Long Doorknobs Poems
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When I was young, we learned the drill
On how to cough; I do it still
Until my brain gives me a nudge,
Reminding me that others judge.
For I was taught to cough in hand
So that’s where all the germs would land
Instead of floating in the air
To be breathed in by others there.
We never thought about the fact
That all those germs would stay intact
Contaminating all we touch
Like doorknobs, subway poles and such.
And back when we lived pre-Purell,
Bacteria we would expel
Would coat our palms, a big mistake
If someone gave his hand to shake.
Today, to keep us off the hook
Our coughs should go into the crook
That’s formed by having elbows bent;
The spread of germs this might prevent.
Just one thing isn’t really clear.
If to this tactic, folks adhere
Then why are colds still being caught?
So many sleeves be-germed for naught!
take an interest in my broken heart
recycle the parts and discover what is really there
you may find that what is unwanted may be exactly what you need
there are several doorknobs within the body
there are several knocks of possible anticipation
yet and still the steps that are stomped are so strong and determined
there could be a flower growing in the center of your direct view....unseen
a fully clothed eye is like vulnerabilty in the heart of a heatwave
the sweat that you emit may indeed blind your sense of unbiased judgement
take an interest in my broken heart
reassemble and rearrange the parts while discovering you really care
my shadow is a brick wall blocking your love
the heart protection i now need now that i know
choices have consequences that do not wear masks
the next step can either be cantankerously contagious or magnificently medicinal
my shadow is a brick wall blocking your love
the doorknobs that i now need now that i know
choices have consequnces that do not throw masquerade parties tomorrow
the next step can either be cantankerously contagious or magnificently medicinal
my shadow is a brick wall blocking your love
the new counting lessons i now need now that i know
choices have consequences that do not present themselves in many facades
the next step can either be cantankerously contagious or magnificently medicinal
my shadow is a brick wall blocking your love
the new bookmarks i now need now that i know
choices have consequences that does not go in multifarious directions
the next step can either be cantankerously contagious or magnificently medicinal
my shadow is a brick wall blocking your love
each day i hire a New Construction Crew
i am now an octophobe newly sapiosexual
the next step can either be cantankerously contagious or magnificently medicinal
Falling eggs, loopy candy canes, spirals.
I have enough for Valentine’s Day, sometimes.
Lost doorknobs, crinkled bathroom floor mats.
Valentine’s Day is slurping up water by the wet floor sign.
Until you don’t need a sign like that anymore.
Sticks laid down like words.
Bubbling like my age, and time.
Sandpaper.
Valentine’s Day is a waffle fry cut up into fourths.
Shower come to life.
Valentine’s Day has a message for me.
To eat chocolate quietly.
To wish upon a pile of slime.
And blow up a balloon right this time.
I have a message for us all.
To enjoy the randomness that began to call.
Valentine’s Day pressures us every year.
But really it’s just February’s tear.
I felt small like a little mouse
walking the rooms of this large house
Rooms were spacious ceilings tall
painted colorful were the walls
Though some had paneling wall paper to
some stenciled with scenes of nature and cherub
Ceilings were works of art, like a cathedral divine
some coffered ceilings or wooden beams refine
Windows from floor to ceiling flooding sunshine in
drapes heavy and dropping pushed to side ends
Grand stairs like in a Hollywood scene
elevators in the main house and wings
Fireplaces enormous and plenty used a whole tree for a log
bedrooms so many with ensuite and crystal doorknobs
Powder rooms seemed peppered everywhere to please
pocket doors enormous but glide with ease
Floors of marble or finest wood and design tiles
rooms for every occasions in this place somehow
A room to sew one for crafts and even one for gifts
A library, study, a theater, gym with weights to lift
Parlors, living, drawing rooms always a place to sit
Game room, playroom, hobby room, one I forget
A great kitchen and a spice kitchen and one for prep
Breakfast room, nooks, a grand dinning hall to inspect
Pantry for Butler, dishes and food
with every device and gadget you could ever use
Closets and storage and corridors for maids
was this a house or palace somebody made
Porches, patios, balconies and a veranda or two
garages, a carriage house, a guest house never used
Basement was an industrial center to make the house go
with every contraption for comfort to make the house flow.
Attic like a village of servant rooms and common areas to share
The grounds to expansive to even care
How long did someone once live here
now the large house to big of an expense to bare
So shutter and empty it will now be
A giant ghost standing defiant without a need.
you were completely comfortable
being miserable
like pain was a roommate
like the yelling was a lullaby
like love was supposed to sting,
and silence meant everything was fine
he broke you in chapters
never enough to close the book
just enough to fold the page over
so he knew where he was up to
you wore makeup like armour
told yourself
“it’s not that bad.
he's just mad.
he loves me.”
but love doesn’t leave handprints
love doesn’t apologise
through locked doors
love doesn’t come home
smelling like fear
you were completely comfortable
being miserable
but comfort isn’t safety
and miserable isn’t love
so one day
she packed her silence
and left the echo behind
it wasn’t brave at first
it was shaking hands on doorknobs
a suitcase filled with
second guesses
fear braided tight
like her hair
she cried as she walked
on the road to nowhere
felt the weight of every “what if,”
every “he didn’t mean it,”
every “maybe i’m the problem.”
but she walked anyway
shoes worn thin
heart heavier than her bags
and maybe she didn’t know
where she was going
but she finally knew
what she wasn't going back to
You may think that caffeine is one of those things.
