CHALLENGE: what they found in my attic....

[~hellbaby~]

grandpa was a nut
he was either fucking death
drinking
or having sentimental journeys
of his childhood





Does that qualify as a poem?

I think it's a great poem;I wonder why he never mentioned you though. Hmmm

 

[~hellbaby~]

oh but they WILL.

I am afraid of when my kids learn how to surf the net! oh MY!!!


so.

don't show the grandkids, just show US....

I caught my son looking up my profile the other day on aol, I thought of that last year and earased them all.{Just so he doesn't find journals and web pages}

 

[Guest]

I was totally shocked with getting a couple 2 votes...

Yeah, well, the people who give 2 votes anon. have no class. If they don't leave their name, and give an explanation why, you know they have nothing better to do with their time. Consider it as down right jealousy or like I said, they have nothing better to do with their time, but hurt others. These are people who need therapy.

I SO feel better now!

 

[sandspike]

I'm at work

Just threw out an attic poem that will post tomorrow. Anna, I hope you get
a chance to read it. I'll try to be on time from now on.

 

[annaswirls]

Just threw out an attic poem that will post tomorrow. Anna, I hope you get
a chance to read it. I'll try to be on time from now on.

Thanks! I will look for it-- this has been fun looking into your futures

 

[annaswirls]

I
I also thought it was interesting many folks couldn't make it work in 12 lines. More then I expected. I considered that a big part of the challenge.

(Course, I ended up using longer lines too... will have to go back and see if I can prune quite a bit and get it down to just the essence. )

You know, I did not even follow my own guidelines, as I changed them midstream... I will go back and do one in 12.

Promise

 

[annaswirls]

(more to come after breakfast with the bad boys)

Sons of Heros



Pages in the afterglow
folded into the corner of
faded photos mingle
with stale dim loft.

Crumbled borders bare
the face of yesterday.

Voice sadly buried
with collection of debris
bound in yellow ribbons,
surrounded by his
purple heart...

An unsung hero
wipes away the bitter
sighs with the dust
and shudders in silence..

~

I like the symbolic feel that comes through the more typically concrete images, the putple heart and yellow ribbons, I would think might come across as overused, but they DONT.

I do not remember the poet-- I think I do.... I dont remember seeing it in new poems-- if not, please ID yourself for everyone


~anna

 

[annaswirls]

Untitled

The column of the moon, speckled, though window of dust and rain and dust
again, lies spectral in circles on the yellowed bones of papers. Up rose
petals of dust in spirals of endings.
This is the way it ends, the procession of the seasons?

Soul sunken and mocked; hollowed and harrowed by lies of the howling Ghosts
wearing worded lace of Saccharin and Strychnine, bearing kisses of the adder,
words of basest metals, gravely leading.
This is the way it ends - for a poets pathetic reasons.

The volume of the moon through glass stained with dust, heavy and unjust
weighing the dust for moment frozen, then spiraling in desent even sadder
to settle on mysteries, the missing
ending of honor's way repaid with treasons.

~
Wow, this IS a heavy poem!
A lot here, very rich in imagry and language, maybe too much of a good thing. Some of the alliteration seems too much but I LOVE " lace of Saccharin and Strychnine,"


and this is a great line as well:

"This is the way it ends, the procession of the seasons?"

 

[annaswirls]

Dusty Treasures

Hmm… one more dusty box. Buried treasures, junk or emptiness?
Strained cardboard squeals as the lid is raised and quickly tossed aside.
What’s this? Sheaves of yellowed paper, covered in pen-inked lines?

Seeking a sunbeam filled with dancing motes of dust, they read
of sorrow, joy, pain, love, cherished moments, and saddening loss.
A lifetimes worth of memories scribed on precious pages.

Wide eyed wonder as they saw Haley’s comet through Grandpa’s eyes.
Contagious giggles reading silly courting poems to Gram.
Who would have thought he’d write a poem about that old Chevy truck?

Now they understand the twinkle they’d see sometimes in the old man’s eyes.
Comprehend the wistful smile when he sat on the porch as the sun set.
Poetry painting the picture of Grandpa’s heart better than any Kodak could.


"Seeking a sunbeam" I love the way that sounds. Seeking a sunbeam. Why is it so pleasing? It feels perfectly symmetrical... hmm. At any rate, a bittersweet poem here~the last line says it all!

~

 

[annaswirls]

His Face I leave Behind

Tender years wrap time
in dusty photos.

Simple snapshots painting laughter
thoughts swirling within
the comfort or your company.

Will they see your steady
arm holding mine so firm?

Will they know how much
you delighted my days
beaming in your presense?

Can your picture demand
their applause as did mine?


