The piano tuner
there used to be a greengrocer on the ground floor
except for potatoes, there was not much call for
another vegetable, the shop closed a piano tuner rented
the space and partly white-washed the windows
he didn't like to be seen by passers-by
I sat on the gate into our yard pretending to be a cowboy
when he asked me to help him in the shop, yes, I was glad
to help got boring being a cowboy
He sat me on a piano stool, opened up my fly, began
playing with my innocent , with his right hand he
wanked himself, I was too petrified in fear I didn't
run away; when he ejaculated, he dried himself with a hanky
in his pocket and, in a brusque manner, told me to leave
Outside, it took me a while to realize this man was a pig
but I was too ashamed to tell anyone and instead went
up to our flat opened a book by Robert Louis Stevenson
and began reading about islands and bright light
2025.03.06 @ 06:06:06
Finally, two embroidery projects that I have finished.
One to keep and one to give.
A cute building appeared underneath this poem.
Inside, along the L shaped benches,
He sat at the desk, surfed on the internet,
And comfortably crossed his long, lower legs.
His second home was embroidered
On a simple white material,
The red galvanized walls on top,
Housing the Child Care Centre.
The glass windows framed with silver metal,
Located on the ground floor,
In front and on the side of the building,
The wear and tear black wooden columns,
Side by side unevenly standing in silence,
Covering most of the building glass surfaces.
On the right hand side,
A long and wide concrete foot path,
Leading to the front entrance,
Before joining the back garden.
Once inside, there are many facilities,
And well equipped amenities.
So many fond memories, engraved in my heart,
Written on my phone and also stored in my USB.
I now put these down to embroidery
To commemorate once my favorite library,
It ended since the day it went like this .........
The person I used to be hides in the shadow,
awaiting an unexpected moment to expose
secrets best left forgotten.
Perhaps a shot or two of Macnaughton™
will quiet the desire of the demon
that screams in the zemin~*
Or at least let me sleep without nightmare,
without that old bugbear;**
sleep like a child beneath an old willow.
*Noun: ground, floor, basis, background
**Noun: an imaginary monster used to frighten children
Old cotton knee-Lenths
smell; an old book of poetry smell,
Unseen socks
between the matrass and the ground floor
of nowhere,
where discarded apparel through the ages,
molders unread.
Daily we wash the stains off
our words,
once in a while
we recover them from
a closeted library of mismatched leftovers,
mental Himelick Maneuvers,
unclog threads of meaning.
Recuse the becalmed.
where they wallow untouched
by time
and just as funky as summer armpits,
yet
all that bookish residue
is retrievable,
It can be made to walk upright,
as if it still had legs.
I used to chase God like lost souls looking
for him on dim roads
What I found was him clothed, staring through
eyes of lost souls
It comes like a thief on dark nights while you
sleep with closed eyes
Some are awake with blind eyes & all they can
see is their lies
This world is in knots of loose ties that only
appear as strongholds
It's no wonder its chilly in hot times as your
heart has gone cold
Some are stuck in a game of switched roles &
therefore, confused by life's rules
Illusions tell you it's out of your hands & there's
no choice, but your world goes as you choose
Recognize who you are in this scheming world of
grand things
If you believe you're on the ground floor, then
you are so you attract low things
Burn through illusions like loose leaf as they
plant seeds for more trees
The All is absolute truth we call God in this world
& are lives are its dreams
Come and join us in our bonding moment
Building-up dream houses midst amusement
Through "legos" … bright plastic construction toys
Showing creative skills while we rejoice.
Together, let’s build our family house
Where we stay with love, along pets; not mouse
We first have firm foundation --- strong and great
On wide ground floor that can carry our weight.
There’s our kitchen where food is cooked so well
And dining room to feast, while stories tell
Living room is comfortable indeed
And bed rooms give us our privacy need.
Oh, we thank the Lord for houses* to stay
Blest homes we dwell in safely night and day
Let’s make them beautiful with all our best
Building them up through kindness and care’s zest.
*Psalms 127:1 Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it...
November 14, 2023
1st place, "Legos Nursery Rhymes" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper; judged on 11/29/2023
Autumn brings
A beautiful sight for the eyes to see
Colorful leaves hanging from branches of the trees
Graciously trickling down to the ground floor until there are no more
Cooler weather and shorter days
Autumn brings
Perfect time for hot cocoa with marshmallows
A warm treat so delicious and sweet
Children dress in costumes; Trick or treat collect more candy than they can eat
Halloween is one of the holidays
Autumn brings
A time to visit haunted houses and watch scary movies until you fall asleep
Crops are ready to be harvested
Reap the fruits of your labor
Prepare your table, sit, and now feast on what
Autumn brings
Beauty of mind can keep you blithe
As flowers never the fragrance aside,
You matched her eyes with the pearl
And would say Oh my sweet girl,
You named her lips 'Sweet Rose'
Without being observed so close,
Her cheeks you'd say green apple
I'm sure wouldn't you know for sale,
After years now she's turned old
Even you're not as before so bold,
Her eyes never speak of pleasure
None will come to take her share,
The lips you praised as divine store
Now it is less than a ground floor,
The cheeks of her you glorified
How sad finding it a bark fried!
