Best Stall Poems
I'm here tonight
to stand in the ache.
The ache of hollow,
the empty of the not
simply empty; rather,
the empty of the
recently full.
The silent ache of
missingness, of quiet.
Before the ghosts have
risen, before the
memorial stones are
set. Before the cards arrive.
Before the flowers
are vased to wilt.
I'm here tonight
to stand in the ache.
Of what so recently had
been.
Of who was.
I'm here tonight
to stand and weep
and shudder. I'm here
tonight because
you
are not.
A little smile delights my soul
A little money appreciates my life
A little love achieves my goal
A little care flatters my wife
Strengthening my resolve to perform better
Duties and responsibilities I bear
In my role as family pace and trend setter
In spite of mundane outfit and suit I wear
As through lifetime I educate siblings
Endeavouring to develop their potential
To scale heights, to break through glass ceilings
Beyond the conventional and the unintentional
As I elect and select to reflect on reasons why
At crossroads complications sometimes arise
To conflate faith and pride in minds of the lie
Lost in a labyrinth where to no surprise
Confusion and division estrange sinners from thinners
In the midst of splitting hairs and spreading fears
Among the lost sheep who deem it unfit to hobnob with cleaners
Immersed in verses of gossip as on my face tears
Roll down, fall on my chest in my quest
Into well intended missions that fall by the wayside
Too low for zero as I invest efforts to test
Waters in altars of misconception and prejudice propelled by personal pride
Gone too far to dilute and denigrate the sanctity
The salvation mission entails among fishers of men
Who appreciate Jesus didn’t die on the cross to pronounce sinners guilty
But to save humankind and I from the odious omen
Misguided human lips with little knowledge utter
As they wallow in a sea of benighted bigotry
Where they play God and pronounce themselves better than the sinner in the gutter
Who pleads at the feet of Jesus to send her providential poetry
To open human eyes to tenets Christianity holds dear
Not because I say so or I should denounce the new millennium Pharisee
Whose grasp of the biblical truth swims in turbid unclear
Seas of ignorance where the blind and the benighted can’t see
Limitations and diminutions brought about by little knowledge
Raised to a puny pedestal
Wreaks havoc as it conflates sewage and sacrilege
To decelerate a hallowed harvest and cause it to stall.
He sought all the mystery
As well as the blistery
With some of the grim
And the not-so-prim
In the city's ironic history
A story he would perceive
Seldom easy to believe
But always would back up
What came from the Cup
Of Cornucopia he would weave
He would oft-times humor
An unconfirmed rumor
Then blow it away
When he would say
A quip of his humor
Elaborate, softly tailored to suit
She’s sure more beautiful than very cute
Exquisite form, flawless in many eyes
Details of her delight, there’s no disguise
She likes to wear tight dresses, to show off
I hardly noticed her feeling quite scoffed
Because many were ignoring her here
She’s just a normal guest it would appear
I walked up to her, a smile on my face
She saw my approach and ruffled her lace
I began to speak with her, this goddess
And we talked the night through, I did impress
Her beauty didn’t stall, I kept going
Now she holds a love that keeps on giving
Russell Sivey
if you are finicky or squeamish at all
do not crawl under that locked bathroom stall.
You never know what you will find on the ugly floor
crusty dried feces and urine, other awful stuff galore
if you are the one who locked it and slid out of the way
know that we custodians kind of despise you today.
The memories are still fresh in my mind.
I'd walk around that old corner and happiness is what I would find.
I remember the conversations we had that didn't consist of a word,
the time you got scared by a bird,
the times we laughed and cried,
and the times we failed but we went back and tried.
We were inseparable but not vulnerable.
There was a happy face every time I opened that old wooden door.
I couldn't have asked for anything more.
Your eating habits made a mess, but that's what made our fun times the best.
Yeah you were moody at times, and you didn't want to work with me.
But we fixed that problem didn't we??
Yeah I was rough, but it was to benefit you and to make you tough.
Breath taking moments, now turned to heartbreaking news...
it had to happen they said...my heart felt dead.
The thought of us having to separate, made me feel desperate.
Here we stand saying goodbye, but I refuse to cry this time.
I walk around that corner once more, I find nothing but an empty stall and that old wooden door.
There's nothing left but some left over grain,
I hoped that you'd take our memories with you so only I would have to feel the pain.
I remember the thaw
when I headed South to crawl
through Carnegie's tunnels
in a Saab that would stall
in the mist or the rain
Spring, Winter, and Fall--
O I remember the thaw
and the chance of a change
if I could move what I did
from New York's north grid
down through the range
filled with hard blue coal
where I'd run as a foal--
O I remember that thaw
and the chance-of a job
in a town near the Mon
named for the General
George Washington
who'd surveyed the vast land
and survived the deft French
and I felt my fists clench
on the wheel of that Saab
as I drove through each trench
in a car that might stall
while I attempted to crawl
over the P A Turnpike
to a job I would like
and knew I could do
with less snow, ice, and flu
and a new car in the Fall
one inclined not to stall
if the weather turned raw--
O I remember the thaw!
