Long Air conditioner Poems
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Ah, the glorious damned winter
and the inviting
gray chill in the air.
I meander
ever
so
slowly
past lawns
strewn
with a cluttered array
of pagan snow zombies -
staring blankly,
as I obliterate pint-sized
snow angels
failing to don halos
that could have easily been
brush stroked with
da Vinci's golden teardrops.
(Impoverished attention-getters)
"I suggest you peruse Alighieri’s 'Inferno' –
it may, at least, promote heat - if not hope!"
(Simpletons)
Frost continues to cloud my spectacles -
thick and relentless
eagerly permeating the glass -
endeavoring to dance
a feverish Fantasia foxtrot
upon the skins of my pupils.
My heavy feet scuffle
past these endearing peasants.
Bleak…frozen…
forgotten Mt. Everest tombstones.
Disgraced outcasts of embarrassment -
smashed against a stark white canvas
hands cut off –
sticking out their parched tongues
begging for alms.
Click and count.
Their fragile bodies so much alive
their dark, hallowed eyes
so
much
dead.
(So be it)
They stealthily huddle alone -
(Hah! I’ve created my own personal oxymoron!)
These gruesome street urchin waifs -
Dumber than a sackful of hammers and
frostier than a Maine Christmas morn,
convulsing and shivering ‘neath lampposts
without snow shoes or socks,
bawling and boo-hooing...
“Clutching weather-worn copies
of James Hilton’s 'Lost Horizon'
and littering the virgin snow
with salty saline discharge –
igniting street corner bonfires
without the faintest hint of smoke."
(Wasteful)
Ah, the glorious damned winter
and that magnificent gray chill in the air.
My arctic thighs carry me home now
where I am safe.
Where I can slam my door
and shut my eyes.
My cavernous domicile
whereas I can privately converse
with Mr. Dickens and Mr. O’Neill
and read “A Christmas Carol”
or “The Iceman Cometh” -
without a snaggle-toothed interruption...
Listen to the haunting strains of L’Inverno
from Vivaldi’s “Le Quattro Staggioni”
and cackle wildly as I burn first editions
of Clement Clark Moore’s
most infamous penning -
pour myself a
tall glass of ice cubes -
devour a heaping bowl
of vichyssoise -
scarf down a fudgcicle
and just...
turn the air conditioner
ON.
Ever free to traverse my world
Yet shackled to an eleven year old promise
I donned a platinum cloak atop a living mountain
Physically high, emotionally low
I held two pairs of hands
While my heart beat out a painful rhythm
A handshake that formed my first friendship
And a typed message that united two lovers
The grayest skies I've ever seen
Sheltered my screens from the sun's glare
Thousands of miles away
Cherry and Lime linked across the expanse
A month of birth and traditions
Lay in shattered pieces under my triumphant body
Barely lucid and smelling like a bar
I held the sun in one hand and victory in another
The strongest scores I'd seen in decades
Danced on a melting page in the summer heat
An old acquaintance left as a master
And in came trouble and a new air conditioner
Ungodly hot and disconnected from the Expanse
I sat in three prisons with only them to guide me
Ever hungry, ever bored, ever exhausted
I ripped victory from the warden's clammy hands
Finally free to bask in the summer sun
I immediately hid in a dark, familiar cave
The winds of love began to whisper in the rustling leaves
As I smiled at the screen I knew as them
I returned to a place I romanticized as Nirvana
Six years later and a completely different man
That world was smaller than I ever imagined
Yet meant more to me then than it ever had before
Pulling the first of my overtime hours
I stopped caring about the work that must be done
My stomach growled and my shorts fell off
Sleep-deprived and starving for whatever scraps there were
Immobile once more, the world began forming around me
Future roads, unbreakable connections, pitch-black voids
The world and all of its frightening futures slipped away from me
And with it, the rest of the year
A dusk enshrouded airport brought them to me
The lover who saved me from past year's poems
As their world and body enveloped me
My aches, woes, scars and tumors melted in their embrace
With a new fire lit inside me
Stoked by anxiety, despair and hope
I don a new cloak of coffee-brown and boom-pole black
And shout into the Expanse once again to open my world
I was drivin’ down an old, worn black-top highway, on my way to a funeral. It was mid-Missouri, and late summer made it hotter’n the dickens outside. I was thinkin’ there was only a couple of hours left of daylight as I reached over and switched the car’s air conditioner fan up another notch.
