Long Piece of furniture Poems
Long Piece of furniture Poems. Below are the most popular long Piece of furniture by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piece of furniture poems by poem length and keyword.
If you walk around our house…and I say this candidly…you probably wouldn’t give a second thought to some of the things you see.
You’d probably miss that piece of wood in the corner…if you walk by a little to quick…
and even if you noticed it you might think…”it’s just a stick.”
In the corner of our kitchen…that piece of furniture…over there…chances are you’d pass by thinking…”it is just a chair.”
Your eyes might find the pen and ink drawing…if they find it at all…
and even if they do you might think…it’s just another picture on the wall.”
If you happen into our laundry room…you might give that weathered old collar a look…
chances are you’d say, “It’s just an old collar”…hanging on that hook.
And you’d be correct in your assumptions for how often we see things as we find them…but the meaning is not in what we see… but in what we see behind them.
That old collar was our dog Whitman’s who would match me stride for stride…
as we walked together every morning…until the day he died.
My father drew that self-portrait when he was a young man…I think around 22
It’s a nice remembrance of the man…now that his life is through.
Deborah’s father made that little chair and it rests in our corner because…
It serves as a constant reminder of the kind of man he was.
And that was Deborah’s mom’s walking stick in the corner for all to see…carved by Deborah’s dad from the branch of an old orange tree.
But it is more than a decoration…it’s not just there for idle talk.
It reminds Deborah of her mom every morning…when we take our walk.
It’s funny isn’t it…the things we might not even notice when we walk through someone’s door…
We might see just a stick, a chair, a drawing, a strap…
when they are really so much more.
Mother's Day Tribute
To Mother
Things are complicated, and I’m frustrated
And gag to hear you say with parental authority,
“When you’re older, you’ll understand better!”
Well, that’s a long way into the future, and I’m present here and now,
So spare me the lecture and tell me something important,
Like why am I not pretty like Jilly or smart like Brent?
Why are you always so naïve and treat me like a baby?
Like when I ask questions that don’t sound silly to me.
I have feelings, so quit being mean by talking down to me.
Just because I’m dependent on you for everything,
I will grow up and act more adultish, so give me space
Because I still want to play and pretend with children my age.
I know more than you think, and just because I don’t express myself
Or fret over realistics that are trivialities to me of everyday living,
I’m still a part of this household and not just a piece of furniture.
Love me because I love you, but sometimes you overdo
The love bit too much, which makes me blue
And causes me to say hurtful things that I regret later;
I am a work in progress.
***
Ode to Mother
My mother was dear to me.
She is my guardian angel.
When I dreamed, she always believed;
And when I failed, she was sorely anguished.
The life she bore in labour began,
If not for the love of God,
And came together in her womb.
Then, months later, that baby entered the world.
Whole, a physical specimen,
Completely formed with heart and soul.
A miracle from our Saviour,
Dependent on her for everything;
And by grace, she raised the babe to maturity
To become the person, you see, that is me.
***
Note:
“Mother’s Day” is celebrated on the second Sunday in May. It was created by Anna Jarvis (1864–1948) in 1908, and in 1914, President Woodrow Wilson officially proclaimed Mother’s Day a national U.S. holiday. In Canada, Mother’s Day is not a holiday, but a day of observance.
I am a shadow on the branch of the family tree,
A lost echo in the memory of a mother who would shudder with shame,
A shapeless form trying to survive, to breathe,
Yet failing like a withered leaf falling before its time.
My father looks at me through mirrors of unforgiveness,
Like a piece of furniture silently regretted,
I know I am the child born from an unspoken dream,
The one who wished not to carve a path in this life.
My grandparents, lost in consumed hopes,
Imagine that in our blood flows a rope of despair,
And my mind whispers these things I cannot control,
For I no longer have power over them.
My thoughts are like a river that cannot find its bed,
Filling the cracks of the soul, demanding their toll without mercy,
No comfort remains, no balm for the soul,
The earth groans under my steps, for I am made of pain.
I walk, but I am not whole,
I am the silent and constant stain on the fabric of life,
Who am I, if not too much for every corner and every face?
A name no one will speak, a soul no one will touch,
A ghost that time will not replace.
Lifeless things seem more alive—
A stone, a wall, a dying tree,
They neither cry nor struggle,
Yet they appear more real than I, the lost one.
I am shame, and I wear it like an ill-fitting garment,
No matter how much I try, I bleed,
No matter how much light I try to see,
A part of me truly believes,
That this is my end,
A chapter written in the ink of an endless night.
Every piece of furniture I am becoming attached
Is that possible?
Nah cannot be
You cannot become attached to things - personal things
Just like you cannot become attached to people
I am tired of being the mannequin
Guinea pig - whatever you call it
For God to try His hands on
I am not too sure if I want to be the first in everything
It seems I got hit the hardest
Just like the first born
The parent likes to try everything
And learn it along the way
And they go easier on the later born
That is the way I feel
First it's a yay
Now it's nay
Make up Your mind
Or You can have both
Just take both off
As I don't want it neither
Tired of dealing with You
Don't want to deal with You no more
Go - no go
Don't matter to me
As I don't give a hooter
Lol whatever
I am getting to a point where I don't really care
See who gives a hoot
I no longer COOPERATE
You can do it all on Your own
As I no longer want it
You think I do?