Taps on your shoulder, feels like goop.
But every once in a while you get tangled in seaweed.
Become a seaweed monster.
You might not know that the cameras could descend at any time.
Eat the garbage that got scattered around.
And the cameras will see you as if they are real people.
Letting go like a bite of candy that is unexpectedly crunchy.
I have tangled feelings in the doorknobs of my house.
And extended periods of the fans being on in the winter.
You may think that caffeine is one of those things.
That makes you eat dust like carpet fibers.
But you don’t eat dust anymore.
No coffee mug with stains on it exists.
Just collapses in my mind.
Like the seasons wreck me.
Then fall came around.
And a seaweed monster is unseasonable for now.
Whew…
There is no such thing as caffeine or bad things.
Shaking but it’s not caffeine.
It’s just winter, we don’t know how months became months.
I don’t drink coffee anymore.
I don’t think I ever knew how.
Soon the sun will shine
Through the east facing blinds
I haven't worked in seven months
Yet, I rise every day before him
And write a poem or two
The ceiling fan wobbles
Finches, sparrows and a cooing dove
Greet the dawn
Sweet morning love
Best time for me
Should be waking up in cooler climes
Shoulda been coulda been woulda been
Gone by now
But for this old house
Drug off a mountain top
From a mining camp
That got scraped away
And dumped across the highway
Miner's shack really
Bought it for about
One year's teaching salary
In 1995
Kept all its 100 year old doors
Crystal doorknobs and skeleton key locks
Stripped away the lath and plaster
Took out some walls, moved another
Replummed, rewired
Refinished wood floors
Put down some maple
Added on some rooms
Guarded it all with white pickets
It has it's charm
Why I fought to keep it
Quit my job in Vegas
Retired altogether
So I could stay here
I don't know
Funny like that
Usually don't care
Pretty good at it
But this old house in this old town
I do
Although right now I wish I were
Dwellung somewhere north
Grand Tetons,Yellowstone, Glacier
Somewhere cold
Got my eldest daughter in Montana
But I'm here near my youngest
And her baby
Son just got back from Kuwait
He and my favorite daughter in law
Coming to visit from NY
Wants her dad here for barbeque Wednesday
Golf, then dinner out and a pub crawl Thursday
She's good to my son--good to everyone really
Si she gets what she wants
I'll put a shine on the place
Marinate a prime rib for the big easy
Buy her tequila, his whiskey, some beer
And get a tee time
I'm happy
I could be snuggled up in the cold
On a pine scented morning
Be fishing before the sun hits the water
But no one would come see me
Guess I'd fight again
For this old house
Sun's beating the blinds
It's garbage day
Gotta drag out the bin
Two whole bags
Higher trash fee now than
When the house was full
(Sigh)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I scrape against the world
like a rusted hinge~
my voice sometimes squeaks and splinters,
my hands too quick to clench.
Jesus walked on water,
but I sink in the shallows,
ankles weighted with the stones
of the guilt and shame I carry.
He fed five thousand
with a boy’s lunch;
I hoard my sandwich crust,
counting the last bites.
The lepers reached for him
and he reached back~
unflinching.
I disinfect my doorknobs.
God, sand me down.
make me porous~
a sieve that holds nothing
but light.
Feeling bored, I opened a golden door…
Just one of the countless that is within my reach
No keys needed, just this amazing stack of books…
It’s actually like a staircase, that leads
to worlds both familiar and unfamiliar
taking, whisking me away for hours, days,
even years.
I step into the pages and immerse myself
in wonder, in beauty
of words woven, to create this amazing tapestry
that enfolds my being,
that plucks at my mind,
that tugs at my heartstrings
I plunge deep, refusing to take a break
so entranced am I in living others’ lives
that I forget my own
even just for a while…
A means for me to escape
this world
which can be harsh, cold and overbearing
Although the worlds behind these doors
may be unknown to me as well,
I turn those doorknobs with delight
for I know that no matter what happens
I can always just go back
and race out that door
and straight to reality.
But that rarely happens…
for I am a dreamer.
And these golden doors,
may they never be locked
For them to be shut forever
would be death for me.
** August 12, 2010 :)
written for Constance’s Scavenger Hunt contest
This was inspired by her beautiful poem, A Book is Like a Golden Door