Long Living quarters Poems
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I remember in every detail
the kitchen where my grand-mother
worked while helping out
at my uncle’s convenience store.
There was just a flimsy curtain
separating the living quarters;
a bell would announce
when customers walked in.
I remember that big window by the table
where there was a tiny 6” tv and
the far corner where once in a while
she would pull out the ringer washer.
What a huge ordeal that was
a full day’s work then hanging on the clothesline.
Often we’d play cards in the afternoon
maybe have a treat
My slightly older cousin was in school.
My aunt was my grand-mother’s baby sister
and she was dying of cancer.
She never left her bedroom at the back,
mostly she slept and I was never to disturb her.
It was always a gloomy house
with every curtain drawn,
always quiet, always dark.
One day the house was filled with guests.
It was particularly somber with a lot of whispers;
they had come to say their final farewells.
Since then the house has been torn down
to widen the road and the bridge
but in all my memories I still picture it
as the house where i had never seen joy
and the kitchen seemed to be the only place
where sunshine was allowed.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
In my lifetime,
I have observed and
witnessed some evil things.
Many were news reports, but
some were eye-witness melees.
One notable travesty was the
implementation of 'A Clearing'.
It was called ethnic cleansing,
but there was absolutely nothing
cleansing about slaughterous murder.
Like so much garbage, being cleared
from our living quarters; one people
claiming to be purer than another.
How despicable of us mortals created
in the image of an awesome and loving God
who through His son said, "There is none good;
no, not one". Clear the air we breathe of poisonous
toxins if you will. Clear the rivers and waterways
of debris and waste. But be very clear about this:
There are multitudes of undesirable things and myriads
of non-mortal despicables in need of mass clearings.
But the clearing out of people by any means deemed
less than another is not one of them. Ethnic cleansing
is mass suicide. Let us love, cherish, and care for one
another and leave human clearings and cleansings to God.
021023PSCtest, 'The Clearing'. Craig Cornish
I don’t like clothes, or non-water things.
Just my boat.
And as a wave comes through, it’s as if my boat could do a flip in the air.
Ocean paths are like a safe.
There are a million combinations to try.
And in trying, I could get distracted and drown.
Which is horrible and priceless, and I would never be found.
The bottom of the ocean?
I don’t like to be reminded of shipwreck.
I used to like clothes, and non-water things.
The last time I saw them was two months ago.
That’s what happens when you like boats.
When you like waves, salt water, and even seaweed.
I wonder how many people are on a boat alone.
In small living quarters.
Navigating the ocean.
Checking my compass.
Anchoring my vessel.
I wear tattered clothes.
I don’t like jewelry, or fancy restaurants.
I don’t like the feeling of land or even thinking of it…
I don’t like my family, or friends.
Just my boat.
And the threat of shipwreck.
Which I’ve locked away.
Eccentric Emma, third world charity advocator
Posts smiling foreground photos in mud slewn villages
Personifying inconsistency wafts remote mantra
Mind realm torrents when Followers Like - limitless!
Travels to India restore her heart's connection
Finds enhanced spirit to spruke eco awareness
Flying globally promotes environment's protection
Inspiring group loaded Moped selfie shared with us
Music festival painted face participant
Conjured creation poetry flow in cosy yurt
Auto biography depicts flatulent elephant
Busy vision mushrooms make logic inert
Occasionally posted toddler rememberings
Receive role call of awe drawn replies
Blond curled spark eyed munchkin grin
Retained young outlook, fart poem supplies
Updated page sells self painted guitar
claimed to have been owned by AC/DC
Imported stock sees profit from spirulina
Entrepreneurial shift from childhood ADHD
Nomadic yoga posing 80's born alternate
Emma, changed her surname to Everfree
Her permaculture preach has holes in it
New living quarters each month or three
Sporadic travels to soul's partner, Hawaii
Engaged by quest to marry herself
Masculine inner attributes enlightening
Complexity must be hers uniquely dealt
Keen Facebook fan of spontaneous dance
Rolling to Random Rab, office chair expressive
Arm fling brings shattering of glass desk lamp
Naming failure destiny, stalled artist replenished
Close to home exploits in essays documented
Park brake left off vehicle, ensuing downhill chase
Securing it heroically before damage (almost) resulted
Brings multitudinous comments of (unearned) praise
Originated: 14th June 2020
Subject' s actual legally changed name
rhymes with 'Emma'
Satire Saturday passed without posting,
so I went with Rip the Crap out of Someone Sunday!!
Parody speaks its flattery
Curiousity reeks of jealousy
I'm a blue collar worker who works outdoors
and I'm also required to wear a hard hat all day.
My exposed skin and face tan at a very fast pace,
but beneath that hard hat, absolutely no way.
