The cage creaks upward.
The ancient Otis,
ascends slowly from a first floor past.
He dreams on...
Outside the remembered apartment
the fat round nipple of the doorbell
reminds him of her -
Rosy Holroyd,
who once, without being asked,
shoved one of her large **** into his mouth.
He punches the doorbell with a flat thumb,
imagines her undressing,
getting those ample bosoms warmed up.
No response from behind the door!
He feels disorientated and foolish
as the dream once again sinks his hopes.
The cage creaks
as it jolts downward through decades.
Alone in the elevator; gradually awakening,
his lips open and purse
like a lonely goldfish.
The way home2025-04-21
Good afternoon
I'm back to where my fortune began
the fortune I betrayed by moving away
not for any reason that I momentarily
thought I could find an easier life
a place of clean underwear and breakfast
A place where I could sleep to nine
that had a café on the first floor and peopled
by sure people, safe in their middleclass
restricted world where everyone followed
a rule written by convention
where animal life was a fluffy dog or
a sweet blue cat where street dogs were
humanly put down.
at the inn, I asked around where I could
rent an old house, preferable near a stream
a place that didn't demand vigilance
or conformity
Yes, they knew of a house that had stood
empty since the former dweller had
had gone to live in a big city, to my surprise
it was my old house that I converted many
years ago from a stable to a house
I had been warned the house was odd rooms
didn't match and had steps inside
In the living room I faint smell of a mule
quite rightly so, it had once been a stable
The cottage was cheap to rent
I didn't mind as it once had been the stable
I bought forty years ago
The white wall
To begin a new cycle is hard not much happens around here, the street is the same as yesterday Rui, the English, is still working the till at the local supermarket, smiles, speaks upper-class English, And carries a secret, I would like to know about
I think he is from a wealthy family, but a scandal broke out, he made the housemaid pregnant, and in his circle, it was seen as the apogee of horror, or he was involved in financial fraud and had to leave, hide, and change his name to Rui
At lunch, in the café on the first floor of our building, the old couple sat. The man, who is in love with my wife came over for a chat, and his wife smiled she knows her husband was useless, as for me. How can I be jealous of a man who is older than me?
Nothing else happened that day except for Trump, who wanted The Panama Canal and Greenland too, this pathetic, old President with his blond hair trying to look young, but he is not fooling us, this idiot trying to buy Gaza and move the population to Egypt
Then it was late afternoon and time for a nap
We meat eaters
In the café on the first floor of our building
The food served is cooked on the day
Sometimes they serve fish which I'm not a fan of but when I have picked out the ing bones
the fish tastes fine
They serve wonderful chicken that only a few days ago ran around not knowing they would
Be lunch, but that’s life, we humans eat human flesh too when given a chance, living deep in the jungle and fried female **** are seen as
A delicatessen only served to the chieftains who are the upper class in their world and no, if you
Ask, there is no beans on the toast
day twenty-six
Today is the day after people are tired
And the toilets on the first floor of the building
Were blocked and had taken a heavy load
The silence is eerily; a man on the fifth floor
lets out air from his
Interior followed by giggling
What do I know, can have been his wife eating
too many prunes and sweet wine
The bin-men are on strike (are there bin-women)
The garbage is piling up in the basement
The mice have a jolly time today, unafraid of obese cats
kept by elderly women.
Tomorrow will be a busy day hospital visits
One can say, back to normal
The mouse
My wife was opening the door to the verandah
when she spotted a mouse and fled to the kitchen
and shouted, “Kill it, kill it!”
I picked up the small animal hiding under a dry leaf
that had yet to be blown away, careful not to be bitten
soon the mouse relaxed in the palm of my hand.
I marvelled about this tiny thing; how did it get on
the seventh floor must have been climbing up at night
got lost or tired and rested on our terrace
There was no way I was going to kill it if there had
been hundreds of them on the terrace, I would have been
less friendly, seen them as vermin
Looked over the railing under me on another terrace, dropped
the mouse there, it landed softly alive and well, quickly shut
the door, now the mouse was no longer my problem.
At lunch, in the café on the first floor, there was talk
about someone finding a mouse, “infestation?” she said
No, darling, there is only one little mouse.
Rumination.
Too long an elongation
Oblivion
Too easy a high five to see in freedom, in scope of Pentagon
The eternal fire, chest of drawer and homeland security
Almost a climax toward Bermuda triangle
A selfless supplication in the third act
Without writing how will you find meaning too , through abstraction?
I am an assonance
To odd a pain
In revision of torn pages
To forecast pills of nine
Will there be any benign?
To tell a tale , to cast a forecast
Gaze, maze, in audacity of courage
I love you, your heart beats in mine
I rub you, I feel your overcoat, the woolen layers
And I tell you, softly
Upper supper, look me in to the eyes
Familiarize a face
You have to give a speech
For a lost butterfly
On the twenty first floor
Of the tower.
“Did you say tailgating?” The question came
I replied, to do rely, almost a reply’s try,
A point of no return, I love you in supreme time
But how will I describe my rumination?
