Long Air conditioner Poems
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My husband John and I
We're sitting down for tea,
Suddenly I spied
Something black in front of me
John put down his teacup
And with a look of complete surprise
Said, "What was that black thing
That flashed before my eyes?"
The black thing whizzed across the room
Then disappeared out of sight,
We had been out all day so
All our doors and windows
Were closed tight
The room was quiet,
We could not hear a sound
Not the squeak of a mouse
Or the flap of a wing,
In the air or on the ground.
The black thing had vanished,
Into thin air.
No rodent or bird,
Found anywhere.
Was it a bat?
Or baby rat?
Rat's don't fly,
So it couldn't be that.
The black thing flashed past,
At such a pace,
It would help if you were slower to notice features or face.
It seemed to disappear,
Into the air conditioner,
High up on the wall
If it did, there was still no sound,
No chirp, tweet or squawl
We turned off the heating,
In case the black thing
Had got inside
And it had died.
What an evening that turned out to be,
A conundrum indeed for John and me.
We are waiting for a call,
For the technician to take the conditioner
Off the wall.
To solve the mystery
Of who that unwelcome guest can be.
The roosters are filling
The air with their insistent crowing.
A train in the distance is competing for
The sound waves.
The roosters get louder
Except for an intermittent bird
Song, there is nothing to break the
Silence.
Beeping begins, it is the sound
Of heavy equipment backing up.
The construction crew is beginning
To organize their day. Harsh pounding
Now.
A quick yell back and forth.
They are getting closer.
This is the country, so sound
Travels fast.
The roosters sound a bit less frantic.
More muffled.
The drone of the air conditioner
Captures my right ear, and takes it hostage.
A tittering bird has made
Herself known, titter. Titter. Chitter.
I watch two squirrels chase across the yard.
The day has begun.
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
The Devil got the sack last week
He’s feeling at a loss
For several thousand years now
He’s been in charge, the boss
The new man’s changing everything
Hired a whole new team
The place is so much nicer
A more relaxed regime
Red hot pokers up the ****
De rigueur, they are not
Only those that ask, will get
A poker up their bot
There’s been a change of fragrance too
Well, sulphurs so outré
Seems Lily of the valley
Is the order of the day
We’re getting leather sofas, which
Could well be here quite soon
And a squad of decorators
Working hard in every room
Now they’ve fixed the air conditioner
It’s behaving as it should
Hell is rather pleasant
In fact it’s jolly good
So when you pop your clogs
And you’re deciding where to go
Forget the trip to Heaven
It’s much better down below
There was a long queue at the pharmacy.
It was not easy to wait in the summer heat.
The air conditioner could not cope enough.
The three young and comely chemists were efficient,
Still there were so many people waiting.
But I needed the medication, blast it.
Under the soft hum of fluorescent light,
the drugstore was too full.
The air smelt faintly of disinfectant,
Too clean for comfort.
Still the chemists worked hard and smiled.
Behind the counter,
Bottles and packets were chosen and packed.
The bells of the cash register chimed fast.
Sick people were served, some with an occasional cough.
Change was given, cards were swiped.
Finally, my turn arrived. I grimmed.
“Get me some arsenic. I’m tired of waiting.”
With a laugh, my friendly chemist
Handed me some pain killers.
“Have a nice day, my dear friend.”
I smiled, stuck my tongue out and dared the summer heat.
We’re gunna need another car,
The Datsun’s gone and died.
The thing was never up to par.
Why, it never even tried.
A brand new clutch not long ago,
Then the air conditioner carked it.
It seems to think we’re made of dough.
Need to forget where I parked it.
Electronics all misfiring,
It needs to visit a sparkie.
The whole shebang will need rewiring.
And you wonder why I’m narky?
It’s not as if it’s all been bad,
For it has been used quite rough,
And when it’s gone I won’t be sad.
I’ll have finally called its bluff.
See, it made me think it useful,
It showed just a little ‘chutzpah’,
But if I’m being truthful,
It’s now no more than a foot-spa.
