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rgz Jan 2020
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Without you, I'd die
you are the light of my life
lighter, I love you
I'll not decline a writing challenge
Mrs Timetable Jan 2020
The cuties got old quick
By being too ripe
I drew faces on them instead
Husband and wife

They aren’t really knickknacks
But I woulda had them encased
I liked them so much
They have a super cute face

They are still on my desk
Rosie discolored
Paul has a mustache
I’m sad to throw them in the trash

But they gotta go soon
Yes life even for a cutie to treasure
Shouldn’t of been so sour
I woulda eaten you with pleasure
Cuties mandarins I drew on and put on my desk for smiles. Challenge by Elizabeth Leone and Whit Howland. Temporary knickknacks
((Whit Holland challenged me to write about an ordinary object close at hand, and now I challenge you all to do the same. :) Use #knickknacks if you participate.))

I.

Something about
corduroy
seems old from
beginning and
chocolate brown
hides stains
less effectively
thank you might
surmise (cat hair
even less), but
there is something
to be said for
free when
shipping off to
a second degree.
Four roommates
(one almost
married), three
lovers (one previously
mentioned), two
states (but not that
far), and one
hard-won diploma
later, there is
still something
to be said for
free, and for
familiar and
perhaps also
for family.

II.

In my kitchen
there sits a
teapot
small, porcelain,
vaguely oriental,
floral-patterned and
stained
in the creases,
a ring of
bergamot brown
lining center. You
live
in that tea-ring,
in faded exit signs,
in owl-boxes and
memory,
bitter-sweet like
Earl Grey.

III.

Mom says they
just don’t make
clothes
like they used to:
sturdy, thick-
woven denim
never popped a
button, but
cuter
with the sleeves
cuffed. It
doesn’t matter
how many of
us
wear Papa’s
old jacket, it’ll
still be here
when we’re gone.

IV.

On my little
table, between
notebook and old
lamp there sits a
perfect pinecone.
It smells a bit like
my siblings on
a fall day,
drenched in
leaf-bits, crunched
underfoot and
piled to make
walls and
beds and
pillows. We were
prepared
to live there,
beneath boughs,
beneath clouds
and dreams— maybe
one of them
knows
why we left.
Anya Dec 2018
The golden baby
In the last slice of Mardigras cake

A half dollar
Well after they stopped being printed

A rare right sided conch
When most others are left

Are the rare treasures I find buried underneath

The glass bird
Dainty as can be
And the size of a nail

The miniature tea cup
A full set
Spoon and all

The Minni and Miki
Mouse holiday wear
mini collectibles

Miniature Kitty Kat
Pouches
In four different colors

Are the tiny bobbles I couldn’t bear to part with

The multitudes of dice
From classic six sided
To 8 To 12
Even dice in dice
More than can be counted

Erasers by the gazillions
Stingrays, baseball gloves
Eraser pencils with missing erasers
And a baby head detached from the body

Keychains, by the plenty
Sunglasses, Weapons
Dream catchers, bird’s with bells, all sorts
Of strange and curious oddities attached to a chain

Coins, many sizes countries
Fake, real
Dinar, Rupee, Euro, dollar,
Replica of ancient yuan

Jewelry-
Don’t even get me started
Necklaces, bracelets
Rings and earrings
Even though my ears aren’t pierced!

My hoarding tendencies coming to light in this
Curious collection of collections
Also known as
The objects in my closet
I was looking through my closet and I just had to make a poem about it.
Valerie Csorba Dec 2014
I am made entirely out of glass, if you look hard enough you can see the cracks gleaming through from my insides and begging you to fix me from the outside in. I am not something to be forgotten and yet I always am. I am put inside that box without newspaper to keep my edges safe or bubble wrap to hold me in place and even still those precautions will never be as secure  as your hands once were to me.
I'm getting colder with every piece of me that bleeds into the abyss and will never be seen again. By the time we get home next I will have lost another piece of me that you once cherished more than yourself. I'm apalled that you just let me fall away from you so easily when you once told me you adored me more than you adored most things. You polished me daily and put me on the highest shelf, I was the largest priority to you until I started falling apart again and you found other statuettes of glass to keep your company as you waited for me to glue myself together again.
But that's not how this works. You can't just collect knick knacks like it's your hobby, and tell them you hold such a substantial amount of affection for them and move onto the next without even telling the prior that you were sorry you broke them but their needs were no longer important... or perhaps never were.
As you caress the curves of every other goddess you set your eyes on and you become overwhelmed by the beauty of them all, I hope you shatter under the pressure like you shattered the rest of us. I hope you come to the realization that the amount of perfection that you receive in that specific juncture is not your decision any longer.

— The End —