Long Recliners Poems
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A night of deep and dreaming sleep on a warm and firm mattress with appropriate coverings was not necessarily an item on our wish list, because we drew accustomed to the more simpler forms of mattresses that were not firm but filled with cotton, and sleep was obtained without regards to levels of comfort.
These cotton filled softies were not designed for sitting, nor for afternoon naps, and God forbid that kids should ever consider jumping on them.
These home made sleeping beauties did not sit on top of high tech and well developed inner springs designed to support the big cushions of cotton filled cloth, but rather were placed right on to flat springs of iron fitted into the bed frames made of wood and also iron.
If there was anything missing from these beds and mattresses, I suspect it would have been a sign board that read, “For Sleepers Only”. In some cases when that did not suffice, perhaps one would have continued to read the fine print, “All others, please do not sit, touch, or stare for long”.
Indeed, true sleep really happened; And O no, I never heard any complaints of back aches derived from mattresses filled with cotton. On each night that a sleeper arrived, these designer recliners were prepared to receive all comers, providing sweet sleeps.
When the morning arrived and sleepers arose from their sunken comfort zones, whether immediately or later after breakfast, someone’s chore was to “make the bed”. Today, if ever the expression “make the bed” occurred, it would be clear to mean that we straighten the pillows, spread and tuck the sheets, and top it off with coverings of blankets or quilts.
O how wonderful is the mind endowed with the power to recall the most distant memory! Sometimes the downloads of the remotest things come to the surface which were not so trivia in prior years. In those seemingly ancient times, “Make the bed” had at least one more chore no longer relevant in our homes today.
It simply meant that we open the cotton holders known as “bed-ticks”, and stir up the cotton inside, making the mattress smooth and attractive once again. Then, and only then, was it ready for sleepers the next night.
Sleep well my friend.
cj04132015
In the olden days at school the only time we heard squealing in elementary class was when Kitty wore a new hair bow like ours, or Tommy yelled “IT IS SNOWING!”
Then we would all run to the window screeching and laughing.
And it would take the teacher a few minutes to collect us again and herd us back to our seats.
Schools do not have desks now. We have tables, with bouncy balls under them, recliners for the children who are exceedingly good or exceedingly bad and will not get out of them when asked, until the teacher merely gives up.
Oops. Did I say that aloud?
Hm…. Anyway, we hear screeching and screaming and laughing all the time now, so that is a plus.
How do children stay upright on bouncy balls? How do they stay still? They do not. They are not expected to, and the teachers are piping in music that they like, all day long. The children do have I-pads and laptops.
It is not much fun for the ones who do not know sight words though.
Phonics are out. Spelling tests are forbidden. Practically anything considered “old school” has been thrown out, except for a few dinosaurs like me who are difficult to get rid of due to age discrimination laws.
I am not saying this is every school, or my school. I am saying it is some classrooms. So please buy some alphabet cards and number cards at a dollar store this weekend and play some games with your grandchildren.
It might save your children from being shocked and indignant during their fifth-grader’s parent-teacher conference that he cannot read, and does not recognize basic kindergarten-level sight words.
As if it is not bad enough they are sitting on bouncy balls, and cannot hear most of what the teacher is saying over the music.
Down at the creek
The sun rises magenta
Against cobalt
With a strange sandy-grey glow above
Here out on the porch
The symphony of doves
Contrast against mockingbirds
And several other songbirds of morn
So happy
Are the tunes of early morn
The crows come to life
Somewhere off in the distance
The uncaged bird sings
Because he defends his territory
Because he lets others know he's there
Because he has a mate and family or he is looking for one
Today we celebrate
Father's Day to let them know we
Appreciate
Love and
Admire them
We've celebrated
Twice already
I treated my husband
To his favorite meal
Our daughter treated him on another day
And now
We will meet with the whole family
For a homecooked meal
And enjoy a visit
We'll come home exhausted
Plop in our recliners
There we will stay for a while
My husband will sleep like a log for 1 to 3 hours
I might drop off for a few minutes or maybe up to an hour
Strange
How a nap no longer energizes
Just keeps us from getting beyond going
The head of the clan has been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease
Which can lead to death
Of course,
Today there are better treatments
Life can continue longer
And be lived better
Which we hope for is the best
Eleven years ago, it was a glimmering, gleaming, spanking new house
And we were so pleased, as we had designed it, our way, for us.
We immediately eliminated a dining room, preferring to eat in the
Livingroom on the multitude of couches, or recliners, reposing as we eat.
I have noticed so many things about it lately that are
Not spanking new, glimmering or gleaming, but I do not care one whit.
I have outgrown the need to spend hours and hours
Doing something I despise doing – namely housework, vacuuming
And other crazy stuff that is a waste of time as it perpetually needs
Re-doing.
I believe in living every minute of the rest of the time you have
Left doing stuff that is worthwhile, and fun, which explains my art
Studio full of paints, and brushes, and glitter, and canvases always
Sitting, waiting, with big white smiley faces on big white smiley backgrounds.
And my computers, one in my back office, and one in my garage office,
And four bathrooms, for two people. I wish I was kidding, but I am not.
No, it is no longer a glimmering, gleaming spanking house, but we love it.
It lives in the woods, with woodland creatures, and it has flowers galore,
It is a haven to bees, and wasps, and spiders, and snakes, and a boxed turtle too.
It is the only place I ever want to be, it is heaven on earth to us,
Our perpetual go-to-spot and best of all? It is home! My stay-cation palace
In the woods. I cannot imagine heaven being any more suited to my needs.
Best of all? It replenishes me nightly, helping me to eliminate the gloom
Of a sad day, or the memory of a lost child, who does not dare dream or hope anymore.
