Long Reclining chair Poems
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When I was sick and in my reclining chair
With the remote tucked in my _curve
Box of Kleenex in reserve
How I longed for the freedom of the out of doors
To run across the meadow of spring
Blow, sniff, only dreams
To touch on the Japanese Magnolia's buds _blooms
Enjoy the aroma of the wafting scent of the Narcissus
Feel the delicate softness of the Daffodils golden flowers
Grandmas, baby sitters, and pastors' wives don't have __noses
All red from blowing the crud that has accumalated
They are a joy to be around almost float on air
That wonderful angelic expression on their faces
Oh! Where is that box of Kleenex
Blow sniff exhaustion
I need some sleep and rest from the hacking
Maybe one more nap and I will be cured
There was some orange juice but my sick husband drank it all up
Oh well!....Maybe
Beads of sweat roll down my back,
Feeling sick I nearly yack.
Body quivers, hands now shake
Tremors of my bodily earthquake.
Heard my name; I've been called
Stairs handrail I tightly hold.
I tap on the door to my right
Nerves prepares me for quick flight.
'It' stood head to toe in protective wear
An alien! I thought with irrational fear
Another voice says "please take a seat"
Two same aliens of meet and greet.
I go and sit in a reclining chair
Laid flat back; looking up I stare.
A long, sharp needle swiftly appears
The injection begins, I'm close to tears.
They're ready to proceed on my tooth
Rigor mortis sets me aloof.
Drilling starts, I fear the worse
Teeth and dentists are my curse.
14.06.22
I am the runner.
I glide down the street with ease,
elbows slightly bent,
arms swinging rhythmically.
I nod and smile at neighbours
as they admire my even stride.
My legs, long and slim,
strong but not overly muscled,
pump up and down.
Smooth, tanned skin glows
with the exertion.
Sockless feet,
clad only in white canvas shoes
scarcely touch down
as I cover more ground.
I turn and enter the park,
race across the fields,
up and down the paths,
sailing over logs,
splashing through puddles.
My white shoes, incredibly,
still white.
Bees escort me as
I power up a hill
clothed in daisies and red clover.
The miles fall behind me.
I’m not even breathing hard.
Looking down
I can see the muscles in my thighs
rippling with each movement.
My long hair streams
behind me,
floating on the air,
in slow motion waves,
like in a movie.
I open my eyes
and stare at the dull white ceiling.
The foam barricades
that keep my legs straight and still
come away.
I manoeuvre,
inch by inch,
and finally,
I’m sitting
on the edge of the bed.
The walker is there.
In my reclining chair
exhausted,
I close my eyes,
and once again,
I am the runner.
Based on a dream I had after the double hip replacement surgery June 2007.
The forty-hour work week
kept same its firm streak,
but aging held a revealing
of different Friday feelings.
Beginning work at eighteen,
Monday became a wait thing,
a crawl to Friday night’s scene
when I was up for any
of mostly everything
with little sleep in between.
Even when newlywed, Friday
eve fun was weekend spread.
Then came baby, mortgage
a freedom shortage,
endless yardage, garbage,
cleaning and laundry bondage –
all with no rules or stoppage.
Friday lost all past flare
as my present life tone
shone it as a day for prayer:
that once I got home
I would be left alone
to merge in silence rare
with my reclining chair.
With my doctor’s ok, I’ve come to this small room of a little-known clinic
hoping to have the damaged nerves inside my brain “reset” in a long session.
I relax in a reclining chair as the dissociative anesthetic drug named Ketamine
is being infused through a vein in my left arm.
My husband sits nearby looking at Facebook; I hear the noise from his phone
and ask him please to silence his phone so I can focus on my treatment.
Suddenly I hear music never heard before – both melodic and upbeat.
I can’t tell my husband to turn it off; my lips are vanishing as they seal off!
I am eyes inside a faceless face. I lift two fingers. oh, I can at least do that!
The music stops abruptly! I hear a man and woman speaking. . .
Then I hear an advertisement. I realize this all is NOT from hubbie’s phone!
Random snippets of conversations continue: “Silence!” yells a man.
“Handcuff him.” Now I'm hearing Chinese. What?? This is from MY mind?
They said to expect hallucinations, but where are the fireworks I was told of?
Meanwhile, the room, getting fuzzier, is turning into a small, white tunnel.
I’m in the K-hole questioning my own existence! Did I come here in a car?
Do I have an actual home to go back to? A woman screams OH MY GOD!
The tunnel recedes. I see the room. My mouth unseals; my voice stumbles -
“Am I in re- al- i- ty?” Wobbily I come down from this unnerving “trip.”
Coming around, I feel absolute thankfulness to be an actual LIVING person.
March 14, 2021 for The Contemplation Poetry Contest of Craig Cornish
(What a challenge to fit this into 20 lines! My failed experience was 3/3/21. They said I had a 50-50 chance it could shock my nervous system into recovery. Anyway, I hear it works great -strangely- for PTSD and anxiety!)