Thoughts of my late friend kept popin’ in and out of my mind. We’d grown up together right here in this very neighborhood. Fishin’ trips, carryin’ ol’ cane poles as our bare feet kicked up the powdery Missouri dust around us … goin’ ta’ school with ol’ cigarette butts in our jean pockets that’d we’d smoke after school … repeatin’ stories to each other ‘bout Edna May or Jean Ann we’d heard … gulpin’ down an ice-cold crème soda outside Gavin’s Grocery on Saturday afernoons … racin’ our bikes that had no fenders …
A little bit of air-borne dust, off to the right, caught my eye. I momentarily diverted my gaze to take a glance in the direction of that airborne dust but continued driving as the roadway stretched out in front of me. It took a couple of attempts, but eventually, I recognized the source of that dust.
It was just a young boy runnin’ through a wheat field … Missouri dust just a-flyin’ around him as he made his way through the golden grain. I couldn’t hear him, but I could see his face, grinnin’ from ear to ear, his hand held high with his ball cap wavin’ in the breeze as he chased whatever was in his make-believe vision.
I watched him as long as I dared, tryin’ to concentrate on keepin’ the car in my lane. I eventually made on down the road, but not without checkin’ my rear-view mirror several times … until that air-borne dust was no longer in sight.
Up ahead, I saw a gas station and thought I’d better get a refill.
After I stopped and shut off the engine, I discovered I had tears running down my cheeks. Seein’ that boy runnin’ through that field was perhaps either me as the boy I used to be … or maybe my late friend. Or maybe just a momentary portal to embrace the wonderment of cherished memories. Took me quite a while ‘fore I got my car filled up, but the events of that day won’t ever leave me, I think.
I Hate Home Depot!
I hate Home Depot!
Just the sight of that
orange and white sign
makes my stomach turn.
However I know every
square inch of that store,
I’ve spent
thousands of hours there
as a paying customer.
I know what all is in the
garden section for all of the seasons.
I know where to go to find the
nuts, screws, nails and bolts. I can guide you
through the wallpaper and
the paint section.
I’ve bought sheets of plywood, lots of pcv pipe,
dozens of American Standard toilets,
ceiling fans, light fixtures, HVAC systems,
generators, even a riding lawn mower.
I’ve bought paint and waited to have it
mixed properly. I’ve rented
and driven dozens of their trucks before.
I’ve bought power drills, leaf blowers
screwdrivers, hammers, cabinets,
patio furniture, a refrigerator, an oven,
and an air conditioner.
I’ve even rented a carpet cleaner too!
But I could care less, if I ever step foot
in a Home Depot ever again. All of my hours
clocked in that store went to the benefit
of my ex.
He was the one that financially,
emotionally and personally
gained from my presence in
Home Depot.
So what was the point of me acquiring
all of that knowledge that didn’t benefit
me at all then and probably won’t benefit
me ever again?
It seems like such as waste of my time
and energy now.
Believe me when I say
I would rather watch paint dry than
go to Home Depot, I mean ever word
of that statement!
One summer I practically read all of
War and Peace in the orange and
white store from Hell!
But I can show you how to repair a large hole
in a piece of sheetrock. I know how to
paint the inside and the outside of a house.
I know how to install travertine in a house,
slanted and straight.
I have installed granite countertops,
hardware for a sink and the basin too.
Many other home improvement projects
I learned there.
What a fool I was!
Oh well, that’s life.
Who knows maybe
someday I’ll use some
of that knowledge that I
hated every minute learning!
Some pretty brown birds nesting on a tree
Prank frequently at my other room balcony
Apparently, they were once the main culprits
Of messing it up, bringing a variety of leaves and twigs
They also build thin nests behind my air conditioner
When an egg drops, they may reckon I’m aborting their daughter
One day, I wondered what had sprouted on the floor
At a grimy nook, not quite far from my door
When I looked closely, I was so skeptical
It was a great masterpiece of these clever winged pals
I was so certain that it was not a moss or a grass
But a vine bearing flowers with pretty purple petals
After a week, it revealed exuberantly itself
A lush vine of string beans, I didn’t sow by myself
Was it dropped by those birds or sowed by an invisible elf?
