Binders Poems

Park Bench

Open sky,
sitting on a park bench with one arm curved behind a person;
teething smiles shyly undressing my emotional puristic like Adam re-unclothing in
Eden.

Whatsoever is losed of my ascetic,
may it free our eyes to tresspass into our hearts and breakthrough the binders.

Open sky,
like a shaded orange thingy,
serendipity might bring your meaning by a large dream of two days' worth of sleep
after I crept into your eyes and lost something I can't really tell of;

I think it was unshelved, a piece of my bestselling self; consequence: lost.
Obsequies: died for love, the form of death that kills the greed of my homesickness;
consequence: no return.

Open sky,
clear,
yet the sun will soon say goodbye.
Like good friends we watch his actual goodbying but not without the christening of
our love pudding:
sweet child in arm, the sweetest charm we ever cast...

Yours for all time,
burnt the bridge behind and it's a good thing I can't swim,
good thing, but if I could,
I'd swim in your own pull.

An Orderly Mind

He had a disorderly mind.
She had an ordered one.

She had cerebral files,
binders,
alphabetized answers
for every occasion.

He would come to her
with questions
like - what-do-you-call-it
and who’s-his-face
and whatever was the name of 
some thingamajig or other.

She would calmly dig into her mental
folders, data banks and dossiers
and supply him the correct
precise response or comment.

He would hurry away
holding her answer tightly \
in his loose 
fumbling, bungling 
and forgetful mind.

Then she would happily turn
to her main purpose in life

which was torturing little animals
and laughing maniacally as she
listened to their screams.

Loose Leaf Binders

a lone duck
ponders
          its abandonment

two bears agree
to berry
          the hatchet

caterpillars
weave
        new wings

angry hawks
screech
          at biting winds

turtles vie
for distant
            sunshine

hoar frost
silences
          the crickets

a blue harvest moon
torments
            a scarecrow

falling leaves
a gathering of pumpkins
                                blank faces

farmer’s markets
gnarly produce
                    weathered hands


John G. Lawless
©10/14/2022

Back To School

Come on little darlings , 
grab that cart.
We've got shopping to do.
School's about to start.

You've been a pain in my a**
all Summer long.
Now it's back to school
where you belong.

Pick some binders, 
pick a back pack.
Grab pens and pencils.
Keep this on track.

My favourite time to shop
Is before Labor Day, 
and the only time all Summer
You get to have your way.

So pick your colours,
pick your themes.
Grab that looseleaf paper 
by the reams.

It's almost here.
I'm almost free.
September can't come
soon enough for me .

Building a Fire

Had a smirk of sorrowful clarity 
Someone dancing on my grave.
And a artist 
The night was gathering materials.
 Knowing  ambition for pleasure
Would never fill the pit.
The night called for a burn
All the grasped boxes of blankets
Nostalgic wood, Rhapsodies of a ratt-packen
Journals, binders, scraps of thoughts
Nick-knack volumes of prophets
Overdosing on written salvation
Hoping for a instance coffee relief
A always, never the fallow-through
More is pilled, the mix of kindling
Dirty-bits, and old yearnings 
A stone from a beach, of first love
Scrapbooks of holding mortality
**** mags, and bed follies pics
A secrete place a catholic boy goes
My heap inter-mixed with nature
All of it dead, until  the match
Erupts a fire enjoying feeding
Impermanence is really scarred 
So is observing the flame
Hypnotic destruction is fire at night 
Eyes dance to flares refection
Chaotic colors of visible heat
A calm abiding trance
Warm glowed my garments
In ambers consuming to ash

Reserata Carcerem Xiv

resistance is not coarse currents;
electromagnetic ferments,
whooshing waves, subatomic spell
insulating amber, cloned crest

neither is resistance a bridge;
inky intervals at bruised bliss
bounty binders by gores girded
lanky lime, felon feast aided

resistance is all but a feast;
mystic mood burnished'n sassy spree
el'vated will, Siamese sway
commedia dell'arte engraved

resistance is rhythmic sway;
a porous plague with sundry traits.
           '20:06:23:17:57

Note: of rusty resistance.

God Has To Take Me Down Hard

I am determined to take over
So I grab myself out of the clutches of higher self zone
I run with me, leaping over tall buildings 
Except I do not clear them
Instead smashing myself against them, 
Lying in pieces, moaning and groaning

I am determined to still have my way
So I grab myself up and run toward the traffic.
Determined to control which way I will go and how fast.
I end up slamming into a guard rail 
Because I am wearing binders
That shut out the truth

Finally I get put into a worn out 
Itchy no energy left state
Because it is the only way
God can get my attention
He has to take me down good
And hard and I do not go quietly

Why must I always go kicking and screaming
into the path that is the best of the best for me?
I never understand this.

Cascara Latte Find Your New Winter To Go

Mental or physical, 
I'm sick and leaving
The mental hospital today. 
My backbone a twisted rope of despair
I do and I don't want to choke
On misery, questions and shame.