Mid day,
so tired and barely awake could i stay
I laid down the dog upon my lap
and together we took a brief nap.
Quick asleep I fell
and dreams began to tell
stories like a movie caste
reeled un-clear and tangled from my past.
The old apartment shared in town
but in the dream as now
you no longer anywhere around.
What faulty memories contrived
the moments you were at my side
to recall confusing thoughts of what was from what is
separating the how and why what was mine and his.
A parade of endless wandering in dreams
slipped and raced with names in misplaced streams
of conscious ponderings no longer real
demanding we hide everything we feel.
The ringing of the phone jolts the mind
stealing the dreams we once longed to find
perhaps the false reality was more kind.
Wide awake I wander down the hall
alone making coffee to erase the pall
but nothing brings me back to earlier times
wherein we shared love and a glass of wine.
Too late the passing of the day
to reconnect kinder words to say
and reignite the love that now is lost
glad to have paid its cost.
Settling in the reclining chair
I scan the room and swear I see you there
your ghost and I such a bonded pair.
My Love I'd Bring You Back in A Heartbeat
If, I could change time my love and have you lie by me,
I would bring you back in a heartbeat.
The outside world is silent to my ears.
Hours are spent each day alone
with so much heartache and sorrow.
I miss you so much, I’m lost without you.
I'm always so cold and dizzy.
My stomach is always queasy it's so hard to eat.
If I could, I would bring you back once again.
To feel your face beneath my hand, your lips upon my lips.
To feel your warm breath against my neck
and smell your scent as you whisper against my ear.
To feel your arms around me as I rest my head
against your chest and hear your heartbeat.
As I think of you,
I see you lying upon the bed not feeling well
or sitting in your reclining chair as you're watching sports on TV.
I see you walking down the hall
always taking a back glance at me with a smile.
You never complained you were sick,
only when you were really ill and you'd say,
"I think you need to take me to the hospital."
However,
you always came home to me.
Except
this time, you stayed.
When the lights go out at night, the tears won't stop.
If, I could change time my love and have you lie by me,
I would bring you back in a heartbeat.
10/19/2018
N/A Poetry Contest: Truth 6/7/2019
Poetry Contest: NA re-run'
Sponsored By:John Hamilton
Fast asleep in a reclining chair, woke from slumber, by crashing thunder
Suddenly the lights go out and the TV flickers in and out
Darkness comes about, silence of the TV seems to just shout
Dazed and confused, looking for a source of light to use
Stumbling all about stubbing my toe, ouch!
Whipping winds and heavy rain broke out a window pain
Wind and rain come gusting threw
Blowing over a lamp that can't be used
Frighten dog and a scaredy cat whimper and cried
All the while looking for a place to hide
Shoring up the window blocking out wind and rain
Out of hiding comes the cat and Great Dane
Freezing weather out of doors, inside the fireplace roars
Cuddled up with my cat and Great Dane, here I'll stay until
the storm is contained
I’m seeing a zombie rot.
Is it Halloween or not?
If it’s not yet Halloween…
What would a haunted scarecrow mean?
Why would there be a ghost in the basement.
He isn’t even paying rent!
All these haunted beings,
They need to pack up their belongings.
Because it’s still August!
They need to get some rest.
There is no chilly wind outside.
So I offer to give them a ride.
I try to take them to a cemetery.
But then a werewolf got hungry for dairy.
So we go get ice cream on the way.
I even offer to pay.
But once they are done with their treats.
They say my reclining chair is good for their feet.
I give up! We can go back to my place.
To the car, they race.
Then the zombie asks if we can stop to pick up his medication.
I feel exasperation.
I guess I’ll resign.
I guess I’ll be fine.
I just can’t let them get angry.
I just can’t let them get hungry…
But the scarecrow is growing on me.
And I laugh watching the werewolf climb a tree.
So maybe these roommates won’t be so horrible.
As long as they take out the trash when it’s full!
“Fling open the windows to peek into wider vistas opening and let in light and fresh air”! ~ By Poet
Every day, he walks up to the window,
A practice he has recently developed.
This window is his sole opening to the world.
Sometimes he sits on the reclining chair by its side,
And watch for hours life unfolding.
This morning from his lonely cottage
The old man vacantly gazed,
At the lazy curl of smoke from the chimneys
His eyes further wandered over,
to the dew dampened meadows
And the sloping paths that ran round.
Over them how many times, he had rambled leisurely,
With Jack, his spaniel that died a few months ago.
Though single with no legacy to leave behind,
Never he felt so lonely as of late,
And the memories of his dog keep haunting him.
One morning he found his dog lying stretched out.
Alas! From that slumber, he didn’t rise!
Now with nothing to look forward to in life,
He is in no hurry to leave his cottage as before.
Each day of his life starts with the same ritual.
Every day the old man would brew his tea.
Pour it steaming into his large porcelain mug,
And get settled on a chair by the table,
Looking through the small window,
His only opening into the wider world!
___________________________
April.24. 2023
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘W’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France