Poems about sofa


№ 1209833

A jigsaw piece under the sofa

I will not wave, lunge,
Cry, shriek, rejoice,
When the last trickle
Of you slips, unwillingly,
From my memory's
Clutches, into those bleak and
Bottomless caverns filled
With a million misplaced eyes,
Endless shadowy smiles,
A billion faded farewells.
The final flickers of you
Will eventually greet
The same gloomy fate.

Maybe the last to leave
Will be your white gold hair.
Maybe the remaining grains
Of loquacious you will be
Your opinion of Nabokov,
Your nihilism, your
Penchant for poetry.
More likely, it will be
Our soul-shaking despair,
Our collective and awful
With luck, you'll slide away
With star-glazed eyes,
A halfway smile,
A twinkle of recognition.

There are things that
I can't bear to lose.
Leave me, please, your voice.
Leave me that treasure of
The glass-winged seraphim,
The vibrations and citations
Of vocal chords woven
From pensive moonbeams,
Littered with soft lingering vowels,
Honeyed and dapple grey.
Give me, to keep, glorious
Saltwater bubbles of laughter.
Let me live alongside your
Scuttling sideways glances.
Let my heart wear your too-short red jumper.

How will I know when it goes?
It will be the silent last of you,
A jigsaw piece under the sofa,
Miscellaneous, homeless,
On the precipice,

jigsaw,  piece,  sofa.

Author: Annelyra
Date: 06/04/2020

№ 1183298

Hide from the dog under the sofa

If i was a leaf blower i'd wish you were a stationary bike
So we could be forgotten together in an unused garage

I want to be a candlestick holder if you're a dinette set
So we can dance close under the chandelier in the quiet foyer

I'll be an old stained t-shirt if you're a chest of drawers
And i'll slip inside and live in the back of your heart forever

If you're a tennis ball and i'm a chewed up shoe we can
Hide from the dog in the dark under the sofa holding hands

But i am only a rooftop
That you won't lay on
You are a thousand stars
Out of reach and too beautiful to

dog,  hide,  sofa.

Author: david badgerow
Date: 13/03/2020

№ 1163353

Sofa Split

The vase

Was bought for a fair value

The price

Love, hate, joy and tears


Trials and tributaries

Veins filled to the brim

Now the vase

Has been knocked

From its base

It's still ours

As long as it does not reach the floor

If it reaches the floor

A million pieces it will become

There's a time and a place

To catch that vase

To stop the fall

But the heart is weak

The mind is wicked and belligerent and confused

If the vase can not be caught

All will be alone until it is reborn

The wheel will roll hard and fast

From its foundation

No longer producing

What it produced

For a decade of holiday seasons

Oh folly of the mind

Why do you sweep the pieces up from the floor

When they were safely in your hands

Now they've crashed into earth and life

Clearly sailing to the bottom of the well

No longer able to breathe in our hearts.

sofa,  split.

Author: Absent Minded
Date: 24/02/2020

№ 1133022

Sofa Thoughts

This is how I like it.
A tangle of limbs and clothing,
Exactly like this.
Unsure of where I start
And where you finish.
Loving stillness.
You are my favorite
State of being.

sofa,  thoughts.

Author: Tessa F
Date: 28/01/2020

№ 1114680


[[I found this somewhere the other day while I was looking through some stuff. It is more of just an excerpt than a poem, but I gave it a poetic structure to make it easier on the eyes. ]]

I am sitting in this ugly, worn out chair. It is old, and there are obvious signs that it has been used and used again. It is simply a seat in which I can rest my body after a hard day of work. The carpet that this sofa-type-chair rests on is stained and discolored and hardly fitted for the room. It doesn't even stretch from one wall to the other.

Resting on my antique night stand is one of two vintage looking speakers that I stumbled across while ravaging through a dumpster behind the Goodwill. [There's good shit in there: ) You should try it! ].

On the walls are old, used posters that I have had for years. They are cleverly placed to cover glow-paint graffiti that the last tenant left behind. Some of them have obvious sun damage, and a few of them are tattered and ripped.

The bedroom suit is antique and has limped in here after being beaten and bruised since the early years of my childhood.

There are no tokens of wealth here, but there are obvious signs of hard work and many attempts to make the atmosphere as comfortable as possible for myself or whomever chooses to enter my humble dwelling. This is far from the place I dream to be, but I have always been able to make it my own. This is my safe-haven, and for now, it is where I lay my head.

Don't get me wrong, I love spending my time here. It isn't much, but I'm thankful for what I have. I spend some of my most enjoyable time here. If the walls could talk, you'd be enthralled and perplexed by what they would tell you. Maybe sometimes you would even be disgusted; )

I am free here, but there are still so many elements that can intrude from outside these four walls. The boundaries can be broken by anyone who decides to turn the knob and give the aged, wooden door a little shove.

I feel so mortal here.
There are so many worldly implements.

It is much too humanistic and real for me. It is just too hard to grasp the concreteness of things here.

There is a place where I like to go that I enjoy most of all. I could never bring you here, but I can describe it to the best of my ability.

The inner workings of this place are not too solid. the elements are much more fluid. They can change their form beyond your will.

I have been visiting this place for a long time; as far back as my mind will take me, but I still haven't worn out my welcome because this place is just for me. The temperature is neither too hot nor is it too cold.

