Best Up The Stairs Poems
We will walk then, you and I
When daylight shuts her weary eye;
Down the streets where beggars sleep
And drug crazed addicts spend their keep.
On streets that wind through thick and thin
Past monuments of broken sin
The painted whores who smile a lot
A rejected child that time forgot.
The evening hymn that sorrows sing
The call to prayer that church bells ring;
The sounds and smells that rape a city
The calls for help that won't find pity.
Do we have time to heal the curse
That captures all the universe
Or would it really be worthwhile
To quell the question with a smile?
But we have walked these streets before
And hoped our ears could dim the roar
Of silence gripping cold nightmares
That come unbidden up the stairs.
We share the night with lesser fools
Who stake their plight without sound rules
For each new challenge finds old pain
That lives to give then comes again.
Standing on tippy toes
Top shelf
Reaching
Stretching
Finger tips edging the jar forward
Imagining the taste of chocolate chips on my tongue
Yumm mom's chewy delicious wait till Saturday cookies
Thankful I have grown that extra inch
Thinking she'll never suspect me
The jar
Tips
Topples
Tumbles
Turns
Travels over my head
Lands on the floor
Just as Snoopy comes running through the door
Eating all the cookies except for four
Looks up with his doggy grin
Like he wants some more
I reach down and grab the jar
Surprised that it didn't break
Reaching inside was my second mistake
Mom comes in and says "For goodness sake!
I'm so scared I start to shake.
"Ricky get over here right now"
I drop the jar, she watches it break
Running I try to get away
Up the stairs
Under the bed
If she catches me I'll be dead
At least that's what she said
She lifts the bed skirt
There I am
With my happy face T-shirt
Just within her reach
She grabs me
Pulls me out
Laughs
Gives me a hug
"Don't worry it's OK
I'll make more
Later today."
For John Lawless's Just within reach contest.
Written April 15, 2015
An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
Memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes come waaftng down its stairs to me.
My poor heart tears to hear that poignant melody.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
When I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory
Picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed.
And a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
And I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return
And play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
For the Sweet Valentine Poetry Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
an early morning rise,
up the stairs
walk into the bathroom
in the sink
a small stain of blood.
less than a measure of yesterday
pulling a baby out of the womb into my arms.
on the sheets
a small stain of blood.
midwives wrap
my first born
snug and warm.
when her mother
finally gets her initial fill
she hands me this precious
new life.
i hold her knowing
there is nothing,
nothing!,
nothing...
nothing.,
nothing-
better then this moment!,
sweet scented perfection!,
lulls me into a peaceful bliss.
as she grows,
i spend my best times with her
and later her sister too.
my daughters own me
lock,
stock
and
barrel.
Ali?
i still see your
baby green eyes
reaching out to me.
i still smell your
childhood scent.
i can still taste
your hopes and dreams.
i can still touch
your youth as if it were now,
hear your tiny voice
"daddy i love you but you're my best friend too".
there is nothing,
nothing!,
nothing...
nothing.,
nothing-
better then this moment!,
you're now twenty two.
in the sink?
a small stain of blood.
in your bedroom
cocaine,
syringes,
...everywhere.
i clean
carefully picking them up.
i know you know you're playing
russian roulette with your life.
the drug convinced you
your life isn't worth living.
that's what drugs do.
they're that snake in the garden of eden
and you know eve ate that apple
and you know she sacrificed everything
for a fruit that would never taste that good again.
evil always presents itself as the only choice
while good seems too tough an alternative
but the truth is, the harder you have to work for it
the better it feels and it holds its feel with nothing to chase.
you can't hear me
the monster deeply
imbedded in you.
but Ali i love you
and Ali my heart weeps
and on my chest sits
a small stain of blood!
June 3 2015
Armand
An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes come waaftng down the stairs to me.
My poor heart tears to hear that poignant melody.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
when I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory,
picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed,
and a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
and I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return
and play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
Submitted June 26, 2022
for Mark Toney's the '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5' Poetry Contest
Nightgowns on at 9:01
Adrenal induced delerium
Santa’s journey has surly begun
To our beds, we were a scurrying
Closed eyes, at 9:05
But sleep would not come easy
We’d twist and turn, side to side
At least til 5 past 3
Then somewhere before, 3:44
Sleep would come, by chance
Til little sis would creep through the door
Ready to sneak a glance
Prowling the stairs, side by side
And past the grandfather clock
Which, by now, was reading 4:55
Five ticks before each tock
Around the bin and into the den
Stood our sparkling 8 foot tree
Palms were there, to catch our chins
We’d gaze til 5:03
Up the stairs, new teddy bear
Little sister, close behind
Sound asleep, to prepare
For the alarm at 6:59
If you are reading "the Adventures of Soda Pop" for the first time, read the first in the series and the story will make more sense. I hope you enjoy.
