Feather
autumn gold dust
bound under old papers
I never threw your things away
still here
Personal Challenge:
Theme: Relationships
Emotion: Grief
Color: Gold
Season: Autumn
Form: Cinquain
Object: Feather
Verb: Bound
I was but three when I took a stand,
just me and my hired hand,
a lonely, used-up kitchen scrubber,
and an intrepid band of rubber.
I blew up a little red balloon,
tied to a basket and left too soon.
Stuff the truth in a drawer
Sweep it under a rug
Bury it deep underground
Deny it’ll ever be found
Just when you think you’ve won
this perilous game people play
It slips out between sealed lips
the consequences be what they may
Tucked away in an old worn wooden dresser drawer, lays notes, cards once were friends who crossed my path.,
Time when we had something in common, a Catholic retreat, when life was simpler, when we lived our life like a candle in the wind.
As my hands run across the old worn envelope, the date not so important, memories come flooding back, where has life taken you now? Do you ever think of me…
Relics, kinda like this old fashioned dresser drawer, it’s worn with scratches in the wood, its contents covered with dust.. I guess we all must go our separate ways in this road called Life..
As I close the drawer I can’t help but wonder, am I too becoming an old card tattered, worn, tucked away waiting for someone to read me..
My mingle-mangle mismash mixed bag of stuff
Is a pastiche, potpourri, patchwork of remnants rough
The accumulation of this junk was not so very tough
Feather dusters, ink wells, rulers, silver links of cuff
Pincushions, a beaver tail, old Spice, smelly snuff
Nails, shoe polish, tape, puffer that does not still puff
Potholders, elf statue, rags to give car a buff
Petrified cinnamon roll, please don’t give me guff.
huggermugger jinglejangle
of mishmashed stuff
land in the junk drawer
amid pencils and sandpaper rough
I sorted it a month ago
down to sixteen mere things
now there is pink playdough
blue ribbons and six gemstone rings
cleaning it is fruitless
a wasted effort to me
I refuse to take total blame
and watch a bit more TV
Gnomes toss stuff in there
in the middle of the night
other times I put things in
to get them out of sight.
junk drawer clean-up is scheduled today
tape
ribbons
rubber bands
pencils
pens
rulers
small notebooks
matches
candles
bungee cords
dog collar
flashlight
wrench
pliers
scissors
maple syrup packets
I need all of these things I think
as I shut the drawer.
the multifariousness of my junk drawer
holds secrets, stories, gadgets, humor, and much more
bungee cords, cameras, pliers, tape and string
a rubber chicken leg, buzzer bell with an ominous ring
hard cinnamon roll, which fell in yesterday
blue yoyo, ketchup packet, a tiny nosegay
such a variety of goodies I have to admit
if my mother saw it, she would have a fit.
Ark of laughter far from sea amid earth
Hair be it long or short power still stays
Mite of two, widows, others measure worth
Bitters Holiness Hunger forty days
We are born to this life as possible,
and grow by the choices that we create,
right or wrong, obstacle or optimal,
I'm an ark, hair, mite, or bitters, --I wait.
The Voice, The Voice, The Voice of Heaven, state,
Heed Me, Heed Me, a sacrifice be made,
Abraham your son, a high place you'll take,
Issac the choice, you heed my voice, spare blade,
Amongst the thicket nigh a ram has strayed,
I am, that I am, what Heaven has made.
The Drawer
In the drawer in the kitchen,
there is a bit of this,
some of that,
and everything else!
Well, nearly so.
There is tape, and string,
and a funny thing...
there is no name at all to describe.
It came with the pizza and never left in the trash.
There is a screw, a nut... no bolts for now,
several nails,
a nail file,
and pieces of a broken fingernail too.
"Why not throw it out?" I shout.
No one listens.
I made rolls this morning.
They came in a can.
There was frosting included too.
Another... small plastic "perfect" dish
I will include with the fish sauce packets
from last week...
and together they will join
the membership of the drawer...
to be included in the chaos
that is our lives.
Found the old New Testament
given to me in grade school,
and I always meant to read it
growing up, until I didn't,
storing it away
in a bottom dresser drawer
with some grainy pictures
I printed off the internet
when I was in high school,
leftover screws from shelves
I no longer own,
old love poems for people
I barely remember now-
all of it junk
that once had enough meaning
to be kept,
which proves our souls more
than I want to admit.
From: Second Hand Salvation (Published 2023)
That poem I wrote
so long ago
has now gone missing
and I've hoped
so long now
that I will discover it.
Perhaps it went into a drawer
so long ago
and has been taken out in error;
has now gone missing,
though I've hoped
so long now
that it will show up.
Have we not mislaid our stuff from
so long ago?
Is it stuff that may remain
gone for ever?
Though I've hoped
so long now
that we will see something we'll never see.
(Aug 2022)
I am cleaning out my junk drawer
It's been on my list to do
My junk is over-flowing
It's now long past over-due
Inside is my collection
Of things I sometimes use
Bits and nails and thumbtacks
And a dozen odd-size screws
There's a hammer and some pliers
And a pair of worn-out snips
Rubber bands in many sizes
And a load of paper clips
Two broken pair of glasses
That I should have thrown away
I put them there three years ago
Swore I'd fix them both one day
A dull blade pair of scissors
And an un-used long nail file
Pens and pencils and two note pads
And an eraser, look-like crocodile
I keep finding things inside my drawer
That I swear I've never used
This junk has left me addle-pated
Oh my God, I'm so...(((CONFUSED)))
'Form J- Just Write Me A New Poem' Poetry Contest
Sponsor Constance La France
3/22/2022
i opened it yesterday,
those things made me cry so bad,
letters, roses, poetries, pieces of heart,
and memories of all we had.
those pictures were staring at me,
like if they wanted to cry like an insane.
many things to ask, but sitting quite in the corner
as if they were afraid of breaking again.
crumbled sheets is what i found next,
with broken lines and tear stain,
i used to pour my love for you on it,
but now i write those tears and pain.
the flowers i found were wither,
they doesn’t smell the same,
the fragrance of love was lost,
or was i lost in the game?
the tales, the stories, the poetries.
were silent, and bought you back,
took me to the time when i wrote for you about you,
the time that will never come back.
at last i found some pieces,
the pieces of my broken heart,
they were numb, quite and shivering,
trying to revive my every part.
i opened it yesterday for the last time,
letters, roses ,poetries made me weep so bad,
i thought it was a forever and ever.
but everything ended, everything we had.
letters lie crumpled
when will you read them again?
open tiny tin locket
memories hidden
way back in chest of drawers
warm? among the socks and scarves
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