SOMETHING STRANGE
Ground floor of the
Engineering Building,
the elevator shaft wrapped
in a staircase, the entrance to
each on opposite sides
She was pretty, I thought, in a
blue hair, torn jeans counter-culture
sort of way, California sandals and a
colorful tee shirt, its clever slogans
over bouncing topography, her
black-rimmed glasses and overloaded
backpack signaling the intent to do
some serious work
She ignored the stairway, came striding
around to the elevator door, took one
look at me and without missing a beat,
completed the circuit and fairly fled
to the stairway like a curious squirrel
that discovered something strange
and then discerned the implications
My loss, I guess
I thought she was pretty!
Reputed to be haunted she took their silly dare
She didn't believe the stories of a ghost that wandered there
The house had been a rental but no one stayed for long
And neighbour's started whispering that something there was wrong
Six years it's now stood vacant and the grounds are overgrown
And sometimes at the witching hour you'll hear a ghostly moan
With flashlight and a cell phone, she entered the old house
Then shrieked as it ran past her; a tiny little mouse
Her phone was set on filming as she checked the ground floor first
A cobweb gently brushed her cheek, she jumped and softly cursed
She started up a flight of stairs to film the second floor
But quickly bolted straight back down at the loud bang of a door
Although she didn't see a ghost the mouse and the door were enough
And so her short adventure there went on to fuel more stuff
They have known each other for so long,
None liked them, breaking them up.
Souls tried, taking her heart like King Kong.
But the man kept her as a dear teacup.
They were like friends, not loved ones.
Yet they were closer than any others.
Selves trying to break them down again runs.
Finally, they are just great couples.
Time goes by fast, people get bored.
The love fruit is not good anymore
The couple, either one will be ignored.
Returning emotions to the ground floor.
Not all love fruits are like that,
Duos make them sweet, no more combat.
When they carry me out of here, they’ll first have to take me from my bedroom to my sitting room, squeezing through the narrow hallway connecting the two, in order to then re-open the in-ward swinging door through which they entered my apartment. They’ll then have access to the stairway descending to the ground floor exit and be able to angle me down and bear me to the outside world, never to return again. But in the brief time they’ll have stood in my sitting room, they will likely have judged it to be a place “of cleanliness and good order,” with everything in its place, reminiscent of a furniture store show room. I hope they’ll also have taken notice of the photo of my smiling children on the end table by my chair. Given the sterility of all the rest, it is the only tangible evidence that a life ever actually occupied that room other than to keep it tidy. Whoever packs up that photo when they clear out my things had better treat it with reverence and respect; I know they loved me.
Who am I? Another planet,
another dimension? Does
my strange appearance give
you apprehension? “My
Father has many mansions”
“I have other sheep, which
are not of this fold” – truth
be told; science is the child
of the lesser ego; often astray
in the atoms of division –
let not
arid intellect be your vision –
outside of hell
man will always be
alive and well....
(Kilyopoops coin – inter-Stella
Currency; now is the time
to get in at a ground-floor price,
before it goes higher than sky-high –
full dis-closer,
I am founder and CEO....)
Fall,
I fail,
You teach me
To rise again
And to improve more.
You let me feel the pain
Of hitting the hard ground floor
Of setback and disappointment
In order for me not to be scared
Nor be afraid of badly falling down.
Standing atop the tower of my solitude,
I look down,
seeing the events of my life unfold,
manifested as many people milling on the street.
I stay in this tower to gain a new perspective,
yet,
of late,
I feel that my perspective could be lost,
drowned in the metaphysics of looking down from lofty spiritual heights,
to see what I may do to end these dark and forboding nights.
These nights are filled to the brim with forlorn thoughts,
running through the ifs and whats of the every day,
yet I know that at this time,
I must preside in my tower for protection,
descending to the ground floor from time to time,
to remain grounded in what I explore.
When I am at the ground floor of my towering sanctuary,
I can look up to see the shape of what I have constructed for myself,
my refuge,
my towering sanctum from all trials and tribulations,
and I can look at street level at all the milling people that represent my thoughts,
getting a clearer perspective of what it is I think from day to day.
Copyright © 2021 Robert Matejko
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