Oh, if it has grown taller than my room, I must have cried for help!
As it crawled and climbed up to the balcony wall
In fascination, I deigned not to ask questions anymore
It climbed up freely to a wall’s faucet as its sturdy trellis
And feasts proudly, spreading its huge and verdant leaves
In tandem was the bearing of its long string bean fruits
Heavily laden, their numbers had no hints – that was a bird’s hoot
I harvested thrice while my smiles were all in glints
And had a delicious vegie salad twice from my lovely magic bean
My last harvest was meant for the next crops
I took all beans from the fruits just for drying up
The brilliant brown birds will no longer need to drop
New seedlings from their magic beans are now growing in pots
I thanked those kind creatures for the magic beans they’ve given
Growing them in my concrete room balcony was like a dream
It wasn’t a fairytale at all, I’ve already given myself a pinch
And my balcony even magically turned into a mini vegie garden
Jan. 31,2015 11.15pm
By: LG
-This is a true story: an experience last July, 2014
First Place
Contest: Magic Beans
Judged: 2/14/2015
Sponsor: My all time favourite and loving poet sis, PD
Grandma's Apron
In the corner I see a folded apron, brown with years of stain.
As I draw it to my searching eyes, I see the sweat and feel the pain.
All the years of toiling is over, the apron will never wrap around.
The time is past for the pressure, no more soil will there be ground.
The sweat is from the hot summers, when there was only blistering air,
The room was filled with heat, so hot it climbed the stair.
I watched her cooking from on high, quietly perched on the top step,
For I didn't dare to bother her, or Grandpa would beat me with a strap.
Grandpa was not a very nice person, he was always growling and yelling,
And on a few rare occasions, he would beat her, but I'm not telling.
He said it would be very bad for me, if I told my mother the real story.
Why grandma's arm was broken, grandma told me not to worry.
She would just turn her eyes toward heaven, and mutter a silent prayer for him.
Why she didn't pray for herself, that subject seemed so dim.
But now she isn't around anymore, to toil all day in the kitchen.
With all the pots and pans silent, her thread and needle for quick stitching.
What she said the day before she left; I will think of now and ever.
She said that she loved him still, and she would love him forever.
Now I have my own kitchen, where I go to cook a meal.
I go to that place quite often, where remembrance I do steal.
As I take a pot off the hook, I turn the air conditioner off.
I like to feel the heat on my face, so hot it makes me cough.
I try to see my grandma's face, always smiling and full of cheer.
Though her row was full of weeds, I never saw her shed one tear.
God has her now, in His kitchen, I'll bet that He appreciates her cooking.
As fine as any as He has ever had, I can tell you that without looking.
by Allen R Cleveland
06/22/98
Form:
Tropical storms are here, and the hurricane season has just begun Mother nature is talking, and is sure to be heard before she's done
In the coastal south, it's very stormy and mighty wet In Sacramento, it's steamy sweaty and not even July yet
It's roasty toasty and fiery hot throughout the west Perhaps this summer the old records will be put to rest
Neither my tomatoes nor my peaches have turned red I know they are fighting hard to keep from going dead
The streets are quiet and the pavement is frying The insects are hidden, and perhaps they are crying
I'm grateful my air conditioner is complaining none Our best friend these days is the faithful SETTING sun
06212017PSContest, Summer Soltice, Brain Strand
I wish I was an Oscar Meyer weiner....cause then I'd be in somebody's buns.
"I shall return!" I said to my last wife, last time I saw her in 1989. McArthur I isn't!
Why are women so much smarter than men? Probably cause they have brains.
I never realized just how stupid I was until I went to the eye doctor's. See "A bad
day at the eye doctor's" poem.
My eye doctor seemed to catch on real quick as to how stupid I was.
I hate to say it, but I think Rodney Dangerfield would make a better president.
Excuse me, but what year is this?
