Best Mezzanine Poems
My room at the Hyatt
Smelled like my ex-wife
She didn't have oodles of class
Or wasn't overly fancy
So, it must be that aroma of
Almost masking what had
Taken place the night before
We greeted each other with
A welcoming suspicion
The bathroom lighting flawless
Standing in the mirror with
Perfect tan and bright white A
T-shirt
Khaki slacks pulled high and
Wise guy hair cut
I wonder if Capone ever went to see
The Cubbies play
Beautiful sunny day, not too warm
Plenty of room on the mezzanine
At Wrigley
A pleasantly safe distance from the
Big middle aged guys with
Some other man's name on their back ' s
Exhaling brat breath
And beer farts
the Windy City loves their team
Happy family on the billboard:
mother, father, darling child;
this prime apartment their reward
in modern geometric style.
Two bedrooms, one on mezzanine
with en-suite bathroom, air con cooled;
green river bank a space to dream,
for exercise a chlorine pool.
From high above the building site,
conductor of the symphony,
the guiding crane, positions right
each block, each beam in harmony.
Minions moving much like robots
lift and carry, lay brick on brick
in heat or rain that never stops.
End of shift they shower in public,
a ready smile though life seems tough;
steamed white rice all eat together,
in shelters made from scrap sleep rough.
Might they never dream of better?
He slips into her world without her knowledge
And watched her from a distance day by day
As tears streamed down his face and hit the pavement
Then he thinks to himself, “what a price to pay”
Somewhere, somehow things in his marriage fell to pieces
Her expensive lawyer branded him unfit for custody
No calls, no visits or the system will place him in irons
And banish him from the state in the first degree
His little girl now has another daddy
And his ex has very fashionable ways
But his daughter stays to herself quite often
And she has those unseen friends when she plays
He watches as she gets off the bus at school time
And snaps another photo for keep sakes
But oh how he’d love to hold her close again
This daddy who’s heart is weak and still aches
She graduated high school with honors
As photos were snapped from places unseen
He slips back so the shadows would protect him
From his vantage point on the mezzanine
She somehow learns of all the times he wanted to see her
And leaves her mother high and dry
She changed her name to that of her daddy’s
And threw away her mama’s piece of pie
He’s buried in his family cemetery
She visits his grave every week or so
And sings little songs that she makes up
And pays no attention to her tears that flow
Brought back from the world of fantasies
By the 8’o clock warning device
Raised up undesirably at a lazy pace
Retrieving the welcoming hateful whole day race.
Jaded by the whole day lecture and ruined by assignments
Projects got to be compiled and pending PPTs
Next week’s above mentioned tasks
The lecturer did a job on my weekend plans.
Beetling of from the blue mind
On the way back paid for a RS pint
The evening amiability
Then changed my midday adhor.
Desirous roomie on my glass
Extended my evening all to night.
Budget hashed out and yet a penny left
Contribution counted to three
Held back for the late-night hour,
Program scheduled just after dinner.
Prepared nuts and crisped chicken
Horror flick lappy screen and encircled auditory sensation
Filtered flake lit up and welcoming the upcoming
Pollyannaish mood.
Three ready glasses and poured down first small pegs
Mixed with soda and measured cold drinks
Awaited Cheer up, is now appraised.
Valueless gabs and college couple scandals
Tittle-tattle few lectures and against soul mate’s lambasts.
Last sip downed
And the empty glasses quashed.
A bit stronger second and third
And the time seems to date-back.
Bulge out blushed eyes and orbing love stain bed
Latent hostility and fags myriad.
Enthroned activities
Except time none to put an end.
Deaf-mute fourth and last
Heedful sore past
Lonesome few moments and
Unenviably brought back.
A maudlin reverie expression
To see the past back to present
If matters could be deepened
Would endure the malign again.
Roused up from blues and faced the benighted
Sleety mezzanine and beetle-browed breeze
Yet stood placidly
To face the agony.
Mere empty thoughts
And faded memories
Seemed to calve a baseless spirit.
A sudden wink,
Out from the world of miasmas
To a reining state –
Caught up with existing faith
A new time ignited.
Bibulous state and duple images –
A feel to fly
And uncivilly liberty,
Did a moment time
An unexpected eternity.
The night to welcome the dawn
And unwished obscurity nap
Impermanent few hours of morning
Lasted till…….
Retrieving once again the hateful whole day race.
Form:
Synthemesc candelabras ache hyacinth desire till woven floors
macabre phoenix grown on veiled crucible vines, dragonflies now
inhabit counter-clocks I've forgotten seer dust ponders hewn salamandrine fire
as a wish to eradicate all a wish denies, You've lost your chance
well I've lost it in the mirror.
I slipped you a talking pill
spearing sun vistas’ translucent din hails those darkest clotted wings
in Babel’s way, so get out of my way, into the waste or into the waves?
