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

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

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

Deep in a book
there once was a girl
on a cozy attic
forgotten by the world

Deep in a book
she once lived a dream
on a cozy attic
destroyed by the world

On a cozy attic
there once was a girl
who read about a girl
deep in a book

There's a light flickering in the attic
                                     The shutters,
                                               They creak and they clack
There's a knife in my sheath
                            There's a horror
                                                     Benea­th
                                                              ­       Where we're going
                                                                ­           there's no coming back...
                                      
               There's a terrible plot that's unfolding
                                      A machinist we may never see

Chilling shrieks and shrill screams
                                  "So much worse than my dreams."
                                                        ­       ...
                                            They're just parts now;
                                                  Silent. Company.

On the lower rung of the ladder she stands wide eyed,
that ambiguous smile on her lips and my yearning
has a mysterious kinship, with the mysteries of the semi-lit attic,
I could discern from the bits and pieces she revealed
with that sly look as we walked  hand in hand
through the garden path as slowly as we can.
The ladies in the neighborhood would stand in groups
and look curiously at us as we walk, a sight rare in the village
where movement in thickets were the symbol of unspeakable pleasures!
A shy boy and a girl unusually bold; no demure Indian girl she is!
"See how she leads the boy, knows how to play her tune, so well
sometimes I spy the pair  stand together at
the mouth of that dark cave, contemplating mysteries perhaps"
overhearing their words, I would cast eyes down as if guilty.

Beyond the uppermost rung of the ladder, is the attic
I haven't seen it yet, but she is a girl and a woman in one
who could see far beyond a boy's ken, she acts her age
what her nail marks etched on my skin  is the map of her desires.
In our stealthy expeditions through winding paths my lungs
get filled with feminine smells that are intense in certain times,
our feet become slow and stop without prompt at shaded corners
scented by musky orchid blooms, where blue beetles
hum amorous tunes, then  longing takes many forms of expressions.

She knew the art of looking in to my heart,
through the peep holes of eyes, then I hear her whisper as if possessed,
"You are full of sweet poetry, it's beats permeate to my body
when I hold you closer to my *****, but you need me to make it loud"
In the dark attic where the  scent of  black pepper and dry ginger raged
she kept her promise, her lips caressed mine,with such urgency
my eyes involuntarily, close  tightly and I hear her murmurs
it was her way of bringing out my inner poetry, making it flow out
such subtle power it had, we rolled uncontrollably on the floor,
when we did we sighed together, plunging in to a wonder moment.