Long Attic Poems
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We wanted to make a heavenly cake
But needed angelic ingredients
That were as far out of reach as can be
So we thought of other expedients
Like the famed store of unusual foods
Though it wasn’t around the corner
But then a melancholy light hit me
That we should seek a recent mourner
Who is akin to a newly deceased
Thus privy to a loved one in heaven
So I gently approached my grandfather
Hoping to make a mindful impression
I asked if he thought he could contact
The soul of my loving grandmother
To impart a glimpse of what they cook there
But he said that I should ask another
Making a heavenly cake like we planned
Was more trying than it first appeared
We needed to find some other way
Some way that may be more or less weird
I bravely entered a graveyard one night
With a shuddery moon full and blue
Hoping a spirit would come to my aid
With some heavenly food to pick through
But the creaking only got creepier
As each hour of that night crept by
And though frightened I got sleepier
With no ingredients to descry
Next day I dove deep in the library
About divine dishes present and passed
But couldn’t find one book apropos
So I went to the front desk and asked
The curator ventured to the attic
Where she recalled a very rare book
Aptly titled Eatin’ in Eden
With recipes for a heavenly cook
And on page one hundred fifty two
A recipe for heavenly cake
That purported the impossible
A trip to heaven to undertake
Yet most ways seemed too obnoxious
Even simply holding one’s breath
Which no matter how long it’s tried for
Is never enough for courting death
And if one died and went to heaven
How could they ever make the return
Back to earth to bake a divine cake
There was still much to this cake to learn
We flipped through every page of that book
To decipher somehow or some way
When we wondrously divined that the why
Was not where, but was plain as the day
The cake base is like a rich chocolate
Vastly deep as a moonless night sky
And while fudgy is light and airy
Certainly heavenly certified
Plus shrouded with fluffy cloud frosting
Of downy whiteness from pleasant dreams
That is also sweet as the sunshine
And piped with fresh rainbow hued creams
The cosmos cooks up celestial things
From the blue sky to heavenly cake
So after all that worry and work
It was in essence a breeze to make
My phone died this week.
I’ve ordered a new one—
I’d like to say I’ve enjoyed the silence,
just lo-fi music playing, slipping into a flow state.
But I’d be lying.
Only a handful of friends to tell.
Enough to register
the tragedy of going off-grid
like it’s 1503—
where I imagine
I’d be decent
at throwing logs on a fire,
but useless at hunting.
No survival instinct.
I get sentimental when it gets quiet.
It's surprising
that this is how I finally understand
what Black Mirror really meant.
Slick glass, dark and dead,
reflecting back:
smeared rectangle
of myself
slack-jawed, staring.
Neither of us blinking—
only one of us
alive,
allegedly.
I’d had that phone
since before the pandemic.
It held more than my cache:
its shape, my memory—
my hand
aches
for its frictionless drag,
but I had to get a replacement.
I picked the same model,
not out of loyalty,
just me hoping
it would backfill the imprint
of its ancestor.
I'm not too proud
to admit
I miss the constancy,
companionship,
the fugue-state afternoons
given over to scrolling.
I’ve been more alone than I expected.
And lonelier still,
realizing
how much of me
was never here to begin with.
It's a disorienting false north,
this gatherlessness; I'm still sitting with it.
By the way, it's untrue news
that tech is soulless—
it's been up
at least one mortal ever since
my husband powered it on for me,
a gift,
ersatz affection
in response to a lack of discretion
he'd only recently admitted.
And get this: apparently, I cry now.
Despite half a life of spent
convincing myself
I’d therapized it out—
that tears were just poorly timed
girlish things I'd evicted
due to their silencing effect.
I was wrong,
they were only hiding in the attic—
turns out all this noise was just insulation
from every soft place.
Evenings with him feel longer.
He’s older, closer
to death than me. He’d hate that I said it.
I won’t tell him. We’ve learned
to steer clear of each other’s art.
No rules about who we kill
on the page.
Best to leave it that way.
I wonder if we'll go back to old habits.
I think I already know answer.
This screenless space hasn’t been clarifying—
just absence,
with no metaphor to cushion it.
At the risk of repeating myself,
I do know this:
I miss her, Distraction—
Take a glass and fill it half full of water.
We have often heard by some the glass is half full,
by others the glass is half empty.
Now which is it half full or half empty?
It is both,
it is how you look at it.
Now that the world and maybe yourself have gone mad,
how are you seeing this glass?
Half full or half empty?
For the half full group let's take a deeper look.
As you get bored which is coming,
what shall I do?
Clean out the basement, attic or garage?
You say, I don't have a basement, attic or garage.
Great, I know you have a closet or two and many drawers.
We may find things we have been looking for,
We may find things we forgot we had,
We may find things we need to be using,
We may find things we can give away,
We may find things that are a surprise to us.
For the half full group let's take an even deeper look.
