A place called home

[Bii]

Having some trouble with this one. Honest feedback please.

*DELETED*

[Pendragon]

Not bad, B. All I would do, honestly is this:

A place called home

In the attic there’s a corner
where my memories are stored.
The dust lies thick,
dismembered cobwebs linger
spider-less,

clasped tight against the
breast of shadows.
But if you squeeze into the gap
between the eaves,
and lean against the wall

you’ll find me there;
my warmth still echoes
in the grooves
I etched into the wood
all those years ago.

and at a certain time
of day the sun
slips in, revealing
the lost treasures
of my existence.


And that's all.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[CdnReader]

I agree with Pen in removing the extra spaces. I also wondered if the first two lines could be eliminated.... Perhaps the rest of the poem explains clearly, without the opening introduction? (just a thought)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Having some trouble with this one. Honest feedback please.

A place called home

In the attic there’s a corner
where my memories are stored.
The dust lies thick,
dismembered cobwebs linger
spider-less,

clasped tight against the
breast of shadows.
But if you squeeze into the gap
between the eaves,
and lean against the wall

you’ll find me there;
my warmth still echoes
in the grooves
I etched into the wood

all those years ago.

and at a certain time
of day the sun
slips in, revealing

the lost treasures
of my existence.

I didn't see any way to improve this but reading Pen's suggestions, I saw that he knit it better together.

[firefangled]

Having some trouble with this one. Honest feedback please.

A place called home

In the attic there’s a corner
where my memories are stored.
The dust lies thick,
dismembered cobwebs linger
spider-less,

clasped tight against the
breast of shadows.
But if you squeeze into the gap
between the eaves,
and lean against the wall

you’ll find me there;
my warmth still echoes
in the grooves
I etched into the wood

all those years ago.

and at a certain time
of day the sun
slips in, revealing

the lost treasures
of my existence.


I agree with Pen's suggestions, as well, although I think I see why you did what you did separating all those years ago as indeed those years may be. I really liked this.

[firefangled]

Bii, your poem reminded me so much of this one of mine written in 1999.


Pull out the old drawer with what you recall
of a child’s touch, your small hands gloved in years,
remember tea in cups no longer cups,
and be prepared, for what you’ll see that I placed
on tips of toes, where I could barely reach,
much less see, but for its upward glow.

It’s there still, I hope, the sunbeam stolen
from the speckled shoulders of the floor
one sleepy afternoon, when creep-mouse up
these attic stairs I went. Pull out the drawer.
See, where it lies as it was left, and now
plays upon your face. Let us go. But leave it here.

Don’t ask about the time of year or day, or how.
It’s there, and that is all I need to know.

[Bii]

Bii, your poem reminded me so much of this one of mine written in 1999.


Pull out the old drawer with what you recall
of a child’s touch, your small hands gloved in years,
remember tea in cups no longer cups,
and be prepared, for what you’ll see that I placed
on tips of toes, where I could barely reach,
much less see, but for its upward glow.

It’s there still, I hope, the sunbeam stolen
from the speckled shoulders of the floor
one sleepy afternoon, when creep-mouse up
these attic stairs I went. Pull out the drawer.
See, where it lies as it was left, and now
plays upon your face. Let us go. But leave it here.

Don’t ask about the time of year or day, or how.
It’s there, and that is all I need to know.

Firefangled, this is beautiful! I love the image of the 'sunbeam stolen', and the final two lines are just perfect. Such a lovely warm poem.

[ampoule]

Firefangled, this is beautiful! I love the image of the 'sunbeam stolen', and the final two lines are just perfect. Such a lovely warm poem.

Yes! It IS beautiful, as is yours Bii. There is absolutely nothing that is ordinary, nothing that should not be noticed.