Did you ever wake up and realize the best part of your day was over?
I have a picture of me, when younger, flying in the air,in my karate days, kicking
butt. Now I need help just to pick up the picture.
How did I earn the nickname "Skuzz-Bucket"- I don't even own a bucket!
I guess the best thing about getting old is you got less time to suffer.
Wives- I need a chain letter. Alimony? Can't squeeze an orange that's already
orange juice. Excuse while I take the pits out of my hair.
And to my fans, I say thanks- wish I could afford an air conditioner though.
My "friends" gave me a room aerosol air freshener. Seems the main ingredient
was Zyklon-B.
With friends like that, who needs enemies?
Have a" happy"! What a crock!
My doctor said he'd pay me not to come anymore.
He wanted me to join the "Euthanasia Club"
I didn't pass the test, however- they said I was brain dead too long.
Even the Girl Scouts mock me- they ask me for cookies!
I once had a girlfriend named "Cookie" She was cute, but her butt was chaffed
from bed-hopping.
Ever try to nail a girl while she's hopping on the bed?
Well goodbye my friends- see ya'll real soon...(Genuine White Trailer Trash
Lingo)!!
“UNIT 47”
today I woke up in Riverside
and took a drive to San
Diego. there I met a man
named Joe. he’d taken me out
to eat ribs. I finished what
I could of the food but the
rest I took home. we soon
found ourselves on the pier
of the Imperial Beach.
we talked about the pigeons,
the seagulls and the water
itself. from our benches, we
could see Mexico and it’s
border. as we drank our
beers, I asked him about his
days in the Navy. he told me
after boot camp, he went to
submarine school. after he
finished, it was time to put
his training to use in the
water. he’d drop into the sea
by day and surface at night.
he spied on the Russians he
said, and went from port to
port traveling the world. the
year was 1952 and he was
eighteen. his service was
over in 1956. on one of his
port visits, he and three
naval buddies hit a tattoo
shop. they all got Thumper
from Bambi. the price was
only $2. I asked him if he’d
ever trade those days for
anything in the world and he
said no, it was the most fun
he had ever had.
on the way back, Joe
remembered he had left his
air conditioner on. He
laughed with a careless fear.
“My house is gonna be frozen
when I get back!” we arrived
and in we went. the house
wasn’t frozen but the spy was
happy to be home. I stood
proud of my day, spending
time with a war veteran who
had gotten a $2 Thumper
tattoo when he was a kid.
before I walked away, I
shook his hand, thanked him
and gave him a hug goodbye. I
was happy the man from the
Cold War wasn’t frozen.
the unit Joe lives in is
specifically marked and it’s
number is 47.
By: Chicano Eddie
8-31-2016
Pasteur Quadrant
_______________________
Two Akhal Tekes in front of
a space age inspired Carriage
" The Trophy and the Crown"
They might hack the software in my new
"Standard" carriage by Lavish Honey
The new brand Horse Carriage
which is incredibly modern.
It's insulated light a sturdy for
it's size
and has software that controls
the instruments on board
it has a battery that is rejuvenated
by the alternator type devices on each wheel.
it has a portable toilet and wash station.
An onboard radio and phone.
A two way radio and a Air-conditioner
and heater.
And Televisions and cameras with monitoring systems
aboard the space age vessel.
The windows tint in sunlight
and frost over in the dark.
It has headlights
but it's recommended for daytime use.
Lights inside makes it a place
where camping out is possible
due to the exterior stove and sink.
A microwave and small refrigerator
inside makes snacking possible.
both solar powered by the the attachment on
the roof.
It's incredibly modern and
it is "Easy on the Horses as it is lightweight
and sturdy from the usage of aluminum.
Far Superior than other made before it.
The brand is recognized as Best over all.
Yet it is increasingly vulnerable to remote
exploits and medling: by those who wish
to hack the systems.
An anti-hacking device needs
to be invented to monitors all hacking attempts.
To improve the safety to both man and beast.
The Chassis is named Black Rhino!
the horsemen has a partially covered booth
a waiting area to sit when he is idle.
It comes standard with only radio, cameras, heating and cooling systems.
And the Lavish model which doesn't stop at equipment.