Short Attic Poems
Short Attic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Attic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Attic by length and keyword.
In attic windows
The miracle of night sky
Amazed lying on
A hand-made quilt protected
Against the cold night of stars
In attic windows
The miracle of night sky
Amazed lying on
A hand-made quilt protected
Against the cold night of stars
I am looking for a nook from now on
enough I stayed in the crowds
each story will lead to an end
nobody beyond that not
Memories stashed away in crates and chests
Sentimental keepsakes from my voyages and quests
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Reading up in the attic
Alone, a breeze through window
Each page a bold mystery
Feeling of spring morn
Russell Sivey
I don't know why I am living today.
Because this day is full of haze.
Locked up in this prison..
Waiting for the light of day.
Flowers in the attic.
Form:
A creature, unwanted -
at last, a snap killed that
adversary, vaunted.
Above, like Marley's ghost,
he drags a clanging trap -
the foul rat that haunted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
fingers trace iridescent dust motes~
sunlight spills through the cracked walls,
where piano still hums.
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.
Achtung! Ghosts populating the attic
Electricity fills air with static
Normally buy a new house
And worry about a mouse
But footsteps upstairs are so emphatic
I remember the room
at the top of gran's house.
Within dust I did bloom,
loved the rafters and junk.
Nom de plume I would write
to let go of my gloom . . .
My attic family causes me pains,
their green and dysfunctional once again,
sinus traffic,
eviction status,
hopefully they'll move out by this weekend.
12-8-16
Live in the Attic
About many things, I can be curious
While others always like living luxurious
And if son surely raises a lot of static
You can always make him live in the attic
when the lights dim the doll dances
enjoying her attic cell
terrifying the humans
there are reluctant footsteps
attic light is turned on
doll is frozen in place
giving away nothing
dusty room full of junk;
creaking wooden floorboards.
small dollhouse, somehow shrunk,
lies nestled, treasured time.
aging, darkened ember;
old, beat -up wooden trunk.
I felt it heaven in my attic room
Overtaken by a silent peace
through parted curtains
I saw it was the snow had
come to veil the land with
ribbons from the sky.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
Day was so specific :
I was lucky to own
as study room ! Attic
of new house built By dad.
First time got privacy.
Felt Great ! Sophistic !
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
claws scratch pine coffin-lid
tiny night intruders~
could they be katydids?
they scurry and chatter
where dusty rafters sigh
squirrels gnaw on pine quid
Joys doze between antiques.
Faceless memories soar.
The breeze, through cracked tiles, leaks.
Doors, with their coarse voice, screech.
Filled with footsteps, floors squeak.
Mute musings reach their peaks.
“Attic Salt” by definition means “refined incisive wit”
Finally found a description for my style, I admit
Not bragging or such
Just adding my touch
It's why I'm a sweetheart, now don't give me no lip
In heat and dust
With rafters, bare,
My dormant past
Sits neatly stacked:
Those baseball cleats,
Texts obsolete,
Her wedding gown,
Their baby crib,
It all wrapped up
With dim gray light
And cherished in
My memory.
Will you help clear the clutter in my skull?
My desires.
Spilled all over the red carpet.
Undignified grace.
Where are the curtains?
Call them now!
You've ruined the illusion...
The actress is Dead.
Give me Pills to cure my Ills,
As ev'ry ache I contemplate
Drug me 'til my pleasure spills
When I'm over-dosed on Fate
Barbiturates, my Conscious lit-
Valium in my Mind to split
Round and round 'til Peace is found
Inside an Opiate
“Attic Salt” by definition means “refined incisive wit”
Finally found a description for my style, must admit
Not bragging or such
Just adding my touch
It's why I'm a sweetheart, now don't give me your lip
grin
Their footsteps returned
as a shroud fell around me
Hiding me from the heels
of their jackened boots
Direction was lost
escape but a memory
Shouting their curses
re-echoing the past
(Shadows Of Anne Frank: November, 2023)