Long Refrigerator Poems
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Seijaku
Trauma tragedy rallies bout’ caucus chaos
Amidst the tumult of life in spite I’m at peace
Daily confusion, babies crying
Refrigerator died, hard wire smoke detector alarming
Ain’t no fire, yet in this noise?
I am blessed to have my hearing
I am not alarmedI AM…
But?
CALM
Was baking grandma’s birthday cake
Had to tend to something outside the house, burnt as little of it
Talked with baby sister, she reminded me of an ingredient G-ma allergic
Computer on pause it has frozen monitor buzzin
Aren’t no understanding everything hectic and scattered
Yet! I am flattered peace am I
I am blessed to have my life, my items working or not
For in my hectic... I am yet still
CALM
I’m blessed, even in my mess, I am
CALM finding tranquility
While enduring, I have chosen to be still at peace in my CALM
Rather than acknowledge my turmoil and traumas
Even in my mess the un peace, my turmoil and confusion I am
Calm
8/13/24
For Seijaku Poetry Contest
Free verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Silent One
she binds her own hands
keeping her true self away from herself
shuts her mouth tighter than a refrigerator door
nothing oozes out, or hints to her feelings
she is as closed as I am eager
I want her to unbind her hands
I want her to open her lips
and speak her heart
but it is not to be
she keeps herself bound and gagged
taking her heart hostage, not allowing it to breathe
revealing nothing of her emotions
closed and terrified, living a half life
this is her choice
no one can unbind her hands
no one can live her truth
or follow her heart
if she is determined to remain bound
I was dancing and prancing
And singing whooped Dee Dee
Not realizing I was not alone
Until he opened his shirt to me
He threw out the mayo, some jam and some jelly, a real hoot.
I caught the chocolate milk in midair, he was dancing up a toot.
He laughed and winked and some ice fell down his crushed ice shoot
He was a rascal, a scoundrel and a womanizer to boot.
I have never seen a dishwasher who can move like you
he said holding out his hands.
The oven, his furious ex, reddened her burners and threw out some pots and pans.
We laughed and we swirled and we boogied and we dipped.
She threw out ovenware but The frig and I ducked every one.
I shut his door, so we could dance up a storm.
Refrigerator boogie was so exciting and fun!
Dishwashers are reputed to be the best dancers around,
And I was confident as we twirled, we were breaking brand new ground
The ovens burners were blood red now, the kitchen was like a Sauna.
I blew him a kiss and whirled away giving him back to his ex, so sound.
As they trotted through the the kitchen, laughing, their sensors lit,
I danced around them with a loud dishwasher's whoop Dee Dee
Now whenever the three of us decide to liven the kitchen a bit,
We dance cheek to cheek, and throw sauce pans, the wild three!
Where's my aspirin?
My mother's at me again.
The list on my refrigerator door is out dated.
Yes, Ma I know wasting food is a sin.
There's hairy, smelly, and ugly goo in
My cold refrigerator bin.
I could tell you what it was when
It went in.
Ugh! Gloves on. Time to begin.
I know Ma. I gotta learn to do this chore
Weekly through thick and thin.
Open the tin?
I don't think so. I am not getting this on my
Skin.
Much to my Ma's chagrin
I just throw away the has been
In
The container it was in
With my Ma around that's not gonna happen.
Now I have to bleach and wash away the
Bacterin.
so I went on a diet,
I wanted to lose 30 pounds,
I must have gained 100 when I joined up with them clowns.
No more chocolate in the morning,
or even late at night,
No more ice cream in the evening,
Before I say good night.
No fast food on the weekends,
Hamburgers and French fries,
No more sneaking potato chips,
No more little lies.
No pancakes for breakfast,
They are just way to fat,
No more chicken with BBQ sauce,
Id give it to my cat.
No more pizza for supper,
Sausage pepperoni and what not,
I have to empty my refrigerator out of all things I bought.
This diet really sucks now,
I really want to eat,
so I sneak a snickers bar and admit my defeat.
Love is parading around on the stove tonight
Cooking beanie weanies for the likes of me.
The smell makes me smile.
And he makes me giddy.
For fifty-five years I have been in love with this fifteen-year-old boy.
He is grinning like a sailor who just fell off the back of a whale.
He is seeing my dancing legs on the hood of his 1959 Pink Cadillac.
Love has prevailed.
Love is here.
Love is now, love sweet love.
Both dogs come running. The big and the little, the young and the old.
They sense that Mommy and Daddy are about to hug, maybe kiss.
Their radar is keen, and they want in on the action.
Besides Daddy is standing next to the refrigerator.
There might be a baloney treat in there somewhere for each.
We are a family, a family.
We’re a mommy and a daddy and a Buddy and a Sophie.
How our lives have changed.
We have three daughters and two sons-in-law, all lovely and fine.
Shark, the cat, is somewhere, probably eating a headless mouse.
But the one thing that never changes is love.
Ten grandchildren have it, we have it, and the woods keeps it for us.
It blows through the oaks and the willow.
Flitters and flutters around us in the forms of wasp, cardinals and butterflies.
For fifty-five years I have been in love with a fifteen-year-old boy.
Written: June 04, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
*****************
Crude oil squats between my ribs
as a codependent nebula
asking if we can “talk around our relationship.”
It purrs, leaks, and files an HR complaint
with the Department of Internal Oceans
for “hostile hydration practices.”
It vibrates in my chest
like a supertanker with performance anxiety
and no access to therapy.
The apple in my hand declares a recession mid-bite,
Its seeds unionize,
the core files for bankruptcy,
and the stem starts a podcast about “resilience.”
I chew once,
And suddenly I’m liable
for three galaxies' worth of debt
and one very crestfallen auditor threat.
While the fridge appears geopolitical,
The milk launches a coup, cynical.
