Best Upstairs Poems
Keys rattle,
door slowly closes ...
An echo of footsteps walk upstairs..
You can hear his bedroom door close,
a little bump as he sits on his bed,
then there is just nothing..
They think he is angry,
raging at the world,
anti social, but at work he smiles,
jokes and shows a jovial side,
like a 'Pirate of the Caribbean'
but in his home he seems lost,
like a hollow house.
Nobody notices the scruffy hair,
nor the unshaved grisly stubble -
of a once debonair gentleman.
He once illuminated like a lighthouse,
but now seems invisible,
with faint tears,
hidden behind 'Johnny Depp' eyes -
in shallow depths his spirit drowns.
His room is dark with a somber hue,
with misty windows and fading walls.
A scent of suffering like 'Edward Scissorhands.'
His mirror reflects agony of an unspoken soul,
resembling a faded photograph - he is a ghost.
He feels he is a 'dead man from hell,'
but paying for the sins of others -
when in reality his pride is crucifying
his conscious into realms of future regret.
In his theatre of solitude,
he is an anti-hero in his own mute madness,
where he feels safe - forgotten.
A place to breathe his last breath,
which was reserved for his '
abandoned' butterfly beloved -
now lost in a storm.
Locked in the observatory of loneliness.
His glory is to remain a secret puzzle
in his silent story of suffering -
to decompose like an ageing painting -
forever abstract leaving the viewer pondering.
Try leave behind "Book Of The Week"
And head upstairs where floorboards creak.
Where people tilt their heads to look
At every spine on every book.
Where murderers and secret lovers
Plot and scheme between the covers.
Where transport from another age
Transports you to another page.
Where old detective books reside
Each with their price pencilled inside.
Where books based on geometry
Share space with trigonometry.
Where childhood annuals stand in line
With memories of a simpler time.
Where silent thoughts pervade the air
And words speak volumes everywhere.
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 -
Finished off the casseroles
a while ago;
actually gave them to
someone with an appetite.
The neighbors have taken
your parking space.
The hallway’s unlit now,
but I still see the unhappiness in the mirror
even in the dark.
You always left the light on.
I cling to the railing;
it’s caught me more than once.
Each step leaves me breathless,
each ascent lifeless –
stranded and abandoned
without even a shadow.
It’s just as you left it inside.
I haven’t dirtied a dish.
The calendar still says June;
only the clock moves on –
ticking countdown.
Sometimes it’s too much
so I sleep outside the door
and guard what you left behind –
protect what was.
Slumber reunites us,
but daylight exposes me.
And the pity’s infected their whispers.
our angel who sleeps so peacefully there
the foundation that supports all our lives
no momma' didn't die; she moved upstairs
hands that can play Amazing Grace with flair
a melody that will lift and suprise
our angel who sleeps so peacefully there
she bakes her cakes with a dollop of air
not to mention those sweet potato pies
no momma' didn't die; she moved upstairs
there is this look, I guess you could say stare
she will give when dissecting truth from lies
our angel who sleeps so peacefully there
take nothing from her, but ask and she'll share
faith in God rests behind Midwestern eyes
no momma' didn't die; she moved upstairs
her framed picture holds a lock of brown hair
and seems to speak to us her words so wise
our angel who sleeps so peacefully there
no momma' didn't die; she moved upstairs
The snowflakes falling
A wind is blowing
It is a blizzard
Hard to walk or drive
Parking lots full of snow
Hard to park a car
Walking in deep snow
Stairs filled with snow
Difficult to walk up
Or down stairs
Steps need to be cleared
After the blizzard storm
Dinosaur Upstairs
I used to know a Dinosaur,
Who lived on the second floor.
Not too sure what kind he was,
As I’d never seen one before.
It did get a little bit noisy,
Him being just upstairs,
Especially on his birthday,
When he played musical chairs.