There's a movement down South
where sound comes creeping
from beneath our feet, emptying
pockets which never had much.
You can see what we've written-
our bathroom stalls read
'Do something for the hell of it... anything...'
The messages are clustered around depictions
of stick-figures having gay intercourse.
Money- the ways they lied to us
unintentionally, believing
just like we do it’s a means to safety
or luxury cars with ass-warming seats.
But it's just an enhancer of methods
for questioning, down with the pill,
all cost and no lasting.
What gives weight to the want
for lingering? Beauty was,
and thus she is, now
and *** tomorrows.
Today, though form
and seasons change,
we have the means for loving.
‘Til the presently mysterious fabric
of time collapses, returning
to whatever it was
that caused it to begin.
[Frans Snyders, oil on canvas 1614]
A young stag suspended by both hocks,
dead tongue lolling, brick-red,
from the corner of its mouth.
A pair of rabbits slung across the board.
A pheasant and a string of songbirds,
silent. Even the white swan, its long neck
graceful and its wing unfurled,
is not immune from Saturday display.
A cauliflower. A wicker basket
overflowing grapes and apples
that will never ripen to a fuller
red. A squash and two melons
plucked from their vines.
How many heavenly
mouthfuls, thinks the poor man
who feasts on porridge. But
for such a man with famished pockets,
our Flemish master didn’t paint
this scene.
Tonight I'm a bathroom stall poetry critic
let's see what we have here
I LOVE TRANNYS
DIVE AND LISA 4EVER
SUCK MY F*CKIN DICK
Golly, do the kids these days
ever love the
liberal use of profanity.
Certainly the reference to
Transvestites
(with a key
and very tact
misspelling)
is indicative
of the poets love
of the unknown,
and his relishing
of diving into
the unknown,
especially when
the unknown
is not what he
thought it was.
Who is Dive?
It's obvious that
Dive is called Dive
because he likes
to hang out in
Dives.
Maybe that third line isn't poetry
after all.
I see them clearly, although they try to remain hidden.
They laugh, and talk, flirting with each other.
Why can they not see I would like some alone time?
I never get that any more.
This new foreman is a great guy, but there is always music now
Or talking or a pretty girl, visiting, bringing muffins.
I liked the blonde one last week; she brought me an apple.
I stand here, silently, not making fun of them, but wanting to.
Seeing them clearly is my favorite thing to do.
She is not making headway; I know because of his stance.
He is a great guy, but should not play poker.
He has so many tells, I will be able to get an apple.
I stand and wait for the blithering and blathering to stop.
He is too polite. He needs to get rid of them faster.
Plus, he is my man. I do not share easily.
I wish I could step on her foot. I really do.
Midst the flit wandered mist of lame Autumn
tethered vestige suns, seas a riverbed
failed wanton seasons a whole third it saved
absence to course unforgiving outcome
to no avail, tooth and nail have they none
in favored sway Summer's full weight reversed
subtle eve of Earth's slumbered leaves embraced
whilst silhouette's danse, scales seized near bottom.
The flicker of light dew quench the needy
flora and fauna famished and focused
tour past the befallen qualm in despair
flits a blue, grey encumbered white-knotty,
the beaten lain quietude art dye cast
Wicket's Gate, windswept free ... Winter is here.
Cold nights sleeping in a toilet stall
A place of some sort of safety for rest
My dirty bags make a pillow
To shut my weary eyes is a blessing
One or two hours is what I hope for
My body is contorted all different ways
Muddy boots are pressed against the
broken door
Oh, how can I have confidence, sleeping in
a toilet stall?
Why can’t I cry when my mind is so sad?
Soon I hope to enter into dreamtime and
Falll
Escaping poverty for a little while
I’m struggling to sleep with my belly so
Empty
Drunk and homeless is not an ideal
Lifestyle
The night is cold. My breath showing me
that I’m still alive
I read the graffiti on the wall. A real
bedtime story
Alone with my thoughts, shivering, but I
survive
I close my eyes. I’m safe and off the street
Tomorrow is uncertain, like my next meal
Cold nights in a toilet stall. My homeless
retreat…
To stall
On a concept
Is to be
Trapped..
The flow of
What is happening
Seems interrupted
And the concept
Pedestal's itself..
Fundamentally
Setting a filter
For what is
Happening...
Stuck in a stall? Two options beckon.
But only one I deem correct.
You can just sit there or decide to...
reflect.