Mantelpiece Poems | Examples

Rust

I am a ruined house 
With a rusty fence,
So many phantoms reside resting recklessly,
A clock on the mantelpiece that won't work.  It's stuck staring at me,
Tick………,
The wallpaper is crumbling and fading away like my miserable memories. 
It doesn't seem real even though it is. 
Dreamy, dreary , dread , dead. 
But the fire is still working
Though everything is cold 
And almost dead. 
Somehow it is never always cold,
Flames auburn and assured. 

I fall in love,
When the wind
Clatters and chatters the weary windows. 

When you knocked on the tedious door,
I fell in love with you,
You seemed full of halo light,
Full of sparks
Like the 4th of July,
Your words full of life,
You could make thousands of people alive. 
But I can't untarnish the fence, 
Can't paint the walls crimson. 
But your eyes think,
I'm beautiful,
Life is fleeting and transient,
So, I started painting the panelled wooden house crimson. 
You can't paint oak crimson. 
It's ruining me,
I can't fall in love.

Animating Innate Vibrance

Between the pulse of our heartbeat simply present 
head- heart linking 
dwelling in time with stretched blissful peace 
awareness became unblinking. 

Between heaven and earth the ethereal pulse of God's creation 
sifting through the soul like a fluttering kite in motion
Here we are in a dwelling place of  quarrel and demolition
only peace can assuage the heart and give it, its contrition 

In the middle of war stretched across landscape of your heart 
"The Lord's prayer," in a lilting whisper, you got this to an art 
Give us today our daily bread and help us to do our part,  
it is only love agape that gives our soul a fresh new start 

Connecting spaces of our head-heart connection a mantelpiece  
decorated with meditative awareness and unblinking utter peace
"Lead Us Not Into Temptation" let me decrease as you increase 
seed and bloom inside my heart and help me fold this crease 

Side by side two strong bookends holding together what rends  
with a soulful melodic vibration I arrive at every bend   
"May Thy Kingdom Come" and live within me til the very end   
side by side, ... like two old reliable and sturdy bookends.

Floating On All Sides

New mantelpiece, pinewood as heart's custom;
A waning fire's bed, her girl loving thwarted—

 ...I've sparkled my fingers' approach to this hearth.
I've kicked too long at its dousing birth.

As her skull's cracked by charcoal intent shears,
The Wintertime's frost slowly pulls out of her tears.

...You're the shadow in me, my upturned face—
Passing through this pine; this death; this hell of fireplace

For so familiar, so close, you seem in its embers;
I swear you're with me tonight in the deep ether.

...As the ashes seed to this wastely churn—
The flames may fall, but darling, I remember; you burn.

Just a Dream

JUST A DREAM
When I was young and still had dreams,
I dreamt of fame and fortune.
With all the recklessness of youth
I had no doubts.
I knew
I knew I’d be a household name one day.
Perhaps a second Beckham
Or like Botham in his awesome prime.
Or, failing that, an actor
A mega-star of screen and stage
With Oscars on my mantelpiece.
No, hang on,
Yes, a politician 
 Ending up in number ten

But now I’ve reached maturity,
All that has passed me by.
No public recognition,
Just a childhood dream.
My ‘phone’s not been tapped illegally
My e-mails remain un-hacked.
Nobody follows my wife around
In case she meets a lover.
And, outside my door,
The paparazzi are conspicuous
By their absence. 
I wait in vain to be approached
By the Leverson Enquiry.

So now I have to face the facts.
My childhood dreams are gone.
And when I die, I’ll literally
Go down in history.

5th June 2023
Dreaming poetry contest
Sponsor - Regina McIntosh

Wild At Heart

suburban slumbers
mantelpiece menagerie 
dreams of wild places

Hamish

on the mantelpiece
sits Hamish the Highland Cow,
dreaming of mountains

Perfection

Curtains opened
each fold two inches apart
Waiting for the arrival
Cushions neatly plumped
Dust off the mantelpiece
Fluff off the floor
Cucumber Sandwiches on the table
Tea in the Teapot
Knock at the door
On time I see
It's quarter past four

An Hourglass

The hourglass sat on the mantelpiece, 
Over a dead fireplace. 
      Its sand had long settled
           In the lower globe of the glass. 
The miser and the fire were both dead, 
The wake followed suit.
No one was invited, no eatables or drinks.
A dreary affair. 
      Yet so final, 
            Like the hourglass.
                  It's inertia spelled his death. 
The unpaid solicitor finished his stock taking
But kept the hourglass for himself.

Far Away Moments

Far Away Moments

Face up. Flat and still.
Crisp black and white images
revive my memories, grayed somehow.
Living.   Smiles.     Tears.    
Souls captured.  Time cheated.
Hearts held in my hand.
Darkened room.
Hypnotic shadows flicker against a white wall.
Only images remaining of ashes cast to the wind.
No voices issue forth.
Sounds of  mechanical clipping….
a soothing accompaniment
to these beloved home movies.
Silent laughter.
Heroic, athletic feats
witnessed by this audience of one.
Brand new…now antique cars.
Cutting edge outfits in out-of-date fashion shows.
Eyes which once met mine cannot see me 
as I wave back.
Relatives and Pets,
now ashes to ashes, 
simply dust collecting dust upon the mantelpiece.

