Best Attic Poems
In A Darkened Attic Room
In attic room, one window tightly shut,
Dwells broken heart hidden from future pain.
Bare as a savage brute's dark, empty hut-
Condemned to no hope, no future, no gain.
Where rests such perilous fear darkness reigns;-
Shattered dreams give rise to dark illusions.
Hope rejected brings its most wicked stains,
Evil held, births its blackest conclusions.
Grown in decay until nothing remains,
Yet sad hope is better than none at all.
True love waits the bliss it always contains,
Treasures gifted, one only has to call.
If one ray of love's light but filters in
Love brings life and its promises again.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-30-2016
Sonnet
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:140
Total # Words: 103
You get to a point where
you can’t read them anymore
and consider yourself a grown-up.
But it wasn’t until I was fifty-two
that I threw them away.
How long could they hide
in a high school brief case
next to a box of sweaters
in the attic?
So…into the Dumpster Doodle-Doo
they went: her Wuthering epistles,
and my Heathcliff’s angst
Risen to the “beep beep beep”
of a trash trawler’s chaw.
By then she was a preacher’s wife
in Pennsylvania, and I was running
Manufacturing trades for a defense
plant in Rhode Island,
a job for which I was
wholly unsuited
They were two new skins
for the both of us
only one of which
had been redeemed.
They're treasures to me, so I don't mind.
My Aunt Ellie in tow, right behind.
I climb the ladder, lift wooden door.
There are piles of stuff strewn the floor.
She recites the story about Aunt Jean.
How she cursed her antique sewing machine.
Under material, maybe old drapes?
My cousin's old stereo, played 8 track tapes.
There's a carpet remnant, rolls of paper.
Aunt Ellie says the 70s, I think much later.
A box of dishes, perhaps wedding gift?
Not used Thanksgiving, too heavy to lift.
A pile of records, Walt Whitman Victrola
A photo of a young man on Venice gondola.
It was where my uncle asked Ellie to marry.
Damn, I sure miss my late Uncle Harry.
I relish the memories in this dusty loft.
Didn't realize Uncle Harry liked to golf.
Aunt Ellie glances around, teardrops flow.
All she wanted were her Christmas bows.
11/26/2017
Written for Eve Roper
Photostory Contest
Took a 2nd place win.
Bent fingers trace embroidered leaves
on satin and long lacy sleeves.
Blush roses, twenty-six she counts--
A French word she can't now pronounce.
She blows dust from old envelopes
tied with blue ribbons and her hopes.
The letters penned by her true mate.
Over his name, she... hesitates.
A trunk in attic soon became
her refuge from days all the same.
Photos dwelling midst her daydreams,
and keepsakes of sweet seventeen.
She thought he'd walk up Dusty Lane;
he might appear, along with rain
and wash away her endless tears;
bring summer nights and happy years.
A wedding date that came and passed;
memories cut like broken glass.
A heartache like the roaring wind,
returning nightly without end.
She lived alone among the ghosts
of dances, laughter, champagne toasts.
Altho eccentric, she was bright;
looked forward to impending night.
Aunt Agnes passed at ninety-three;
still wore her ring for all to see.
Memories left for wind to tend;
they have beginnings but no end.
The lights have been turned on
in the attic
Someone has flipped the switch
exposing
cobwebs, caster oil, crutches
newsprint and cheap china
Which I'm hesitant to touch
least it falls apart in my hands or
cracks like the blue Robin eggs
I once tried to store in my pocket.
I know I should begin cleaning
but I dread the cobwebs
and I'm allergic to the dust (I tell myself)
that's been layering for fifty years
Undisturbed
I am
Disturbed
by the invention of
long lasting light bulbs, showing me around
no, they wont burn out anytime soon
and I will open a window
letting in the city sounds
that drown out the adults
fighting downstairs
distracting me from my chores.
Antiques in the attic,
amazing oil paintings
are coated with thick dust.
Albums of photographs,
await my teary eyes.