Night’s volcanic window-sill maze flattens—castaways untowards sine-greaves’ Latin.
I am Electricity—I laugh at thunder
bellowing at my helm, unaware
that electricity is a sound I share
my unseen body, your shadow, our mezzanine Jericho
shattering in the mirror, drear-dreaming diadem go ahead I’ve lost it,
edelweiss that reads my mind the crimson oars shall never find
nor color’s death: a smiling, stilled lake.
I slip on an unwritten will.
This amber sky misted with periwinkle,
Daydreams close their eyes and grow,
These stars fade like the air we breathe,
Beyond my hopes of wishes yet seen,
Inside the stars will surely still shine,
Brighter than our lives do despite the time,
For pleasant evenings spent on mezzanine,
Catching snowflakes in wide open hands,
Times before the thunders fell and shattered,
Pieces and parts of potential now lost,
All this paper on the walls and cabinets,
So much splattered ink on my fingertips,
Our hands are noir with plight and loss,
But before this broken caravan stalled,
The air was so clear so clear so clean,
And a sliver of hope meant more than this,
No amounts of rain can wash away dread,
Though we will let it soak in deeper,
All these little implosions combine to bloom,
A particle cloud of mist, tears, hopes, and hate,
And we can stand there waiting for the world,
The whole of everything beyond who we are,
Or will ever stand to become even still,
As something bigger or smaller than the rest,
Because the whole world is my family,
And everyone is the black sheep,
But here fleeced in snowfall pure enough to blink,
And upon opening eyes a new day breaks,
One of shadowless victories and chances,
And more than a heart-full of love.
The warm hour after sunset in summer
Has long passed
So fast from these trees
In between
Just before the first freeze
Katydid clicks with half her strength
In the not-quite-right October sunshine
Violin swaddled to knee
Easy to miss her music
In the cold roar of autumn wind
Yet the surprise mercy of sun awakens her
If anyone notices
And from the Katydid’s mezzanine
With all she can muster
She calls to the universe a plea for more life
I think she is saying
Can you ever need something that does not exist?
Triskaidekaphobia
And so, you have “Triskaidekaphobia” on your mind.
Indeed, fear of the Number “13” does have a real and
a certain palpable feel and meaning for people who
harbor this particular phobia and carry it with them in
their lives. With triskaidekaphobia, superstitions abound
regardless of any rational explanations that are proffered
in western societies. The history of mankind is rife with
superstitions and old wives’ tales dating back through
the centuries as human societies grew and evolved over
time and became more or less sophisticated by their own
enculturation processes.
Nevertheless, next time you’re on an elevator you may
notice that a button for a “Thirteenth Floor,” doesn’t
exist, and that Floor 12 progresses to Floor 14. And,
with a “Floor 13” being non-existent, this may give a
person, a pause for a moment, with a certain mental
flavor of the phantasmal aura about everything that
surrounds a “Floor 13” existing and being listed on the
elevator’s button-panel selections—let alone even being
mentioned at all.
Sometimes the slack in this oddity of the floor numbers
may be deflected with a listing for the “Mezzanine” that
is an intermediate second floor that’s open to the ground
floor by a stairwell. It’s also worth mentioning that many
old hotels in the past that still exist today were built with
the inclusion of a “Thirteenth Floor.”
What to do? Do nothing. “Triskaidekaphobia” will exist
regardless, and this phobia, among many others, will help
to keep psychiatrists employed, occupied, and busy with
all of their various professional endeavors.
When in doubt, just remember that the “Loch Ness Monster,”
a la “Nessie,” does, in fact, really exist. And, never push that
button for that “Thirteenth Floor,” or else . . . !
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 29, 2018 (Narrative)
Muddy shoes beside her bed
Thoughts of you inside her head
Sheets that smell of gasoline
Been a long night for the beauty queen
Light flickers from a distant fire
Ask for the truth, she'll be the liar
The sight of you it turned her mean
Kiss and tell on the mezzanine
She's not one to reckon with
That was your last forever lasting kiss
Chair propped up against the knob of the bedroom door
Guess that oughta even up the score
Muddy shoes beside her bed
Thoughts of you inside her head
Sheets that smell of gasoline
Been a long night for the beauty queen
Dan's on the mezzanine
asking where the mayor lives
I'm on the dole line,
wondrin bout conservatives
The man with the leg cramps
boot camps wheel clamps
says they cut his food stamps.
Look out son,
he’s packin a gun:
God knows why
Pat Boone, full moon
someone's gonna die soon.
Del's on welfare,
Donald Trump is real pissed:
give 'em all health care?
What are we? Socialists?
Thinks I'm Harry Lime:
street crime, sub-prime,
now you're working part-time.