Well You can shove it
As it no longer means s to me
Just the way You want it
Because I cannot do anything that You don't want me to do
But I am doing it
So there
Hope You are happy
And be blessed
And don't ask me for anything
Because the answer is going to be "no"
I mean it
Don't
no I am not merchandise
I'm not a tool a piece of furniture
I am awakened I am a thought
I am humanities process I am covered in filth and shame
I am dirty yet I remain
a flickering flame an encased rock
one of the breath of God a spark
from his mouth a tittle a flowing raindrop
from his heart I ference I am detained
I am a human being
though I am a vessel
A vase a pottery a clay full of the spirit of God
made whole born with a soul
I have fallen until the ground
and as I am broken
God removed me He puts the pieces back together
so I'm fine to be the chosen vessel
to be reconstructed to be learned a lesson
I am a blessing I am a stone
made of dirt and clay a rock
with the Breath of God in Me
I am shorn busted up put back together by my Father
I am not a slave nor was I made to be auctioned off
I cannot be bought I am not sold
I am made wonderfully made birth
kissed of God the breath that air of life
from his mouth flows through my nostrils
into my lungs as I become... a living Rock
8/21/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
N- Nothing...I’m not even there….you offer me nothing
E- Empty…You leave me empty of life, love, laughter…
G- Gnarled…My soul is gnarled by your nail of indifference
L- Lifeless…I breathe, and yet my dreams have lost the breath of life
E- Endangered…I face extinction due lack of soul nourishment
C- Confined….I’m captive in the walls of your carelessness
T- Tired…Your absence leaves me tired…Tired of wanting….tired of waiting….for you.
You neglect me, treat me like I don’t exist, like I don’t matter, like there is no spark in my soul, no light in my eyes, no dream in my heart……I am nothing to you…..and yet, you won’t set me free. I’m a piece of furniture you rest on when you are tired. I am nourishment you feed on when famished. I am security you hide in when afraid…..
When you are not in need….NEGLECT is what you feed me.
Nothing but neglect….
In my heart…nothing…..
For you!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I sought you out almost thirty years ago,
not because I wanted a pretty piece of furniture~~
Oh, you were and still are quite attractive~~
but because I needed you.
After I had back surgery for a badly ruptured disc,
none of my chairs were comfortable enough
for someone who would spend the next six months
dragging her right leg and being exhausted
after a mere ten-minute walk.
In the furniture store, I felt drawn to you, as if I knew
you would be a godsend for years to come.
I splurged a little to have you. You have been worth
more than gold to me.
For nearly three decades, you supported me
as I graded papers and wrote poetry.
I'm enjoying you now~~as I write this tribute!
You deserve the praise I have for you.
I've worn the varnish off your arms.
You're missing a spring, but you still serve me well.
I finally broke down and bought new cushions
for you a while back. You deserved an upgrade.
You are an essential part of my "woman cave"
here in the corner of my living room.
The laptop on my little desk is perfectly positioned,
enabling me to see the TV.
With books and writing materials to my left
and the lamp table to my right, I occupy
my throne in perfect comfort. Rocking gently,
I'm feeling relaxed and somewhat sleepy . . . .
The elevator took its time,
A long delay on 3
And when it hit the lobby,
This is what confronted me:
Two men, their arms all wrapped around
What I believed to be
A covered piece of furniture,
As far as I could see.
I almost joked that it appeared
To look like someone dead,
But when I saw the stretcher,
Well, it filled my mind with dread.
I turned around; the doorman
Caught my eye and shook his head.
The message got through clearly,
Though the details weren’t said.
I’ve lived there over 40 years
And other tenants died.
I’d never seen one take
That final elevator ride.
“Persistence In Memory” - Salvador Dali
“There is a time for everything” – Ecclesiastes
Dreamscapes.
Dali, are you attacking reality?
You invoke curiosity.
The natural form of a tree,
Growing from manmade furniture,
But surely the piece of furniture was made from a tree.
I look for movement and see none.
The waters are still.
Have you made time stop?
Time is so subjective, it rules us!
Every single thing we do, measured and controlled by time.
Time controls our sleep our living, even our dying.
All activity is completed.
Have you created an optical illusion?
A fundamental desert scene of our future, a prophesy?
Irrational reality or an absurd illusive dream.
The cliffs in coastal Spain that you know so well,
You depict them as real, in this hot summer scene,
Just the way I think they should look, as my brain is wired this way.
You have planted a persistence in my memory.
************************************************************
I now believe there is a time for everything.,
A melancholy feeling comes over me.
No longer will I strive, dear sponsor to find ways to please you.
No longer will I sit wondering should it be an Ekphrasis,
a Footle or Clerihew. Maybe a string of glorious absurd adjectives, verbs and metaphors meaning nothing. Whatever, you shall be missed. My humble best wishes and thanks because you too have
planted persistence in my memory.
Where do you come from?
And where do you go?
Pigeon steps, crinkled blazer, bent
Posture, sunken face, worn and never changed,
Stumbling along your broken track
Over hills, underpasses and tarmac
Carrying shopping bags two for each
Arm like a POW bound in Disciplinary harm,
Face forward not taking a blink at a
Passer-by knowing their staring giving you a eye, sometimes
Laughing, never wondering why, your
Just going to your home the empty, cold, and familiar abode,
Away from anxiety of being, among the 'normal'
then sitting Alone wonder if you even have a
Phone? Just wrapped up in your in-
Secure security like a forgotten Piece of furniture neglected and old,
And what has happened now your bruised and covered with blood
Continuing on your journey no one observing, just another phase of
Learning that you’re a ghost, bright as
the sun visible as bacteria on toast I don't even know your name
Or even how old I just know your
Lonely with sadness, shopping bags
And a hunchback to hold so may you
Receive everything you lack
As you stumble quietly and alone, along your reclusive track
And when you appear again out from the mist, to gather the essentials
to continue in life's bliss, i hope your journey is peaceful without them taking the piss