~

Awesome title on this one! I am not sure what the last line means, but I love it anyway. Whole lot of questions, yes, that is what many people leave behind

Thanks!

 

[annaswirls]

We have no attic here


Forced rhymes and gross misspellings.
It's Tuesday, we have time to get it out,
this food for silverfish
as ugly as the photographs
Toss them too
Do you think we will have to
Red Bag this freakin' mess
Its Tuesday, get it out,
we have no attic here


okay crotchety old guy

of course I love this, smilin' right through.
I love the food for silverfish
my body to the worms! My heart to the silverfish!
my soul to the red bag!



whoever you are, thanks for the smile, and i know you know this is a bunch of bullll-oney. and when they find this one (if you ever print it out!!!) it will be cherished like the others

 

[annaswirls]

12 lines

When the newborns come[/B]


we bring them to her first,
wrapped tight and lowered into skeletal arms--
arms once strong with the weight of children
held lovers as if life depended upon not letting go

these rings trapped behind swollen knuckles
slide loose and free as her verse
typed with relentless passion
Steel and riverstones,
longing and loss


her silent poetry, dissolved like salt in tears
christen our newborns

we bring them to her first

 

[Maria2394]

Thanks! I will look for it-- this has been fun looking into your futures

Dearest anna, I have no attic,
does this forcast no future?
I listened as my babies gurgled,
they grew up, learned how to Google

I have "poems" on the net, unless
it crashes and cyberspace dies
I should be kinda hard to forget

 

[annaswirls]

Dearest anna, I have no attic,
does this forcast no future?
I listened as my babies gurgled,
they grew up, learned how to Google

I have "poems" on the net, unless
it crashes and cyberspace dies
I should be kinda hard to forget

kinda? impossible

HEY I saw Thievesjargon is back up! Congrats, so so cool!

 

[bluerains]

thanks for inspiring Anna

and thanks for all the nice comments...I will comment this evening there were some really great pens...take care/blue

 

[Angeline]

These poems are wonderful. Look at this random smattering of lines from some of your submissions! See how good you are?


So umbrellas are guns or
swords, while the simplest of
bathrobes are fit for a
king,

**********

None of this was there as I knelt
by his shoulder,
kissed his waxen face
and missed the smell of licorice
in the air.

**********

picked gray hair out of my teeth
that fell in the food she baked, I ate,
silly memories I'll never forget, and don't regret
reading how filthy her mouth was, where it's been,

**********

Covered in paper skin and propped
with tapestry pillows, these arms
held lovers as if life depended upon not letting go,
arms muscled with the weight of children
thrown into the air, carried on hip.

I took mine off because I'm pretty sure it's going to be published very soon.

I'm really glad I played a small role in this, although the challenge was all Anna's idea. Maybe we can get an idea from someone else's poem for a new challenge. Whddaya think? Anybody got any ideas?

es to Anna for the challenge.

 

[BooMerengue]

These poems are wonderful. Look at this random smattering of lines from some of your submissions! See how good you are?


So umbrellas are guns or
swords, while the simplest of
bathrobes are fit for a
king,

**********

None of this was there as I knelt
by his shoulder,
kissed his waxen face
and missed the smell of licorice
in the air.

**********

picked gray hair out of my teeth
that fell in the food she baked, I ate,
silly memories I'll never forget, and don't regret
reading how filthy her mouth was, where it's been,

**********

Covered in paper skin and propped
with tapestry pillows, these arms
held lovers as if life depended upon not letting go,
arms muscled with the weight of children
thrown into the air, carried on hip.

I took mine off because I'm pretty sure it's going to be published very soon.

I'm really glad I played a small role in this, although the challenge was all Anna's idea. Maybe we can get an idea from someone else's poem for a new challenge. Whddaya think? Anybody got any ideas?

es to Anna for the challenge.

I wouldn't dare come up with a Challenge; my Muse didn't just leave for a bit... she stomped off in a rage and I haven't a poetic thought in me anymore. But I do love these challenges- surely someone can come up with something!

 

[Guest]

Is it too late to open this attic?

Heddi’s attic

Caught in the skylight above
an icy slice of moon
casts a silver sheen over
restless dustcovers and forgotten
familiar furniture.
Yellow newsprint lines long
vacated shelves and drawers
telling of forgotten deaths
and begging to be read once more.
A fly-blown box holds toys
reverently wrapped as if to preserve
our childhood in tissue paper,
Major Matt Mason flies no more
guarding Barbie in their
secret cardboard coffin.
A music box, quiet all these years,
sings long forgotten songs
in the dusty still without
the turn of a key.

I find I am holding my breath
in expectation of finding my past
in a bundle
I disturb a large, hairy spider
and breath again.