Lasso the Abyss, bind
Me In this moment, Now

Driving towards a chance where
I empty my brain, dreams, vulnerabilities
To wisdom, beauty and poet,
Professional therapist,
Harbor Master of my storm.
Thank God there is no normal.
Released, I leave her office, find
A way back to the mental hospital.

Lasso the Abyss, bind
Me, In this moment, Now

I love the hospital's psychiatrist.
His office wall holds a whiteboard, written on it,
Only two words; Answer Board.
It's been blank since I arrived in October, 
my core beat-up, broken, until a May day discharge.
Leaving with binders of notes without answers.

Lasso the Abyss, bind
Me, In this moment, Now


________________________________
(Bop) form, not listed as a form

Mondays

Mondays were school days.
Mondays were rule days.
Mondays can be cruel days.

Sundays make me sing
but Mondays bring
open books,
a crooked look from the boss,
leaving crying children
with their first strangers.

The outlook for Monday
might be blue
or overly optimistic.

Moms love Mondays,
circling the day
with a fat red marker.

Moony-eyed Mondays,
for lovers
separated by the weekend.
Their love-mobile
yellow bus, reunites their lips.

Shy Mondays
hide behind rain clouds,
and binders and backpacks,
and inside lockers,
and behind thick glasses.

Fridays make you tingle.
Mondays are the starting line.
The race is on!
You step over the line
and yawn and sip
coffee with reluctance.

Your t-shirt speaks loudly,
“I don’t do Mondays!”
No one hears you.

7/30/2018
Tania Kitchin’s Contest

Transcience

lightning thunder peals
laughter flashing smiles vanish
in a blink of eye
illusions fleeting binders
what is what was, tragedy

Wisdom Collaboration With Jeannie Minor

I'm lost inside a feeling
I thought had disappeared
In a state with a see through ceiling
With walls of pain and fear

The blueprint seemed to be flawless
From materials unknown to man
For those of us seeking solace
From a life of selfish demands

There are no doors or windows
With only one way to escape
The design is totally enclosed
To leave you must change shape

All I see around me
is based on how I feel
which begs myself the question
"Is any of this real?"

All of life's reminders
only come from looking back
Memories are the binders
to this vicious painful track

The barriers around me
are all I choose to see 
To change my view prospectively
just might be the key

Perhaps upon a second look
there might be something more 
past the pain and fear I took
to fight this evil war

My apprehensive prison cell
will one day set me free
when I decide to see my hell
as possibility

With wisdom I could live my life
outside these walls of fear 
I'd say goodbye to days of strife 
and never shed a tear.

Who Is Your Neighbor

I’m feeling so squared right now in my cubicle
With my steamed four eyes oh so whimsical 

How I suddenly lose composure and get butterfingers
Every time she peers to request some staples or binders

And if she never greets me first thing in the morning
A dark cloud fills the rest of my day like I’m in mourning

I’ve got no intension - at all - for office romance
It’s a disaster leading to poor job performance

I’m ignoring the fact that she’s the boss’s daughter
I best stop daydreaming before I'm fed to his pet alligator


09-06-2015

Mystic Rose’s Who Is Your Neighbor Contest

How I Work

Ten monitors
Nine hours
Eight safety messages
Seven binders
Six coffees
Five computers
Four clipboards
Three maps
Two microphones
One stubby pencil

Story Leaves

Much like the autumn leaves
 falling from the trees
 Our stories, once shared, 
 become a release…

Slipping from the binders
 of our burdens and grief
 Collecting on 
 the hallowed ground
 of friendship’s ear,
 making them much lighter 
 when they re-appear

 For with the telling
 comes the dispelling
 of bottled sorrow
 The elixir holding
 a lighter scent
 when re-inhaled

 Our story leaves
 become the beginning
 of renewing;
 rejuvenating the soil
 of our souls
 allowing Spring 
 to once again
 awaken in our spirit

© Debra Squyres

Graduating

she now knows love
love, not a lifeless thing
that she used to talk about those days
while carrying a backpack
full of books and binders

a mustang she wanted to drive
symbol of success and speed
a perfect blend with boom
and the ooze of black-gold

but today for her
only one thing that matters
living with a man
sharing his failure
to graduate from a high school

that teaches not techniques
to survive that stoppage
of an upward movement
and a free flow of more
 
her achievement
she carries with care
as if holding the first university degree
that will open the greater door
to a doctorate
to walk around with a prefix
before her name

now she smiles, inside
every time she feels that kick
a little stretching
in that cozy cave
intricately decorated convocation hall
calling him, her baby
while feeling that wall, outside

her boy will soon graduate
to enjoy her love
her success, her own graduation
to that new title – Mum

• Short Binders Poems
• Famous Binders Poems
• Best Binders Poems
• Read Binders Poems
• Long Binders Poems
• Binders Quotes