An empty chair kept moving closer
each time I moved it somewhere I couldn't see.
I dragged the chair into the corner,
but found it beside me the next morning.
I blamed the wind, the floor, the house,
anything I could blame instead.
Some things follow you without moving;
some things wait without being asked.
One night, I turned the chair around
and found old marks carved into the wood.
I didn't remember putting them there,
but I knew I'd seen them before.
So I carried the chair outside
and set it down where the grass was tall.
For once, it stayed where I left it.
That night… I didn't bring it back.
I thought the chair was following me.
It wasn't. I was the one bringing it with me.
Manmade aids making life lazier,
Guys (girls too) no wiser get than were.
Intellect getting brown,
Memory going down,
Gadgets on given job,
Their master lazy blob
Humankind-- a door-knob sunk in chair
Lead life of utter ease
What with the toys that please,
Muscles worn, brain cells gray getting rare.
_________________________
Happenings | 09.07.2017 | intellect, irony, life, men, Limerick
Research shows that human intelligence is falling since 19th century whilst Artificial Intelligence (AI) is threatening to surpass human’s. Man for long believed that he was smarter than his ancestors. Yet, it seems it is no longer true. But for various artificial aids of modern gadgets, mental abilities have undergone significant decline since the Victorian era. It seems genes no longer drive intelligence, this ditty set in anapaest meter laments.
Van Gogh’s chair sits patiently
with the stubborn dignity
of something that has held
more weight than wood should bear.
Its legs splay slightly,
as if tired from listening
to the long monologues
of a man who painted
as though the world
were always on fire.
A pipe rests on the seat~
a small, domestic witness
to his restless hours,
the way he paced the room
searching for a color
that could tell the truth.
The straw seat glows
with a worn, sunlit patience,
a quiet counterpoint
to the fevered strokes
he left on every wall.
And the room around it
leans in,
holding its breath,
as if the chair
might speak at last
and tell us
what he carried
when he sat down
and let the world
fall away.
The day you left, time stopped.
My laughter quietly buried beside yours.
Home became walls without heartbeat.
Every sunrise forgot its golden warmth.
I still keep your empty chair.
Dust cannot erase your presence.
Your old shirt still smells familiar.
I hug memories instead of you.
Father, who hears my silence now?
Who blesses my trembling dreams today?
Who hides my tears from storms?
Who calls me their little girl?
I smile before everyone daily.
But nights know my broken soul.
My pillow drinks endless silent tears.
Darkness becomes my closest companion.
Every festival lights another absence.
Every prayer whispers only your name.
Every victory feels painfully incomplete.
Every failure longs for your embrace.
People say time heals everything.
Time never healed your empty place.
It only taught silent endurance.
Pain learned living inside me.
Sometimes I hear your gentle voice.
Sometimes I chase impossible echoes.
Sometimes I wake calling "Appa."
Morning answers only with silence.
If Heaven has listening windows,
Hear your daughter crying tonight.
Hold my shattered heart forever.
Until we meet beyond this life.
Three back scratchers
Box of tissues, off brand
Birthday card
Six pencils
Four erasers
A couple of paint brushes
Hair dye
Pink pony tail holder
Ruler
Magazines
Marbles
Empty pill bottle
Towel
Toothpaste
Marvel comic book
Scotch tape
Three-year-old ding dong
Inhaler
Thank you note
Pencil sharpener
Two notebooks – one red, one blue
Gel pens
Blue paint tape
This is a tiny peek at what I keep in my basket next to my chair
Because you never know when you will need something ……
After finding an old rocking horse in our attic…I was so excited
then I became aware…
on the other side of the attic
sat a dusty little rocking chair.
When I showed the chair to Deborah…
She was a little bit surprised…
“That’s my old rocking chair!” She said
as tears welled in her eyes.
She said, “Be extra careful while you move it.”
“I sat in that rocking chair when I was small
and I have the photo to prove it.”
With her chair in hand she ran off
and behold…
returned with a photo of her in that chair
when she was 3 or 4 years old.
In the photo she is sitting next to her sister, Pris
and it was easy for me to see…
how one little old rocking chair
brought back two cherished memories.
A memory of a young girl…and her childhood rocking chair…
And the memory of her sister…who is no longer sitting there…
I imagine the makers of this rocking chair
could not have guessed…would have never suspected
all the joy this chair would give…all the memories it collected.
I imagine they’d be overjoyed…If they were here to share
the look on Deborah’s face…
when she was reunited with her chair.
The newborn cries, the old man sighs,
The same faint light is in their eyes.
The journey ends where it began,
The tiny babe, the fading man.
The baby starts in nappies, new,
A fragile life with much to do.
The elder closes out the years,
In nappies as the ending nears.
The toddler takes a shaky stride,
With parents watching right beside.
The elder struggles just to stand,
And reaches for a helping hand.