 

[Angeline]

I wouldn't dare come up with a Challenge; my Muse didn't just leave for a bit... she stomped off in a rage and I haven't a poetic thought in me anymore. But I do love these challenges- surely someone can come up with something!

I don't know what you're talking about--I've read the last few things you've written. I don''t think your muse took an intermission.

 

[annaswirls]

These poems are wonderful. Look at this random smattering of lines from some of your submissions! See how good you are?


So umbrellas are guns or
swords, while the simplest of
bathrobes are fit for a
king,

**********

None of this was there as I knelt
by his shoulder,
kissed his waxen face
and missed the smell of licorice
in the air.

**********

picked gray hair out of my teeth
that fell in the food she baked, I ate,
silly memories I'll never forget, and don't regret
reading how filthy her mouth was, where it's been,

**********

Covered in paper skin and propped
with tapestry pillows, these arms
held lovers as if life depended upon not letting go,
arms muscled with the weight of children
thrown into the air, carried on hip.

I took mine off because I'm pretty sure it's going to be published very soon.

I'm really glad I played a small role in this, although the challenge was all Anna's idea. Maybe we can get an idea from someone else's poem for a new challenge. Whddaya think? Anybody got any ideas?

es to Anna for the challenge.

Congrats on the pub Ange! High fives!
It was a beautiful poem that inspired the challenge, thanks for letting me use it


And thanks for pulling such great lines from the attic-- literotica poets rock


Challenges do seem to bring out the best of people -- many times at least. I sometimes choke.

My beside the red barn door from the sp challenge just came out in <b>Free Verse</b>, a print journal from a small press located in Wisconsin, which I thought was fitting! I did not even plan it that way (as if I can plan an acceptance )


hmmm I will think of something.... challenge challenge challenge....

 

[BooMerengue]

I don't know what you're talking about--I've read the last few things you've written. I don''t think your muse took an intermission.

I don't know what you've read... it's been months since I've written much of anything! But thanks for the vote of confidence, GF!

 

[Rybka]

Congratulations!

Congrats on the pub Ange! High fives!
. . .
My beside the red barn door from the sp challenge just came out in <b>Free Verse</b>, a print journal from a small press located in Wisconsin, which I thought was fitting! I did not even plan it that way (as if I can plan an acceptance )
. . .

Congratulations to both of you! And especially for beside the red barn door being in print! It justifies my taste. . . I told you it was the bestest of the best!

 

[Angeline]

Congrats on the pub Ange! High fives!
It was a beautiful poem that inspired the challenge, thanks for letting me use it


And thanks for pulling such great lines from the attic-- literotica poets rock


Challenges do seem to bring out the best of people -- many times at least. I sometimes choke.

My beside the red barn door from the sp challenge just came out in <b>Free Verse</b>, a print journal from a small press located in Wisconsin, which I thought was fitting! I did not even plan it that way (as if I can plan an acceptance )


hmmm I will think of something.... challenge challenge challenge....

And congrats to you! A small press in Wisconsin, eh? That's very cool.

 

[bluerains]

I would have to say

Is it too late to open this attic?

Heddi’s attic

Caught in the skylight above
an icy slice of moon
casts a silver sheen over
restless dustcovers and forgotten
familiar furniture.
Yellow newsprint lines long
vacated shelves and drawers
telling of forgotten deaths
and begging to be read once more.
A fly-blown box holds toys
reverently wrapped as if to preserve
our childhood in tissue paper,
Major Matt Mason flies no more
guarding Barbie in their
secret cardboard coffin.
A music box, quiet all these years,
sings long forgotten songs
in the dusty still without
the turn of a key.

I find I am holding my breath
in expectation of finding my past
in a bundle
I disturb a large, hairy spider
and breath again.

this has such a real impact..the colors you paint create quite am impressive view..
my favorite I think..

 

[Reltne]

I know I am late, so what?. . . Ah, Fuck it anyway!

In the Old Farm Attic


Well we didn’t mean to find it

I mean it was in the attic of the old farmhouse that we bought
a trunk behind some old boxes of books and
magazines and clippings and farm clothes and boots
and stuff like that
You could almost taste that old musty smell of attic and decay

We really just went for the trunk when we emptied the attic
It was old enough to be worth something or keeping
if we cleaned it up
but when we cut the lock
we had no clue
to the combination and didn’t care anyway
and dumped it out
we found letters and pictures
a journal and poems

lots of poems

We cleaned up the trunk
and sold the pictures

The letters and poems
we use to start the wood stove
on the cold mornings when we need it

We are thinking of keeping the barn
and tearing down the house
It is worth more
and who cares about a hermit who
scribbled

His dog is buried by the walnut tree
where the squirrels play