In odds of your twenty years
And ninth of mine?
April 21, 2023
Perhaps I will die for a reason, not so strong
A translation of a poem of Humayun Azad
Perhaps I will die for a reason, not so strong
For a little dandelion
for a trickling dewdrop
Perhaps I will die on a windy summer day
For a swirling petal of a flower, blown away afar
For a drop of rain.
Perhaps I will die for a reason, not so strong
For a humming magpie robin
For a smiling face of a baby, smile lines.
Perhaps I will die for my serene oasis in someone's eyes
Tear drops within
For a drop of sunlight.
Perhaps I will die for a reason, not so strong
For a streak of moon light
For a piece of wandering cloud
Perhaps I will die on the Twenty first floor of the tower
For a lost butterfly
For a drop of green.
Perhaps I will for a reason, very ordinary
For a dream, a lonely dream
for a grief, very own
Perhaps I will die in someone's sleep
For a little spontaneous time, when we breathe
For a droplet of beauty.
Be a blessing to us and stop writing such trash
With hypocritical flair making our teeth gnash,
All your talk of being so close to the good Lord
Falls flat when you slice fellow poets with a sword
Why do you harass those who enter contests?
Seems there is jealousy in your lame protests,
You do not get comments, most of us you block
Trying to befriend you is like befriending a croc!
If you want a place at the top of a poetry soup list
Consider requirements you’ve obviously missed
Write some top-notch poems worthy of notice
Stop lambasting people, start with the POTUS!
Consider encouraging new poets on the soup
And like a zoo monkey, stop throwing your poop.
Enter those poetry contests you seem to abhor
But, of course, you must begin on the first floor,
And work your way up to some earned recognition
Apologize to folks you’ve hurt, start with contrition,
Try to practice the Golden Rule you often espouse
And stop behaving like an ungrateful, entitled louse!
Written October 20, 2022
[to a Poetry Soup “poetess” who
persists in harassing those who
have achieved top levels on
Poetry Soup lists.]
On the first floor of a hotel in Cape Cod
A larger than average lady got on the elevator
She pressed floor number two
Immediately I blurted out “Number two???”
“You could have walked”
Her immediate response was
“What??? And lose a pound!”
My new wife first cringed
then breathed a big sigh of relief
Sometimes I blurt out stuff without thinking
VERY DANGEROUS!!!
Remembered is the loss
I sit in the sumptuous living room with my wife
we have a bed the king would be proud of
a lunch café on the first floor and den for myself
my old age is blessed.
My thought goes to the village far and beyond
the road up there is now full of petals white and rosy
my cottage is where the road bends to the right
I see smoke from its chimney, a dog bark.
I was happy here animals and people knew me
alas, old age caught up with me, I had to leave
my almond tree and things that let my heart sing
Years of contentment more is asking too much.
Fly memories, fly to where the sun sets over
the blue mountain range and into the sea.
the last days of exams and school,
and beginning of hot summer,
licking fresh ice lollies to cool,
eat mangoes without number!
no more reading no more homework,
all of the day is mine to spend,
under shady banian we perch,
till the heat fades and the day ends.
at night we sleep in the open,
on the first floor verandah bed,
and search amongst stars good omen,
and have gran all our fortunes read!
three hot months of fun, play and joy,
in peak heat of May, June, July,
those idyll days spent as a boy,
are here to haunt and make me cry!
Written 10/09/2021
John Lawless sponsored
Rhyme checked in RZ
8 syllables each line
with abab rhyme sequence
Wherever you may be
Let the wind go free
For the keeping of it in
Was the death of me!
A stink bomb deadly slow
Released on the twenty-first floor
Shifty eyes looking about
Open door to let it out!
3.8.2021
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Contest Name: When I Let one Loose in the Elevator.
The Catering life
It is sunny and warm on the terrace.
I sit with my face facing the sun. It is supposed to be healthy
vitamin D, and so on.
I`m not so sure, I have had skin cancer twice.
Once, I was a chef at a restaurant, and it was in the days when food was a simple affair,
a set menu and so on.
The restaurant on the first floor of the building (Pandemic closed)
they sell solid Portuguese food, not expensive, and suitable for the Fado
I like this place as it has big tables.
We don’t make food anymore. We ring and get it delivered
from a small café run by a Palestine couple, they also serve vegetarian food.
I tried it once but preferred meat with vegetables.
I sit indoors and think that all cooks are ghostly pale because
they are indoors and slave over steaming pots and pans.
I ended my career as a cook. It was boring and hot and badly paid.
The execution
The basement, where cars are parked
in neat little boxes in a row, is cold and creepy.
It looks like a place where the fascists can
execute dissenters those who go on about
liberty for the masses.
There are bloodstains on the wall and cars
are silent witnesses to the massacre.
From the roof of the garage, blood drips of
the tortured on the first floor.
A black and white western on another wall
drown the screams of those who finally realize
there is no escape.
I sit in my car; it is ten years old and is not
forgotten in this horrid time. I sleep a little.
Wake up, start, the vehicle and take it out for a spin.
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