The infant babbles, learning speech,
To grasp the words just out of reach.
The senior tries to mouth a word,
But leaves the sentence lost, unheard.
The helpless baby needs our grace,
To lift them in a warm embrace.
The helpless elder needs that care,
When heavy years are hard to bear.
The cradle meets the rocking chair.
If your grass is overgrown
You might need to step off your throne
And do the work that needs to be done
Because your lawn is more important than your fun
Don't get me wrong
I hate when the grass is long
But sometimes it's hard to get out there
Sometimes it's easier just to sit in my chair
Cutting that grass is really important
I just can't bring myself to make a dent
I love that grass
But I think I'll pass
"They got electric chairs there - just your size" ~ Mick, in The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
Just Your Size
A child awakes with eager eyes,
hoping for a Christmas surprise.
The sun rises on God's glory,
a body in an abandoned quarry,
and an electric chair...just your size.
When Chairs Went Electric
Back in nineteen sixty-five
When I sat down, I stayed alive -
I wouldn't be sent to Hell.
Oh, how I remember well -
furniture was not eclectic
when chairs went electric.
They changed their flags before sunrise,
and called it weather.
By noon the microphones were blooming
like plastic flowers in dust.
Reporters asked straight questions;
answers arrived sideways,
oiled and smiling,
wrapped in patriotic ribbon.
A man declared himself the nation,
the worker, the owner,
the speech, the applause,
the hand that signs its own praise.
He wore green glasses in famine
and praised the harvest.
He wore dark glasses in fire
and admired the shade.
Truth stood outside barefoot,
waiting to be invited in.
No one heard her knock
above the cutlery of ambition.
Wherever the platter was fullest,
there rolled the faithful.
Principles were folded neatly
and kept for ceremonial days.
Someone asked why the hen
still sat upon the egg.
The minister promised progress,
a cushioned chair by evening.
We laughed, because laughter
is cheaper than revolt.
We laughed, because the room
was wired to record our silence.
And still, every season,
the chair arrives before justice.
Church so quiet,
only HIS children prayers are heard sitting quietly waiting to be healed.
All lined up against the wall, praying quietly to their Father silent pains of sins waiting to be heard.
His door is closed, as I edge closer to my turn, I can feel 40 days of unshed tears deep down inside, “My Jesus I trust you” is all I can say.
The door of the confessional healing is finally open, yet my feet are not able to move..so dark , so quiet, screen of dignity separates me from My Jesus.
“Father forgive me as I am broken, my body is willing yet my soul is weak” my words I cannot speak, my waterfall of pain, envy, anger, as a daughter of God, my breath I cannot catch, my body trembles as I unleash my mask, falling crumbled in front of my Father’s knees.
My time is up, my tired body I slowly rise, “after 55 years, I finally sat in “in my Fathers Chair”.
Grammy’s dining room, a charming little casino,
the overhead light turning ordinary air to gambling gold.
Cards fanned out across the oilcloth,
their soft edges warmed by her steady hands.
Dried beans clattered in chipped bowls,
riches measured in the music of pretend.
Grammy’s laughter rose first,
Aunt Maudie’s chasing after,
two sparks lighting the whole room~
and I sat between them,
certain magic had pulled up a chair.
the accompanying memoir vignette can be read at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/casino_night_13716
Memories
arise as This
not from before~
Memories and
imagination are
synonymous and
immediate~
A totality
without precedence
in an appearing
red chair~~
There was once was a lady called Ullah
took a trip across to Dimbullah
Why she went there
here's the story she'd share
Hey I'm not gonna fool ya
took part in a dance called a hula
And Peder would follow
he'd tweak his big toe
He didn't take part in this wonderful dance
hung on to his chair by the seat of his pants
Wherever was Ullah, Pedder would go
his admiration is always on show
This beautiful couple the friendship we cherish
Makes no difference if they're speaking their danish
We value their knowledge from the plants that they grow
observation of nature from the seeds that they sow
This information we make sure it wont vanish
Here's a secret I now will reveal they make no claim to be spanish
When Peders at craft he always just sits
clickety clack from needles, it's a hat that he knits
Dying fine wool Peder remains silent, uses the wool a holey sock he must darn
And Ullah ? Total contrast!! She's really quite noisy when spinning some form of a yarn
They often have fabrics, by hand they have dyed with colour galore
from all of the markets they've finally retired they'll sadly be seen there no more
The way I need you
is a loneliness I cannot bear.
~ Carson McCullers
Her chair sits quietly in the corner
of the empty house
and remembers the overtures of Kraus
filling the air with sound and sometimes
a crescendo of fury,
and in those moments the room was starry,
as if creation delighted in the music
before his frailty grew thick,
causing sound to succumb to silence,
and silence has become the loudest memory
in her life’s solitary reverie.
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