Auntie has passed away
and I must clear her house.
Inspired by Pleiades A contest
10th August 2016
There’s a fluttering in my attic;
something’s alive up there.
The cat is getting frantic
and I dread going up the stairs.
I hope that it’s a bird,
rather than a bat;
unless I have misheard,
oh, I’d better get a hat.
I recall my sister’s hair,
when a bat flew into it;
it truly was a horrid affair,
she threw an awful fit.
I hope it’s not a vulture,
no, the louvers aren’t that big.
I hope it’s just a sparrow,
if it is, I’ll dance a jig.
There’s a fluttering in my attic,
some creature has moved in.
I hope it’s an easy rescue;
a challenge I can win.
I've tried to hear both sides out,
to determine what is right;
Two opposite opinions in my head,
just living for the fight.
I seem to always be trapped in the middle,
and bear the wounds of the war that's waged;
Like visiting two lions in the zoo,
then thrown into their cage.
I cannot turn my back on them,
for they refuse to let me be;
I'm just a third party witness,
to the misery of me.
They tend to steal my sleep at night,
waging war til break of dawn;
And by the time the dust has settled,
I'm really just too far gone.
I try to flood them with my tears
I try to run and hide
Perhaps one day God will rescue me,
before they tear me up inside.
Marching through my yard
heard whispers from the house of the dead
veiling in my attic
at the night
alone, yet with all my might,
hoping to watch the daylight
soon tucked myself on the bed
wondering the stories never told by uncle Fred
there I listen something again
something is watching me from the attic
scared
trying to shut my eyes
sounds again
I screamed
and something just ran underneath my bed
slowly I dared to look down
there I found my long lost cheese thief
the mice with its family at ease
laughing to myself I lowered back to sleep
At age ten, I found a trunk in the attic
full of leather-bound books and tied up comics.
Luckily they weren't dusty; I'm asthmatic,
dad scored them cheap base on street economics
but my recall’s somewhat melodramatic.
But for years, leery of Russian atomics
I would hide in the attic; my special place,
and read a book, from Shakespeare to outer space.
In my weary old mind,
in a very old house.
What will I see or find?
Running around a mouse,
ghosts of the past and spouse.
Cobwebs blow in the wind.
Journals, diaries, and old love letters,
recollections from a long ago me,
Pulled form dusty bins hidden in attics,
springing into life through fond memory.
Read through misty eyes, those words of passion,
of desires, worries, joy, death, and sorrow,
Expressing our lust and undying love
yearning to face what hides in tomorrow.
Our eagerness of youth knew no boundaries,
as we prepared for love’s journey to start.
Though our minds were innocent and naive,
you and I have forever shared one heart.
Sun reflect—
soporific effect
of sultry, languorous afternoon.
A photo album, open in an attic room,
of my family and dear friends gone all too soon.
Phantasmagorically fey—
gallimaufry in stray
disarray.
Washing his memories he hangs each to dry
He folds them promptly so they gather no wrinkles
Takes pride in his work and packs each thought with care
And when needed they eagerly come out of the attic
Doesn't bother with lingering smells on each garment
He tries each on with fondness and caresses
He wears the sweater of his youth which recalls
His first kiss was in that sweater and he feels her lips
Fine lips
Fine as frog hair and the sweater
He looks at the football jersey and the run
The run made the jersey famous
What good is a famous run, a jersey, a first kiss
They can't be bought anew
They can't be fixed if broken
They can only dream in my attic
Open aired and pastel pillared, vaulting the ceiling;
This bye to Paradise; & illuminating vision:)
Stand in-violate, in golden tones, in orange hues
in glowing aqua, do you colour my view,
The mark of Heavens promise, on earth:)
Expanding in an instant; you beam of Gods mirth.
A schism In prism; here ever to bloom,
Fresh from the Masters hand on the loom.!
copyright Joe Mavrick.co.uk
For P D's Rainbows contest:)
You can click to know more about this piece, thank you Joe..)