger from hell on the other side
this is not a tale I tell
for you may think I'm crazy as hell
but I believe in what I saw
I was visited by a messenger from hell
if there is a lesson to be learned from my story
look into your life and change what will make it right
to travel into the light
to heaven not hell
when your time ends upon this earth
With my doctor’s ok, I’ve come to this small room of a little-known clinic
hoping to have the damaged nerves inside my brain “reset” in a long session.
I relax in a reclining chair as the dissociative anesthetic drug named Ketamine
is being infused through a vein in my left arm.
My husband sits nearby looking at Facebook; I hear the noise from his phone
and ask him please to silence his phone so I can focus on my treatment.
Suddenly I hear music never heard before – both melodic and upbeat.
I can’t tell my husband to turn it off; my lips are vanishing as they seal off!
I am eyes inside a faceless face. I lift two fingers. oh, I can at least do that!
The music stops abruptly! I hear a man and woman speaking. . .
Then I hear an advertisement. I realize this all is NOT from hubbie’s phone!
Random snippets of conversations continue: “Silence!” yells a man.
“Handcuff him.” Now I'm hearing Chinese. What?? This is from MY mind?
They said to expect hallucinations, but where are the fireworks I was told of?
Meanwhile, the room, getting fuzzier, is turning into a small, white tunnel.
I’m in the K-hole questioning my own existence! Did I come here in a car?
Do I have an actual home to go back to? A woman screams OH MY GOD!
The tunnel recedes. I see the room. My mouth unseals; my voice stumbles -
“Am I in re- al- i- ty?” Wobbily I come down from this unnerving “trip.”
Coming around, I feel absolute thankfulness to be an actual LIVING person.
March 14, 2021 for The Contemplation Poetry Contest of Craig Cornish
(What a challenge to fit this into 20 lines! My failed experience was 3/3/21. They said I had a 50-50 chance it could shock my nervous system into recovery. Anyway, I hear it works great -strangely- for PTSD and anxiety!)
He sits in his cozy reclining chair,
In poor health, tired, and feeling very old.
The effect of times emotional toll
And what inner self aging brings to bear.
I scroll back the echoes of this striking
Man, several years back. When we were young,
He stole my heart; me, a wild-bloom among
So many, he picked me to his liking.
He asked, "Be mine, my love for eternity?"
I couldn't refuse his blue eyes full of love.
A promise amidst the bright stars above.
I'd melt in his embrace till infinity.
Although the gentle man we knew is gone,
He still dances with me with a new dawn.
4/24/2020
He sits alone in an old, empty house
Silence, not even the squeak of a mouse
Slowly dying of grief and sorrow
Keeps hoping he’ll die tomorrow
A pot of ashes sits at his side
Its been there ever since you died.
Darkness is all there is
Since you no longer live
There was a light in his heart
But it died, and all is dark
He pulled the plug, the machine turned off
Ever since then he’s been lost.
Sitting in his old reclining chair
Growing older with less and less hair
Blaming himself for your death
Wishing you had never taken your last death
Never leaves his home
Just sits there all alone
Won’t even visit his kin
Doesn’t realize you still live within
I lie in the reclining chair,
sucking my teeth
and wonder why the passing cattle
only stop in the field next door
and then the herdsman comes
with his tortured, twisted cattle-
prodding stick, and they all move on,
me, the herdsman and the cattle
I step into the new day.
Standing,
in the valley of the mountains,
The red dawn predicts change.
Inside, a cloak of darkness hangs.
Daniel sits,
confused,
in his brown reclining chair.
Birds cut low through the morning sky.
Knowingly,
Earth follows the Laws of Nature,
rain will soon fall.
Lingering,
he grapples with mortality,
as death's cloak falls over him.
The storm breaks hard.
I cry,
in the valley of the mountains,
where the dawn predicts change.
Re-post from 1/2010
Beads of sweat roll down my back,
Feeling sick I nearly yack.
Body quivers, hands now shake
Tremors of my bodily earthquake.
Heard my name; I've been called
Stairs handrail I tightly hold.
I tap on the door to my right
Nerves prepares me for quick flight.
'It' stood head to toe in protective wear
An alien! I thought with irrational fear
Another voice says "please take a seat"
Two same aliens of meet and greet.
I go and sit in a reclining chair
Laid flat back; looking up I stare.
A long, sharp needle swiftly appears
The injection begins, I'm close to tears.
They're ready to proceed on my tooth
Rigor mortis sets me aloof.
Drilling starts, I fear the worse
Teeth and dentists are my curse.
14.06.22