Tuesday, January 15, 2013

It's like things have been boxed away and forgotten...

****

(...)

Dust blanket
                           the two of us
                           excavating in the attic
                           of a teahouse

break, fine-waltz in brownian drift
as windows are opened
and moth-ravaged curtains drawn
letting in the sunlight;

the room remains stubborn
ash-dull.

                      artifacts containing proof memories -- grandfather stories
                      we recalled in bits

                      told to us when we were children
                      when we can believe anything
                      yet possessed little attention


All the disintegrating
cardboard boxes

stale, rat-nibbled;
silverfish devouring the old
albums and scrapbooks, slither out
vanishing
into the cracks of the deadwood boards.


****


Linked to Open Link Night #79 at dVerse Poets Pub. A toast to all!  (I initially draft this poem in response to Victoria's prompt last week "The Medium is the Message" for Meeting at the Bar. )

21 comments:

Brian Miller said...

wow..makes me think of my grandmothers house and cleaning it out when she moved into her apartment....so many memories...hers was in the basement bu same affect...going back thru history with each open box....

nene said...

Yes, I can smell th staleness of the attic beams that have been soaked in many winter snows and spring days. The insulation in the old two story homes were only insulated by the old curtains, old books and cotton clothes no longer worn. Yes, I can see and feel your nostalgic search, my friend

Ravenblack said...

Thanks Brian.

You spot me first. I'm about to link to OLN. :)

Mary said...

Ha, we believed anything when we were children, didn't we?? Not a bad thing.....and it is nice to think that perhaps, just perhaps, all of what we believed WAS true.

ayala said...

memories...little bits that we will never forget. Lovely share.

Ravenblack said...

Nene: Thanks for your comments on this one and the previous poems. Apparently blogger has been putting your comments into spam and I didn't see them till I was looking through it today!

Mary and Ayala: Thanks for your visit and comments. :)

Heaven said...

I like the details in the attic here, it reminds me of my grandparents stuff ~ But no rat-nibbled stuff, just artifacts of good memories~

Ravenblack said...

It's good, not to have rat-nibbled, cuz rats...:| Thanks for reading and commenting, Grace.

I have never been close to my granddad on my father's side. He left a lot of stuff in storage, and he used to own a teashop in Chinatown, one among a row of very old shophouses with creepy upstair-rooms.

Claudia said...

this took me right back to my uncle's attic where we used to go on endless discovery tours as kids..guess i would be overwhelmed with memories when i would browse through the things today...wonderfully penned...felt..

Fred Rutherford said...

nice. I like both of these as individual pieces. Each work effectively on their own, yet merge together very nicely. The italicized stanzas having their own distinct feel, which adds a new perspective to the new roman text. In the NR text, I love the choice of words in here, opening with Dust blanket, fine-waltz in brownian drift, so cool, moth-ravaged, stubborn room, ash-dull, rat nibbled…very cool. Thanks

Poet Laundry said...

Felt the urge to suppress a sneeze from all the dust...your images were that good--took me right there...great feel to this piece.

Ravenblack said...

Claudia, Fred and Poet Laundry: thanks for your reactions and comments.

zongrik said...

nice metaphor of how memories vanish

flaubert said...

I really like the details in this poem. I felt like I was there, good writing.

Pamela

joanna said...

i love that you use brownian motion in the poem!! and silverfish... ugh-- i can see it all too clear. i hate those things. :)

Dave King said...

Very redolent of such long-gone-untouched places. I see it absolutely as a response to Victoria's prompt. There is so much here to enjoy, a whole attic full of writing, in fact!

Jannie Funster said...

We get those slithering silverfish sometimes too, but why are they called FISH when they actually like it very dry? :)

I love the smell of those old places, the stillness, the testament to time.

oxox

Ravenblack said...

Flaubert, Zongrik, Dave, Joanna and Jannie, thanks for your comments.

Jannie: I wonder the same thing about those silverfish! :D

dsnake1 said...

ugh, reminds me to start spring cleaning asap.

a very visual work, raven. almost sneeze from all that dust. :)

Raven said...

Ravenblack - your imagery is perfect. It took me there so comfortably without a hitch really. While doing so you spoke the truth with such ease. I really enjoyed this poem.

Ravenblack said...

Thanks dsnake and Raven. :)

dsnake: yes, just two more weeks!