Cover the sun with lace
from your dead
grandmother’s attic and
watch dusty patterns
dance over the sequined
Mary Janes that she wore
to her senior prom and
your mother’s first

Visit for more
Terry Collett May 2016

Susie holds me close,
whispers in my ear,
Polly ain't you cold
with your arms
outside the blankets,
put them inside,
hug me closer.

I want George to hug,
not her,
his arms about me,
not her clutching me
in her desperate way,
his lips on mine,
not her wet lips
dribbling on my shoulder.

What you want me
so close for?
I say,
just get off to sleep,
and don't slobber on me.

But she hugs me closer,
her breath on my ear
whispering, Come on,
Polly, keep me warm,
I'm cold with the draft
from the attic windows
that don't meet properly,
Susie moans.

I put my arms inside,
put my arms about
her waist(skinny mare),
and think of George
stuck in some
hospital somewhere,
damaged by the War's
shock and blast,
and heads blown past,
and eyes sitting staring
on their own,
and wounded men's moan.

What you thinking of?
Susie says, sniffing
my breasts.

The War, and the Somme,
and Master George away,
hurt in mind they say.

Susie nods her head,
but wants me huddled nearer,
holds me close,
touches me, and says,
Shame about war,
and loss, and pain,
then she kisses
my neck again.

Delilah is Apr 2016

I think that possibly maybe I'm falling for you
Sad part you don't even have a clue
It's me I hollar but you're stuck in your own head
Me I yell but there is no one at the door
Look I say but you're up in your attic
I run searching for you in the halls of your mind and you are searching for something that you'll never find
Turn around I say but my words are whispers carried through the wind
The noise unable to reach you
It's like I don't exist and for a second I stop and look around its my memories playing a trick on me because you really were never there in this attic we both share
but we don't and its my attic that I need to clean out I've got bones under my bed and bats in my head
I forget what I'm doing in this basement walking around the empty spaces
Wasn't I in the attic?

I actually like this one ... I usually hate what I write but I think this is good. Just me :P being weird. Okay I'm done :)
Terry Collett Mar 2016

Susie wrapped
her thin arms
right around

Polly's waist
in the bed
in the cold

attic space
Polly's thoughts
were on George

in his bed
where she thought
she should be

making love
as they did
times before

but since his
return from
the war front

he's not been
his old self

off balance
she allowed
Susie's arms

to enfold
about her

Susie's lips
to kiss her
cold shoulder

but it was
his lips she

were kissing
his arms there
around her

holding tight
to keep cold
in the night.

Terry Collett Feb 2016

Susie lies in bed
watching Polly get up
and go

to the wash stand
and break the ice
in jug and pour

in the icy water
the air is cold and fresh
she wants to lie

in bed all day
not get up
and go down

to the kitchen
and help the cook
prepare breakfasts

she want to lie
in the bed
and rest and sleep

Polly undresses quickly
and washes her face
and neck and under

her arms
Susie watches
wishes Polly

was in bed again
she misses her
not being there

wishes she'd let her
hold her close
and kiss her neck

but she's washing quickly
and cursing
and Susie catches

a glimpse of Polly's tits
as she raises her arm
to wash

the curve
of her body
Polly turns around

and stares at her
get your backside
out of bed

you lazy mare
we've work to do
she says

Susie pulls a face
and shoves her hands
between her thighs

to keep them warm
want to stay
here all day

Susie says
get out or I'll pull
you out

Polly says
and undress
you myself  

and slap
your backside
Susie gets up

and reluctantly
gets undressed
in the cold air

and stands
as Polly dresses
and gives a secret stare.

sushma madappa Jan 2016

The memories fade
The hurt abate
The scars so deep;
The flecks of red
on walls so white.
Sole testimony to the time.

The knowing smiles
The intoxicated wiles
Lie abandoned in the
dustiest attics of our minds
While here I stand
Outside  myself
Done and dusted
Weaving tales of a distant time

Phil Lindsey May 2015

Part 4
When we last left poor Agnes
In her attic all alone
She couldn’t find her way back down,
And she had no telephone.
No light switch and no stairway
She couldn’t find the hall
The elevator disappeared
(It had sunk into the floor)
And to make her situation worse,
She couldn’t find the door!

But Agnes McDuff was pretty tough;
She didn’t mess around
She thought of stuff that she could use
To help her get back down.

First she lit the candlesticks
So she would have some light -
For an attic with no window
Is black as darkest night.

With candlelight, she now could see;
She dumped the clothes from all the boxes,
Put the boxes on the table,
Next she stacked the wooden blocks.
She found some nails and a hammer
In her Grandma’s toolbox.
She nailed it all together
And on top she nailed the chairs
Now Agnes had a set of crazy, crooked
Homemade stairs!
Agnes went back to the toolbox,
She saw a saw was there,
She carried it very carefully
As she climbed the crazy stair.