Ricky ran up the stairs to go to his room to prepare for the days fun. He put on his favorite pair of jeans and a western shirt with pearl buttons. From under his bed he pulled out a leather gun belt that held two cap guns. (apparently the monsters vacate the space under the bed during the day) As he strapped the belt around his waist, I could tell he liked how it felt on his hips. Ricky took one of the guns out of the holster and placed it back under the bed. At first I wondered why and before I knew it Ricky placed me upsidedown in the holster. I liked how the leather held me firmly in place, luckily I had been corked or Ricky would have been wearing purple instead of blue jeans. Ricky then started rummaging through his closet looking for his Daisy BB gun. After a few moments of searching he was happily holding it in his little hands. He shook it and I could hear the BBs rolling around inside the gun.
As Ricky walked down the stairs I could feel his imagination taking hold. Ricky felt as tall and powerful as any real cowboy. There was a certain coolness in his stride, if he had had on some cowboy boots instead of his black canvas runners, the picture would have been perfect. Ricky went into the kitchen to find Roy and Teresa, Mrs. Burns told him they had already left with some friends. No worries after all today Ricky was the "Lone Ranger" and I was Tonto! The adventure could begin.
If you have not read my earlier ones, please check out the first in the series and see if you like the story. It will help this make more sense.
Ricky slowly sauntered up the stairs, as you know most little boys don't like going to bed. When Ricky got to his room I noticed the Bunk Bed against the wall and a dresser on an adjacent wall. Why I knew what these things were is beyond me, perhaps it is a part of hearing Ricky's mind. Ricky walked over to the window and placed me on the sill. This was great because it was a clear night and I could see the twinkling stars in the black velvet sky. The street itself was dark except for a few lights in other windows and an occasional car driving by.
I turned my attention to the room, Ricky's brother Roy climbed a ladder to the top bunk and Ricky got into the lower bunk. I could tell Ricky was scared about what was under the bed. I have to admit I felt much safer being over here on the window sill. If it had not been for the giant stuffed St. Bernard that he took to bed with him, who knows what those monsters might have done to him. His companion's name was Bully and I could tell they had been friends a long time. As Ricky was begining to sleep I felt this falling sensation and he jerked awake. I can't express how that scared me, I thought I was falling and that would not be good, after all I am made of glass. Thankfully a few minutes later Ricky was fast asleep and I drifted along with him. It had been a very good day. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
If you are enjoying this tale let me know and I will continue on with it. Thanks for reading it.
Its 6 am
And that bloddy alarm goes off again.
Just another half an hour I plead,
But the alarm doesn't listen, the alarm doesn't heed.
Washed and dressed, reluctantly I head for my car,
A 20 minute drive, work is not very far.
The parking gods are good and I get a space
Right by the front door, my favourite place!
A smile on my face I sprint up the stairs,
Today will be good, no worries or cares.
"I want these figures and I want them now!
And these I want yesterday and don't ask me how!"
Do this, do that and for goodness sake hurry,
Am I going to be fired? I'm beggining to worry.
Its 4 pm and I plod down the stairs
My smile long gone but nobody cares
Home at last, I kick at the door
Feet up, hair down, pick up mail form the floor.
Thats my car in that photo, whats this all about?
A speeding ticket "I don't believe it" my husband hears me shout
I wish this dire day would come to an end
Shattered nerves need sleep time to mend
But all too soon
Its 6 am
And that bloody alarm goes off again.
DMoran 2012
t
If you havn't read my other Orange Crush pieces, please start at the beginning. If you like them consider reading on.
Ricky jumped off the footstool holding me tightly in his little hand. I could feel his imagination coming to life. Within his mind the clear water had turned a brilliant orange and as he drank from me he could feel the bubbles tickling his throat. I felt alive with the possibilities this imagination of his would bring to light.
The rest of the evening consisted of eating and watching images flashing on a square box. It rather bored me because they were in black and white, I much preferred looking out the picture window at people doing their thing and cars driving by. Real life was much clearer and had a lot more colors. As it got darker out, the color all seemed to fade away. I think I prefer day time. Ricky's mom said it was time for the kids to brush their teeth and go to bed. They all rushed up the stairs and I was left on the coffee table.