I'm relaxin' with my spouse this New Year's Eve just a-schmoozin',
About past celebrations in our youth that we now find amusin'.
Tomorrow we'll dine on blackeyed peas, an old Southern tradition,
For good luck and bring our hopeful resolutions to fruition!
A moderate tad of spirits in our youth we could tolerate,
And ere the kids arrived, we always slept a little late.
We used to go to late night parties and sip a little booze.
Now, on New Year's Eve, we sit at home and watch the news!
We used to dance the night away at parties bright and gay.
Now, we compare infirmities as others while the night away!
The champagne corks popped and "Auld Lang Syne" we sang.
Fireworks brought in the New Year with a resounding bang!
We recall the silly hats we wore, kisses at the stroke of twelve,
And the heaps of scrumptious grub in which we used to delve.
Now, we sip Metamucil cocktails with sour cream dip and chips,
Slumped in our recliners, snores escapin' from our lips!
Strange that in the olden days we could celebrate 'til dawn,
But by nine o'clock nowadays we can hardly stifle a yawn!
As the clock chimes twelve, I'll leave it for others to celebrate,
'Cept for eatin' blackeyed peas and 'pone to facilitate my fate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Children dashing and laughing throughout the mess.
Moms and dads trying not to throw away toys
As they gather up scads of shredded Christmas wrapping
Grandmas begging them to keep the bows.
Blinking twinkling Christmas tree looking less magical,
Appears shabbier in the morning than it did last night
Boys with swords having a dual, chasing each other.
One nervous grandma mentioning the danger.
Granddads sleeping in their recliners, not hearing any of it
Someone yelling “That is your last Christmas cookie!”
Her sisters chiding her, making fun, hugging her.
Everyone grown up is a kid for a day, with their grown siblings.
Christmas at Grandma’s house, nothing like it.
Only once a year, making memories for a life time
Beef and noodles, scalloped corn, mashed potatoes
Five kinds of pies, mints, cookies. Wow!
Children watching their parents becoming kids again
As their mothers tell them what to do.
Not all children, some are sneaking mints and nuts.
Homemade Christmas stockings thrown into clumps.
Christmas feelings without names
More intense than other feelings
More personal, more exciting, more magical
Christmas. A day to celebrate our Christ Child.
That oddly shaped bedroom
To the left of the staircase
The greenish blue carpet
Against a bed skirt of lace
The worst hue of yellow
Snug tight on my mattress
Opposite the mirror
Where I became an actress
If I close my eyes tight
Give control to my perceptions
I’ll bring in to sight
My Shirley Temple collection
My play kitchen table
With two plastic chairs
My mom sits on one
As I style up her hair
If quiet enough
I’ll hear giggling girls
Rolling wet hair
To wake up in curls
Back down the stairs
The carpet turns brown
A dish of fake pears
The clock’s chiming sound
A typewriter is present
But not a computer
It’s simple and pleasant
Like my motor less scooter
In the den, I will find
Two, worn, mauve recliners
Yes, I’ve traveled time
A Delorean rider
One last thing to Check
Before heading back home
I race to the deck
With a box of milk bones
I close my eyes tight
And concentrate hard
Til the most wonderful sight
Appears in my yard
My childhood pal, Muffin
Chasing his tail
Kiss, kisses and loving
But then I must bail
I loosen my grip
And open my eyes
A quick, lovely trip
Has met its demise
As I sit on my chair and type
this poem, I think
about our past and the ways
we would communicate before.
Did we read an electronic novel or did we read a
written, bound book?
I believe that we had a different mindset in the past
and it’s turning into something different
as the future approaches us.
Instead of worrying about the memory on
our hard drive, we used to worry
about the amount of ink in our pen.
Instead of having a empty digital sheet open in
front of us, we used to have a blank thin layer of
papyrus presenting itself to us.
Instead of laying on our recliners and blindly reading what the
web shows, we used to use our feet to get
to a local library.
The computer is a great device, but
we must not cut all our traditional lines.
If we indulge in our comforts, we might
lose sight to what is valuable to us.
Solid, living books may be hard to pick up, but
if we look at a flashy screen all day, it won’t be just our eyes
that are going to go kapoosh.
It’s also our minds.
Reading some homework
The day seems like artwork
Has the sky ever been so blue
Three guys toss a frisbee
perilously near me
shirtless boys silhouetted in turquoise
We’ve got our shades on
We pretend not to watch em’
But we know they’re putting on a show.
We’ve got fold up recliners
and we set a timer
to move to the shade in a minute or two
But the sun seems distracted
cooler and less radioactive
dozens of students are out on the quad
The trees aren’t just standing
the breeze has them dancing
to ‘Blood in the Cut’, a song by ‘K.Flay’
On this cool, near-fall holiday
We’ll while our day away
each of us claiming a chance to relax
Now that we’re juniors, we know the facts
We get that there’s still a lot of reading to do
but we know, we can have a little fun too.
What else would you expect us to do?
My neighbors have been celebrating 4th of July for a week.
It has finally arrived today. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
I think these patriots take time to nap between 11 and 2 every day.
They have tossed cherry bombs into our dumpster.
They have blown up our mailbox.
What marvelous festivities for them!
It gave us a chance to see how worthless our grayscale video is.
We saw one flag decorated guy get out of his car to do these deeds.
But we could not identify the car or the guy.
Unless he wore the same t-shirt
And no one else had one.
Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam
Our dogs and cat are hiding behind us in our recliners.
Their ears hurt.
I can only imagine how men and women servicemen are doing.
Especially if they have PTSD.
Does anyone ever consider them during these 4th of July celebrations?
Apparently not.