The yogurt is sanctioned for “fermenting unrest.”
and the butter — Napoleon of refrigeration —
amasses troops behind the pickles.
While margarine runs for office — for nickels,
on a platform of “No More Warmth.”
When I walk, the floorboards groan
under global markets
and interest rates that adjust themselves —
Whenever I breathe.
They creak like ancient gods
who regret outsourcing creation
to primates with credit cards.
My shadow unionizes,
demands cosmic hazard pay
and a dental plan,
then takes unauthorized smoke breaks
in a separate galaxy.
Every heartbeat slaps like a tanker hull
wondering why anyone trusted apes
with fire, feelings,
or anything that comes in a bottle.
And still — the Strait wears my skin,
the world wears my worry like a borrowed coat —
And I wear the whole mess
two sizes too small,
like a thrift-store spacesuit
missing its helmet.
So I laugh.
Because if I don’t,
the milk wins —
and the apple
will schedule another meeting —
That should’ve been an email.
It was the last snowfall of winter's end
I went out sleighing with my best friend
Twelve inches of snow ~ sunny skies ~ a perfect blend
We trekked with cardboard boxes ~ around the bend
A long dirt path ~ through baron woods
A red fox curled in a ball ~ he caught my eye
Quietly we walked ~ as we passed him by
We covered our faces with our jacket hoods
A mile walk ~ was sleigh-ride hill
A refrigerator box was our perfect ride
And so was it Snoop's ~ when he jumped inside
Woohoo ~ Yee haw ~ a winter's end thrill
Snooping around ~ before he jumped inside
A stray puppy ~ a beagle ~ lost and alone
We played ~ his tail wagged ~ I took him home
He was scared ~ but playful ~ he barked and cried
Mom said "no" ~ I cried ~ she felt sad
Begging her please ~ she finally gave in
I knew if I cried, I'd eventually win
I named him Snoopy~ he was the first dog I ever had
Of winter's end~ this sure was the best
The towns people knew him ~ he was liked by them all
They knew I had found him ~ at sleigh-ride hill by the mall
I had him for sixteen years ~ I was blessed
Enclosed Rhyme - September 2018 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart
9/19/2018
Repast for June 13th, 2020...
(and countless provender
scores of years gone by)...
to partake larding refrigerator cupboards
think respectable food vendor.
Courtesy Montgomery County
(Pennsylvania) Assistance Office in general
and Electronic Benefit Transfer
(EBT) card in particular.
Yes, I (a mere tenderloin) reckonize
a long overdue thank you
wouldrequiremorethanone breath whew
but a clear and
distinct preference necessitates
easy to read and understand view
versus merely typing gobbledygook,
which would invite
yours truly typing Urdu
(which language I know
absolutely nothing about... true)
but lack of familiarity
never stopped me stew
wing anonymous readers
with ire, now I rue
men hate, yepper after
forcing anonymous readers
to wade, née (nearly drown)
into thicket of quo
titty yen verbiage, invariable
coming across as po
i.e. half assed poet,
whose self impressive smugness
amounted to diddly squat,
thee immediate answer
obviously, an emphatic,
Italic, unchic... "NO"
quite surprised if
"PLEASE SIR, I WANT MO!"
your unequivocal response,
which counter reply "LO
AND BEHOLD" would
casually follow suit ya know,
cuz all kidding aside,
yours truly (me), an average Joe
King garden variety,
and generic bot ready
for thee to interview
me, ultimately, preferably,
and ideally hue
not linkedin to
those awful *****sapiens
though... as a baby going goo
goo gaga, they seem
exclusive as Fontainebleau
(Area: 66.43 mi²)
regarding comprehending et tu
probably agree, that babies
create an abundance of do do
unapproachable as motley crew
who stoically man/woman
aforementioned French town
southeast of Paris where
sun shines every day,
and sky always blue.
Two faithful souls stand listless in the great big tower
overlooking the stranded city that once stood tall
yearning for a quiet place to lay their heads
while far beyond the deserted land
a soft blue light gleams gracefully above tranquil skies,
dancing shadows rocking to midnight tunes,
and sweet melodies echoing from the gigantic moon.
She spans more than a thousand feet long soaking
up the exhausted earth, her immeasurable depths
cuts and carve through valleys and streams
with clear blue water and powdery white sand
what more could you ask for on that distant land.
They have been planning this trip for many years,
but when the time draws near their saving disappears.
An empty refrigerator with two trays of frozen ice
lean against the corner of the kitchen
in their ten bedroom mansion
and a bare pantry exposing a slice of mildew bread
filled with little mice nibbling and playing tug of war.
Not many people knew their story
they have been broke for twenty years
but lived a painful lie, cutting corners
making back door transaction,
eating lamb and turkey from profits
made from sordid deals.
Their empire that once stood tall hangs in dismay
While it watches the world going up in flame
by those who continue to play treacherous games.
Sobibor and Hiroshima horrors of the past
Should have cleared the way for a more sophisticated path
But now athoroughfare mixed with complexity
packed with insidiousness
have ducks walking around
quacking without wings or tails
They finally got an offer to go to Utopia.
with packed bags not a penny in their name,
they set off for Utopia hoping to find a new life again
but when they got their it was the same old begrimed game.
Their entire world has been shaken,
shaken by its own guilt and self-reproach,
the transgression that their ancestors have borne
have been handed down for generations to shoulder
A land that they believe was pure and holy
has turned into nightmare and horror
dreadful things dismount in dark corners
women raped strangers abused
yet religion forms the core of the throne
They have witnessed empires toppled,
Kingdoms have fallen in their sight
Rulers have shaken and wept bitterly
causing the great big god to balance the scale
but blackmail in Utopia remains a formidable game
©2013 Christine Phillips