Le Sable

A gale sweeping seashore ,
Witness to the Sibyl's utterings
Contains the sable unharmed 
With each passing jiffy .

Chandelier is mirroring moonlight,
Through the sable's surface serene
The sole inhabitant of the lone coast
Not that nights are lonely with the moon.

Crestfallen creatures , are unknown
Of the sable's loneliness ,
The sole survivor of the tsunamis
And the only surface to the beaches.

One mantelpiece surrounding the fire
Of envy and the insecurities ,
Betraying the smoke it clamps down
To feel the warmth , while burning inside.

The sundown , being an excuse 
To it's existence while it rests
It's fate on the facade of a million facets,
Dying while life insists to stay.

Broken Bleeding Heart

"How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?"
—Carson McCullers, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter

Which moron invented the term joy-riding
tell me... where is the pleasure?

An innocent cyclist
mown down by a stolen car
my only son ...
left dying in the gutter -
he didn’t stand a chance

Six months later...

I sit in silence in the juvenile court 
to observe four mealy mouthed little toe rags
with sneering sniveling faces
No one will admit to being the driver

They stand in a line
in front of the judge
He orders they are sent to
a young offenders institution
They will be out after a short time...
Yet my precious child has a life sentence ...
in a cedar casket on my mantelpiece

My life will never be the same
but I take small comfort
knowing that my son
carried a donor card 

life support turned off
organs to be harvested
in death he gives life

FICTION POEM

Writing Challenge 2, July 2019  Melancholy- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings

7/21/19

New Year

The celebrations soon will all be done,
Christmas and New year's eve are put to bed,
trees down, cards on the mantelpiece are gone,
replaced by January blues instead.
As the year's dying seconds slowly tick
and promises are made, old habits die,
our Teflon resolutions, all non-stick
fall by the wayside as the days go by.
Why hold such stock in one day of the year?
Each day's a gift, be thankful at its end,
Rise full of hope as the new dawn appears,
embrace the challenges that it may send.
Man numbered them, and gave each one a name,
but live each day as if they were the same.

Winter Reveries

Winter Reveries
Scents from fir trees wafting leisurely through the air
Pine cones strewn atop the mantelpiece
Two perfectly straight candles lighting up the grim and darkened room
A  fluffy pup curled up near the fireplace

Snowy footprints markings on the wooden floor
Frosted icicles formed into perfect stars on the cold tree branches
Morose clouds peeking out from the gray-bluish sky
As day turns instantaneously into dusk

White soft and pointy snowflakes dropping to the ground
These are the images of winter
It is safe and inviting while menacing at the same time
It speaks of irate winds and blizzards

It speaks of joyous, festive holidays
It contains special memories of warm, cozy nights slumbering at home.
These are the images of winter

Winter is a special time of retreat , reflection and rejuvenation
Winter is to be cherished, enjoyed and treasured…

The Recalcitrant Past

His sins, many thousands of them, 
Lie buried in the anonymous soil.
Over his mantelpiece a proverb hangs: 
"Aus den Augen, aus dem Sinn." 
On his shelf "Mein Kampf" is visible. 
"It must never happen again," 
he is quick to reassure the fainthearted. 
All else is new: 
His car, his house, his political complexion, 
His hairstyle, his face, everything. 
Everything? No, not quite everything.
If you want a new car, you can buy one. 
If you want a new house, you may get the money. 
If you want a new political complexion, 
You can always change your daily newspaper. 
If you want a new hairstyle, 
You can always pay a little extra.
If you want a new a new face, it can be arranged 
(or rearranged). 
And the heart, the old hard heart? 
Ask for a transplant. 
You can always ask, but 
Not for love or money 
Can you change the past.

Aus den Augen, aus dem Sinn  Out of sight, out of mind

Guitar Case Buddha

Guitar case Buddha 
Out back is a room with a tin roof
& there somewhere among
The old paint cans
& broken furniture
Is a guitar case
& in the flap where you
Stash picks & spare strings
Is a small wooden Buddha
At least I think he´s still there
20 yrs ago mooching around
Chinatown San Francisco
I bought him for a buck
From a street stall
Put him inside my jacket
& went for lunch
Upstairs in a place
With flying duck wallpaper
& dirty windows
We ate won ton soup
Waited until the rain eased off









& part of me is sad
I will never see San Francisco
Again & eat won ton soup
In Chinatown
& part of me thinks
I might go free that
Little Buddha
& put him up on the 
Mantelpiece
& toast him with my first
Glass of evening wine
Salut my friend
Your exile is over

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