Seals on doors not holding well,
In the foot-well there’s a puddle,
Which, when disturbed, emits a smell
Reminiscent of cat’s wuddle.
Shush! My dog ears caution me. Did you hear that? I stop sorting coupons, and listen, hard.
My husband is gone, and there are adult footsteps in my house.
Hypervigilant, I hear the fast increased pounding beats of my fearful heart, a ticking clock, and the blower on the air conditioner.
Sh! My imagination cautions me. SH! SH! SH!
I silence myself further, frantically wishing the blower was not so loud.
I am in the kitchen downstairs, and my innocent children are upstairs, alone, sleeping.
I flip off the light, and melt onto the floor behind my island, out of sight of the swinging door,
listening, frozen motionless with fear, waiting for the interlopers to decide our fate.
The door opens rapidly.
A stream of light lands on the block of knives on the counter.
I wish I had hidden them.
I am grabbed by both arms, and roughly brought to my feet.
“Here’s the wife,” a gruff voice says, a man’s voice.
“Sh!” the other one whispers. “Did you hear that?”
A car door slams.
My husband is home.
Shush! Did you Hear That? Written 9-15-2018
Contest Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Is like saying
“I know my way around every corner, but I’m not allowed to walk through the door”
I lost my first tooth there
And I scraped my knee on the sidewalk out front.
My first cat tommy
Is lying
Bones in the backyard
Grave marked by nothing
But those old dead flowers
I used to live here.
absence makes the heart grow fonder.
This place used to be ours
And if you look
You may be able to find my name
Written on the door frame
Next to a height and age
And the nail sticking out of one of the stairs
That I stepped on
And I fell
And momma put a Band-Aid on the wound in this bathroom
And momma put ice on my head in this bedroom
And kissed me good night under this rattling ceiling fan
and I slept in this old place,
under this cracked ceiling
making faces out of the paint chips
making stories out of the sounds
the fridge
the air conditioner
the cars out front.
I used to live here.
It's my childhood home
But now someone new lives here
I secretly think,
It will always be ours more than anyone else's.
We used to rent a very old house
for our summer vacations, it was built
in the early fifteen hundred by criminals
who roamed the Atlantic Ocean for gold and diamonds:
roof, windows and doors reminded us
of a dark house that pirates frequented
in the Caribbeans...one could imagine
how many treasure chests were there with one
of them watching over them most of the day;
and had he gotten drunk, they'd have dumped him
into the Ocean! Those pirates were merciless:
life meant nothing to them as they pillaged and killed.
There was no air conditioner,
and we left the windows open,
so we could sleep comfortingly, but here and there
weird sounds were heard turning into a human voice,
" Child, wake up and come with me...
I'll tell you a pirate's story you haven't read yet,
the one that actually happened when I was your age."
His red face had marks that only swords could have carved;
his pointy nose as dirty as a kid playing with mud,
his teeth rotten and yellow with a horrible stench.
" No! " I screamed, but my scream no one could hear
as he pulled me off my bed and dragged me outside.
" Why are you afraid of me, child? I mean no harm!"
And as he said those words, I looked back and worried
about my family inside that unlit, haunted house...
with a subdued sob, I agreed to go with him and hear
the story he couldn't tell anyone, thinking he was mad.
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Gail Doyle's contest,
" Stranded Or A Ghost Story Of Your Choice
Any Horror Movie "
just take off a layer
or walk around
topless
i am the archpriest
eating sugar puffs
i am the prelate
eating bagels
i am halfway
in
and halfway
out the window
the mother-in-law wants it off
i am not for sale
my successors are labouring
like hercules
the hidrosis is formulaic
like glib one-liners
"it's bad for the bones and
you'll catch a cold"
bring on the catarrh
the indisposition
the bogeys
the runny front bonnet
and collectivist honk
the towel over the bowl
of hot adam's ale
seduce my soul my doxy
my concubine
a night emission
i make love to the air conditioner