The land here is more vast than the greatest plains in the world, but I have trampled on every square inch.

The ocean is deeper than the Earth itself, but I have swam the great blue depths.

The sky stretches on and on beyond all Earthly possibilities, but I can reach to the clouds by just outstretching my arms.

The mountains reach to the stars and beyond, but I can trudge to the peak and slide all the way back to the bottom in the blink of an eye.

There are more people in this place than have ever existed since the beginning of time, but I have spoken a lifetime worth of deep thought with each and every one of them.

I pated the silver linings on every single cloud and tossed them up into the sky one-by-one.

I gave names to each and every plant and animal.

I paved all of the roads and built every structure without a single tool.

I created the entire world here. This place holds my every want, need and desire. It is my kingdom. I can dream any dream. Illusions become real at your desire, and everything that you ever believed was impossible suddenly lies within your reach.

Nothing can take over my will and break me down on these journeys throughout the eternal vastness of my mind.

As I leave my mind once again, I take a stroll back to this earthly place. I find myself still encompassed by the staleness and placidity of this place. I'm still here slumped in my aged, worn out, sofa-type-chair on its stained and discolored carpet that is still hardly fitted for the room. It is still a pleasant atmosphere, but if I decide that I want to leave this place, I can take flight back to my immense kingdom and conquer the skies. I can go as far as I want without ever moving a limb.

The best part about it is that you can never follow me here...

There is probably some place on this earth that is dear to you. You most likely long to visit this place, and even find yourself there time after time, but there is only one place you can go no matter what is going on around you. This place is not of this world, and you would never find it simply by just looking.

Find a place with your own tattered, worn out sofa-type-chair. Sit down and close both eyes. No open your third eye, take flight, and start building your kingdom.

chair,  sofa,  type.

Author: JMG
Date: 11/01/2020

№ 1085058

Poem for that fat ass women on the sofa:

God damn!
She took my smokes!
Were the hec is that wine?
White trash: thats what she is
Lying there, stinking like old perfume.
Brush your teeth,
(At least once this year. )
Gimme that remote,
Damn tv is mine anyways
Move over, shift, away.
Take your trash
Ok, leave if you wanna...


You laugh at night
As you suck in the smoke
And you ride me like no one has
And you like the TV on
While we screw
And you like spirit drinks
And I feel like lightening when
You strike
And I cant wait till Friday
When you arrive.


Thats what I think
And so yes – ok – I love you.

fat,  poem,  sofa,  women.

Author: Vincent
Date: 15/12/2019

№ 1047223

Sofa sulking.

Maybe I'm just tired?
I'll take a nap and be ok,
But I just can't forget the words,
You didn't even hesitate to say.

So as I lay here on my sofa sulking,
There's a war playing on in my mind,
Because on all of your words I'm choking,
As you think they're how I'm defined.

sofa,  sulking.

Author: Rhiannon
Date: 11/11/2019

№ 1003922

Sofa Legs

What is a day when you wake up in meditation
This body is inseparable from this light
And the mellowly blowing signless flag
Singing only to one side
And the brown edge
Nothing else than its edgeness

Skin having already freed itself from the weight bearing traces of the dust of my mind
Capturing smooth
The light –
Melting differences over the bumpless
Recalling velvety longing

Not for the sake of the material but
The freedom that has once recorded this twin light
Long ago
On such surface

For its manifestation

Bringing awareness about the tempter
On senses
And again imploding its imaginary cavities
On the touchless curves of a sofa
Newly displaying the angle of
Its wooden edge
Drawing a perfect eighty five degree Invisible line
In space
Towards the webless corner -just noticed-
Where the eye gets relieved by its neatness
And relaxes
Becoming the point of a trivalent stillness

This – the edgy- is a sister of these Sofa legs
Four in all

Implying itself as a sexiest part of its couch –
Couch of a type – as it says
Owning each other
Like body and sense
In one posture
And in its remembered object name

And maybe ready to unfold memories Alas
If there would be openness to listen
Or if I were what it could allure me to be for its charm

But No – it says nothing this time
Mending time through fractals of its becoming my spaceless space
With the old radio set aside
Never playing more than its silent tunes for those skaters in an etching of an ancient landscape hanging on the wall above since ...
Since before the internet age
Showcasing a memory that nobody knows and can see or hear but smell maybe
Beside a winter blossom
Flourishing its inspiration

Not understanding each other but requiring the same attention as my body does
Or as the realization of a thought that I could not run up that hill as fast as that dog –

A dog being observed behind a glass and I am unsure if this observation could have effect on the style it puts to the run

Or if my observation is being observed and that may be a reason of its action as such
As if it does so to show off – Really!
Unknowing to who or what
And then again still ...

AaaaaW!!! Shut up!

No no no! I should stop now

What may make a catch less of a catch
Putting things of importance of a day on a scale of indifference
And then again what is this nosy urge
Asking for order?! !

It is a play.

Even if you like it or not
I am in and such is
You yOU YoU

A play as true as the one watching
Same actually –
Same as the one watching

Watching or steeped in
Space in Space

No Space

Non of these Things

A day remains
As the mind fades to embrace

*Like the day
Rainbows are manifesting
From the heart of this inspiration

legs,  sofa.

Author: Lalin
Date: 03/10/2019