Ricky's mom was cleaning up and grabbed me and three Coke bottles that Dadio had emptied. She carried us to the kitchen and placed us in a segregated box beneath the sink. Just as she was about to close the door, little Ricky ran into the room and said "where's my bottle" mom responded "What do you want with a silly bottle?" he responded "I like it" His mom smiled, pulled me out of the case and handed me to Ricky. If I were able to smile I would have had a toothy grin of my own.
More adventures for "Soda Pop" if there is enough interest to carry on with the story.
As requested here is another episode. If this is your first time reading, check out the first one it will make more sense. Let me know if you would like me to continue. Those who are following the tale, thanks!
When I awoke Ricky was fast asleep, being a pop bottle I have no way of keeping my eyes closed. Mind you I'm not complaining, I got to see the most amazing sunrise. I so wanted Ricky to enjoy it as well so I refracted the light and shone it on his eyes. I could tell he was a bit irritated but it had the desired effect, he got out of bed so he could move me. As he walked over to the window I could feel the irritation turn to wonder as he saw the beauty of the sunrise. From that day forward he became a morning person.
Ricky stood there for a while with me held dangling by his side. I no longer needed my glass, I could see clearly through his blue eyes. It was a very nice street and Ricky particularly liked the house across the street. The house had bright white siding and a manicured lawn. There were also planters with all kinds of pretty flowers. The house was owned by an older couple and they didn't have any children. It seemed a rather big house for only two people.
Soon Roy and Teresa were also awake and they all fought to use the one and only bathroom. Mom and Dadio had already left for work, Dadio to cut hair and Mom as a waitress at the Coffee Cup. Their baby sitter's name was Mrs. Burns an older lady that seemed very fond of floral print dresses. She had made her way up the stairs because the kids didn't seem to hear her call them for breakfast. They all ran past her to the dining room table and waited for her to slowly make her way back down the stairs. She may not have been fleet of foot but boy what a great breakfast. Bacon eggs and saugage as well as orange juice. Ricky tried to pour the orange juice into me but got almost as much on the table. Still it was quite a treat for me to enjoy, after all breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
Nursery Rhyme
Children's Short story (Rhyme)
Little Ellie, loves her freckles
she counts them every night,
her friends call her 'Ellie speckles'
which fills her with delight!
she traces them with her finger
before she rests her head
in the mirror, she lingers
dallying if the truth be said,
little Ellie, loves her freckles
she bathes them every night,
her friends call her 'Ellie speckles'
which fills her with delight!
this night was like no other,
she froze in utter despair
screaming down to her mother
who came running up the stairs,
little Ellie, loves her freckles
she reads to them, every night
her friends call her 'Ellie speckles'
which fills her with delight!
vanished had Ellie's freckles
She had washed them off again ~
still wanting to be 'Ellie Speckles'
she drew them back with a pen
Hush
a murmur -
a burst of mirth - you laugh.
A giggly boy or two; the
drone of you
mixed with monkey's bonding squeals
slide up the stairs; on polished
paternal air.
Then a deep man's voice where
once a boy's ascended - mellow with
early manhood. Resonating;
capitulating - exclaims agreement.
And I see through gauze
made murky by time
us five - woven
warmly -
Sometimes, I wake up from Sweet Death’s dull sleep,
And find, I’ve not been living as I could,
My friends tell me they tire of seeing me weep…
I feel like I’m a boy, not flesh, but wood…
My nose is growing long, they seem to think,
Although I speak, and mean just what I say,
Some tell me that my promises all stink,
Like broccoli that’s been left out all day.
Well, I’M NOT LIKE THAT! And I don’t agree!
“What seems a lie’s a Promise,” bright Ray* said,
“a need, ramshackle, waiting to be born…”
I think he’s right, and even though he’s dead
I’ll take his words, go charging up the stairs,
And make amends, and show, I’m one who Cares!
*’What seems a lie, is a promise, a ramshackle need, waiting to be born…” – Ray Bradbury
I love books that have no end,
truth that is hard to bend,
letters I forgot to send,
and reading them again,
unmade beds that invite,
stories I need to write,
eating ice cream with contrite,
knowing wrong is sometimes right,
I love grass that needs mowed,
a garden that feeds my soul,
boots that kick my toes,
boats I never row,
bridges that go nowhere,
the triple dog I dared,
knowing my love was fair,
falling up the stairs,
I love price that's worth the cost,
my mind that I found lost,
tomatoes that never rot,
the demons that I fought,
never having enough on my plate,
hearing words you can't say,
leaving when I was told to stay,
being the keeper of my own fate.
~Vickie Thayer~