The last time I went bandanna free,
someone got distracted, lost their footing and tripped.
All I heard as I fled the scene was, "Did you see that human Q-tip?"
In addition to speaking in rhyme, I dress in black all the time
but that shouldn't reflect upon my personality.
I just claim not to be so great when I attempt to color coordinate
but the simple truth is black is safe and I'm just lazy.
I live the single lifestyle and by that I simply mean that I have chosen to live alone.
I enjoy True Solitude, so I don't share living quarters very well.
My home has to be My Home.
I keep mostly to myself but that shouldn't suggest that I can't be the life of the party.
Back in my day I wore many a lampshade.
Now I've calmed down. I don't party too hearty.
Well, enough about me. What about you?
What are your interests, your passions?
What do You like to do?
Who knows where this might go or how it might end.
At the very least, I Hope to find A Real and True Friend.
Oh yeah, one last thing I need to mention to you.
A little sex from you also would be very nice too.
I was doing very well. I was doing just fine
and then I had to blow it with the very last line.
Am I right ladies? Damnit!
****************************************************************************
Please do not respond to the above ad ladies. It is now null and void. I pretty much live the
life of a hermit these days.
****************************************************************************
They looked to their tomorrow's
With full insight of their current
disposition.
They spoke of their limitations
And examined their need
Insight of things and those who'd
make enemy of there plans.
When the time for goal setting
and money they knew fugality
Would allow accordance.
Those who knew how people
Looked to bring you to the edge of
push you over.
Without entertaining thoughts
or using words to speak kindly
of assocation they knew if they
we're to fail all in opposition to
What they wanted to do would
In full examination of their age
and ability they looked to tomorrow
and only saw there individual
success to be in as one.
Working together to take care of
One another.
One hundred aging people who knew
If they weren't gonna handle there
retirement no one else would care
enough to help.
They built living quarters in steelframed
Buildings. Had a fully stocked store
Had an auditurium
Bought a bus
Made clothes and grew
Vegetables.
When they saw diversity
they sought success
and made way for
To include folk who wished
To be successful.
They made a frugal place
A worthy considerate!
My normal route diverted,
I walked north instead of south
And passed a man who looked like he
Existed hand to mouth.
He’d made a small encampment
Underneath a walking bridge,
Though of course he lacked a bathroom
Or a closet or a fridge.
But I had to give him credit
For I couldn’t help but look
As he knelt before a bookshelf
Picking out the perfect book.
There were maybe twenty volumes,
Neatly standing side by side,
Clearly adding to the ambiance
Of where he does reside.
We can make our living quarters
Cozy, if we are in luck,
But to do so when you’re homeless
Takes a little bit of pluck.
Snap... crackle... pop... microwave went kaput
After start button pushed
immediate auditory signal issued
nsync with billowing smoke
time saving convenient contrivance
rendered defunct trucked to dumpster.
Pre owned electronic contraption
unpredictably went on fritz
malfunction occurred without warning
luckily spouse, the Misses
she instantaneously intervened
lest towering inferno engulfed
yours truly and wife
poetic license expended
to identify latter counterpart.
Rather than dish out
(and scrape together)
scarce legal tender
strong probability resident
(housed with Highland Manor apartments)
will vacate premises within near future
abandoning useable microwave oven.
Another option? Nearby thrift stores named:
Habitat for Humanity West Norriton ReStore
sells kitchen appliances
close proximity to our living quarters
if unsuccessful pursuit...
Worse case scenario?
Shop at Bath, Bed and Behind (er... Beyond),
Bestbuy, BJ's Warehouse, Boscov's
Home Depot, Loews, Macy's,
Target, or Walmart.
Splurge (potentially breaking poor piggy bank),
plus overspend checking account funds
readily pitting yours truly into the red
money to purchase brand spanking new
cooking unit versus consuming
frozen and/or uncooked foods
remember Euell Gibbons?
Twenty first century western civilization
steeped in capitalistism
I find existence
palpable (barely), incompatible disagreeable,
yet ill prepared
to revel in luxurious self sufficiency
think sweat of one's brow
living off the grid.
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
Today we took a lovely walk
On quiet country roads,
Where the autumn trees surround
The rural one of our abodes.
A hundred miles later,
We strode briskly, I should note,
From our main home, an apartment,
To the place where we could vote.
Now, to cast an early ballot,
We were luckily assigned
To a great New York museum,
So, of course, we then combined
An important civic duty
With a visit worth a view
Of a very cool exhibit,
Which we always love to do.
Our two living quarters equal,
Since they’re small, an average house,
Yet this singular arrangement
Works for me and for my spouse.
When the two halves come together,
In the ways I love the best,
I feel happy and contented,
Which, by now, you might have guessed.