Look out boy,
you're only a goy:
don't revere teachers,
don't obey no preachers.
Jen's on Fox News
talkin bout the bank crash
wanna get some real views?
What about the trailer trash?
Read about Goldilocks
Botox bobbysocks
modelled by Amanda Knox.
Look out, Joe,
you're spoiling the show.
Don't watch features,
don't dance in the bleachers.
Get hired, get fired,
get rich, get stitched,
get tired, get wired,
get hitched, get ditched.
They got the cops at backstop,
Al Gore keeping score
'tween the Poors
and Dirt-Poors,
'tween the Haves
and Have-Mores.
John Wayne's vanished.
He's off to learn Spanish.
Immerse they say
Yawn in dawns of bright new days
Pillow canyons
blue blanket falls
Yarn gardens
tangled
listless
tall
Above wicker birds
endlessly high
is open firmament
a cotton down sky.
A door slowly opens in the still mezzanine,
within soft ivory forests and spiny mesquite trees.
Fleeting brisk laughter from vanishing imps
is our welcoming overture and beckons us in.
From a dark chasm we slowly emerge
Through a symbol, a door marked cypher and verge.
The door locked behind us, leaving us here
to wander in awe
for the rest of our years.
Ariel
From my mundane mezzanine I peer into the waning light,
My charcoal heart beats slowly, yearning to ignite
As the sinking sun seeps gold and red upon the wooded crown
I feel as if the last day of my life is slowly winding down
Somehow I know the walls that separate all worlds shimmer and grow weak
When fiery Sol leans down and kisses Terra’s sweet and fertile cheek
A mad man’s quest I tell myself as I watch shadows spread ‘cross the forest floor
And I but a childish man drunk on myth and half -forgotten lore
Was then I saw a flash of white appear and drift up into a leafy bough
A phantom draped in silver mist had crossed the gulf somehow
At once my heart fluttered and flew out like a bird freed from my prison chest
Was then I knew an unseen door had opened to Ariel’s bright unearthly crest
Aflame with childlike glee I leapt from my porch and ran wildly toward the trees
And as I raced a fawn like angel fluttered down, her beauty buckled both my knees
Blue diamond eyes smiling through a shimmering fall of golden sunlit tresses
All my longings hopes and needs her presence so sweetly now addresses
With tilted head and timid smile she glides to me and takes my trembling hand
Then off we fly through burning sky to Ariel to that fabled silver strand
I sit under the trees
Later
My neighbor said
“I enjoyed watching you pray.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sat there so still
Head tilted up for a very long time.”
“I suppose so
But actually I was entranced
By the crowns of the Oaks sweeping the sky
And that Cooper’s Hawk nest along for the ride
Swaying basket beneath a parachute
“A Fledgling teetering on the edge
“Doesn’t fly at first
Thinks
Then falls head first
“Batting tree trunks
Talons raking the bark
Crushing the branches in a humiliating commotion
Leaves ripped away
“Tumbling upside down
Wings hoisted half way to the planet
Then like magic
The bird fastens
To something close to the harness of an orbit
“Latches upright to a branch
Shakes its head
Furrows its brow
Eyes narrow to stirrings on the green mezzanine
Below
“Just like that
A Hawk reincarnated by hunger.”
“But I saw your hands clasped.” She says.
“Instincts, I guess.”
I the fisherman,
you the Queen,
we ate the candy in between,
the lobby and the mezzanine,
you took the time to read a book
and taught the servant s
how to cook
though royalty n'er took a look.
We squandered every single note
of every song I ever wrote,
and made a little fishing boat,
to go out far upon the sea,
with no one left to sail with me,
except three roaches and a flea,
They ate the sandwiches I made,
and drank my tea and lemonade,
and after that,the harp they played,
reminded me of afternoons
playing cowboys in the dunes,
the shell pits where the shy baboons,
swung way out from the guava trees,
on silver backs with bumble bees,
(you fell and scratched up both your knees)
Then you played artist on my face,
drawing clowns who had a race,
on broomstick horses
everyplace.
Out in the piney woods back home
we didn't need a telephone,
we never spent a night alone
imaginary friends came by
to play with Jax or learn to fly,
out in the oak so very high,
where we kept all our wings.
Immerse they say
Yawn in dawns of bright new days
Pillow canyons
blue blanket falls
Yarn gardens
tangled
listless
tall
Above wicker birds
endlessly high
is open firmament
a cotton down sky.
A door slowly opens in the still mezzanine,
within soft ivory forests and spiny mesquite trees.
Fleeting brisk laughter from vanishing imps
is our welcoming overture and beckons us in.
From a dark chasm we slowly emerge
Through a symbol, a door marked cypher and verge.
The door locked behind us, leaving us here
to wander in awe
for the rest of our years.
Written by my husband Thielus.
A. Green
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