Now you might have a feeling
Of what she was going to do
Yes, she climbed up to the ceiling, and
Used the saw to cut right through!

She climbed back down and looked around
Found the rubber bands and string
Added several woolen socks
And made a giant sling!

She rummaged through the dumped out clothes
Found a wedding dress and suit
And with the needle and the spool of thread
Made a great big parachute!

She hooked the parachute to the bicycle
(The one without a spoke)
And tied the back wheel to the tuba
And that was NOT a joke.

The tuba was quite heavy
So it kept the bike at rest
Once again climbed up the crazy stair
And performed the final test.

She nailed both ends of the slingshot
Around the opening she’d sawn
Hooked the sling around the bicycle
Moved the stair, and then got on.

Somehow the clock was working!
It was ringing Three, Two, One
And just as Agnes cut the tie she thought
Boy! This could be FUN!

The slingshot worked!
Shot Agnes out, on the bike, way up into the sky,
And she looked around in wonder thought,
Boy!  I’ve never been this high!

She went up a mile or so
Before she dared look down
She saw the long suspension bridge
And the other parts of town.
She saw the entrance to the tunnel
(The rest was under ground)
She saw the roundhouse and the avenue
The park and then the lake
Finally, she saw her house
There was no mistake!

So she deployed the parachute
And gently she descended
And this is where the story
Of Agnes Attic should have ended.

She walked up to the doorway
Turned the handle, now you see?
The door was locked from the inside,
Agnes McDuff forgot the key!
PwL  May 4, 2015

Ms. Sally A Bayan requested this.  Said I couldn't just leave Agnes in the Attic!   :-)
Phil Lindsey May 2015

Agnes McDuff collected strange stuff,
Or so the story goes:

There were old pots and pans,
String, rubber bands,
Boxes and boxes of clothes,
Newspapers, plates,
Books stored in crates,
And candlesticks lined up in rows.
Some mason jars,
Toy trucks and cars,
A model train with a whistle that blows,
Needles and spools,
All kinds of tools,
And shoes with holes in the toes.

There were tables and chairs,
Bookends in pairs,
A grandfather clock that was broke,
An old brass spittoon,
Some Sunday cartoons,
And a bicycle mssing a spoke.
Four or five hundred old wooden blocks,
Twenty-three pair of grey woolen socks,
A Christmas Edition bottle of Coke,
A board game missing directions,
A bat, a ball, a catcher’s mitt, two baseball card collections,
And a great big rusty tuba.  What a joke!

There was other stuff, but you’ve heard enough;
About what was stored in
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

Part 2
Agnes’ attic was quite special
But not for the things it contained
But for how she had to get there
Please let me explain!

Agnes had a one-story house
A flight of stairs led to the attic.
When she opened up the door,
The light came on automatic.

It opened to a hallway
Where there was another door
Another light, another hall, and more stairs, which
Led back down to the first floor!

Where an elevator waited
To take her up again?
But it had just one button
And it was numbered “10”.

When she pushed it, it was crazy
The elevator turned upon its side,
Grew wheels and drove out on the street
For an amazing ride!

Across a long suspension bridge,
Then underneath a tunnel,
And then it went around and round
Like circling down a funnel!

It dropped upon a railroad track
Hooked onto the caboose
And followed to the roundhouse
Where it finally broke loose.

It turned around a couple times
And ran out toward the street
The elevator ran, of course
Because it had grown two feet!

It ran across an avenue,
Around a lake, and through a park
And then through another tunnel
Where it was very dark.

A mile later it emerged,
At Agnes’ house, by her front door!
The elevator walked inside,
And was on the second floor!!

So that’s how Agnes reached her attic,
Perhaps someday you’ll go there too,
Push the elevator button,
And you’ll find my story’s true!

Part 3
Agnes stood there in her attic
And smiled at all her stuff
That almost ends the story of
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

But Agnes’ story can never end
Her smile turned to a frown,
Because you see poor Agnes
Forgot how to get back down!!
PwL  May 1, 2015

Some times I just need to laugh.  Happy May Day, HP!!
Kenshō Mar 2015

The acute sun was setting,
And the air was still and soft.
Here I would contemplate the day
And enjoy the calmness oft.
Over the rolling dotted hills
And through the wavering trees,
Would I stare silently, lifted in my toft.
Admiring the daydreams of golden fields
High amongst heaven's loft.

Nirali Shah Feb 2015

Rays of the morning sun
Encroached the attic
From a very notorious
Broken piece of window
Exposed the little specks of dust
In the rotting wooden walls.
Some sticking in the peeling paint
Some lying
On her mother's once famous cookbooks
Now being devoured
By selfish
silverfish and fungi.
The dust
Telling stories of her childhood
Settled upon the rocking horse
And her favourite little music box
And a carton full of holiday polaroids.
The dust
Such a dry commodity
Moistened some old memories.
Isn't it amazing?

February 10,2015
I wrote this little piece after a friend of mine suggested the word "Dust" to write about :)
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