No matter how many times I’ve been running upstairs and downstairs
Still hear and see nobody around in the lonely air
He’ll not watching and going ups and downs with me
He’ll never bark and lick around me
He’s up above the doggie heaven waiting for me
It’s very hard and difficult to have him suddenly disappeared
It’s my first day so home alone without my sweetie near
Yes I still have my favorite apple in and out every day
But I cannot depend and lean on her that much in the near future
I know she loves and cares me a lot with her thousands hugs with pleasure
What to do and what to say
Wishing her many success, fortunate and happy daaaays
August 13 2012 @2:30 pm
after rejection,
i make chicken
dirty rice and
call it a day
during the
downtime, i
make swedish
meatballs with
parmesan cheese
and hang up my
stresses in the
walk-
in closet
with the center of
a welcome peace, i
pour myself some
green tea ginger ale
in a thirty-two
ounce
cup and listen to
michael
franks
when i listen to the
song
about michael's baby
cooking
her eggplant, i
realize that i
forgot
to make some honey
butter biscuits
twelve minutes
later, when the
timer
goes off and the
honey butter
biscuits
are ready, mr.
franks is singing
about a
lady who wants to
know the reason why
i say to myself,
'later for curiosity
and the
cat....well, maybe
not the cat....that
may
be dessert
later....in the
meantime, i
pleasure myself on
one of the very
things
that i work my butt
off for....and just
unwind
my streetlight darkness
with cold beverage in hand
and my mind's eyes closed
The very old lady upstairs
Keeps dropping things on the old wooden floor
I keep waiting for the big old thud
She is on downstairs worrying about her man
He is on upstairs busy with other girls
To her he is the perfect lover
To him she is just the one among the many
Her world rolls around his thoughts
Her days are colorful like rainbows
Her world was such a tiny one
she never knew she lived in illusions
His world is big enough
To hold all the pretty girls
He never cried for losing one
When he lose one he gets two other new ones
She never tried to cheat her man
Even in her wild dreams she was a virgin
He is smart enough to convince everyone
He doesn't have any other girls
She is very innocent and faithful
She thinks his man is faithful too
Every minutes in his life is joyful
Every time he had someone with him
She prayed hard for his well being
She thanked God for giving him
He prayed everyday for more fresh girls
He thanked God for hearing his prayer
Her world is so small
It can hardly hold her and her man alone
She never saw the outside world
I wish she can see what's really happening...
Green eeriness
Comes from a house
That’s truly haunted
Webs come from all corners
Spiders like to leave their mark
There’s a lone light
Glowing from upstairs room
Screams from within
There are crawling bugs
All types of creepy creatures
To bring fear to all
There is a lit pumpkin
Cut and carved from outside
Ugly insects
Crawl in and out
Of the fierce pumpkin
Russell Sivey
'Pon thy throne
He sits in wait
"Son"
He says
"In time, he finds his way"
Then smiles as He clears the path
that leads back home
The dead-end street in front of the house
is still, and I notice leaves have fallen.
The roommate said last night no one
came here for trick or treating
and now a cold wind blows.
I just moved in here yesterday.
I’m starting my life again.
A cold wind blows and I go out.
Last night a stranger and I
drank together. She said
no one knows you like your mother.
The lady set down her drink and asked
where has the year gone.
Where has the year gone?
My mom’s gone.
My dad’s gone,
I think tonight
I’ll call my cousin.
The street in front is quiet.
rolled up newspapers are stacked
on the front porch
of the house next door.
A ravine lies on the east side
where the road ends.
Music plays downstairs
and a singer’s voice drones
to the rhythm of a drum machine
then falls silent.
A door slams shut.
The most recent poem I write
is a lost conversation.
All my past loves and all who died—
their shadows dance on the wall
as the sun looks through my window.
I’ll grab a bite for breakfast
after stepping out the door.
I haven’t met the neighbors,
not yet.
It’s true that we are looking
for someone, it’s true.
A fallen leaf dances across the yard
and my back aches.
A story stirring inside me
lives beyond its time.