We may want to find those old board games and dust them off,
put away the computer and TV games.
We may want to find those old books and dust them off,
remember what it was like to feel and read a book.
We may want to find someone in your home to just sit and talk with.
If living alone then pick up a pen and write a long note to each person you know.
Do your Christmas cards with a special note inside,
be productive with the down time and life you have been given.
For the half empty group let's take a deeper look.
Guess you can sit around and watch TV until you go insane,
scream and holler until no one will listen to you,
have nothing to show for the wasted time and life you have just lived.
For the half empty group let's take an even deeper look.
Will you make yourself sick over this,
Will you walk the floor and not sleep,
Will you come out of the other side when it is all over.
Yes it will all be over one day.
How will you come out of the other side?
May I suggest you have one very special book,
I know you must have this very special book on a dust filled shelf or in a box somewhere.
If you truly do not own this very special book then go online.
What very special book is this you ask,
the bible which has all of the answers to all of the questions you are now asking.
Maybe, just maybe, after reading this very special book for all the lonely days and nights, people will continue to read this very special book for the rest of their lives.
Date Written 3/19/2020
( Based on the animated musical produced by Walt Disney
based on the fairytale written by Charles Perrault.)
"Hello Cinderella, how are you ?
I am very happy and still in love,
the Prince is kind and handsome;
and from the first kiss it was truelove !"
"What became of your animal friends ?
I brought all the birds, and the mice,
and other animals to live in the palace;
now, they are safe and think it is quite nice !"
"What became of your stepsisters ?
I allowed them and their mother to stay
in my manor, because they had nowhere to go;
I am sure they will grow old there and decay !"
"What was it like after your father died ?
I was a girl when father remarried,
Lady Tremaine who had two daughters;
then father died shortly after and was buried.
The daughters Anatasia and Drizella were spoiled;
and Lady Tremaine was very mean,
I had to live in a dusty attic room with the mice ;
and everyday had to scrub and clean ! "
"It must have been exciting to go to the ball ?
Oh yes, I was excited and wanted to go,
but it seemed impossible that I could;
until my fairy godmother helped me as you know.
The stepsisters had ripped apart my mother's dress,
but, fairy godmother made me a shimmering gown to wear,
made a pumpkin into to a stage coach;
four white mice into white horses fair,
and a old horse and a dog into a coachman and footman;
it was magic but only till the stroke of midnight.
At the ball I danced with the prince and walked in the garden,
and when we kissed it was delight ! "
"So I know the ending, your foot fit the glass slipper ?
Yes, of all the maidens in the kingdom it only fit me,
and though my stepmother and sisters tried to stop it;
the glass slipper was the key,
soon after I married the prince !"
"Cinderella, my last question is what is
your advice for young girls ?
I want every young girl to know they are a star,
and to never ever give up on their dreams;
because if they wish and wish they can go far,
as the song goes- A dream is a wish ! "
_________________________
February 09, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/A Conversation With Cinderella
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1428-994-09
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Conversation A Fictional Character
sponsor, Natasha L. Scragg, Judged 03/02/2022
First Place
I have seen the formation
Of ancient lands
I have seen the creation
Of ancient hands
Pyramids
That soar to the sky
Here amid
Temples majestic and high
I have seen
Wonderful things
Tombs and scenes
Of ancient kings
I have seen huge blocks of stone
Cut by hand of flesh and bone
Fit in place for reasons known
To the architect alone
Each stone block from the quarry
Has a structure to help build
Each chisel cut tells a story
Of a mason’s guild
I have seen towering obelisks
With finely chiseled hieroglyphics
And ancient golden relics
Like toys in the attic
I have seen ancient mummies
The walking living dead
Take care or you’ll become these
Walking around instead
Dinner I have eaten
With pharaohs and kings by many names
And I have beaten
Them at their many games
I have sat on the temple steps
In the shadow of a large mastaba
I chatted with the great Amenhotep
And the gods Isis, Anubis, Thoth and Ra
They told me I could become a god
If I live and died in the manner of a king
I thought that was a little bit odd
For I came here wanting nothing
Tomorrow we go off to fight
The empire of Kadesh
If you come, you will see some sights
That you will never forget
I saw the battle of Kadesh
Now written about on the temple walls
I saw the battle in the flesh
Now celebrated in the temple halls
I watched the battle and from what I saw
Neither side won the war
From my standpoint the battle was a draw
But the Pharaoh will celebrate a win evermore
Pharaoh Ramses lived to the ripe old age of around ninety two
He outlived a lot of his hundred children and many wives
He’s remembered as Pharaoh Ramses the Great who
Built many monuments and revitalized the Egyptian’s lives
When they found Pharaoh Ramses the Great’s body
They found no silver or gold
Only the great king’s mummy
Thousands of years old
The archeologists all made a great noise
Where was all the silver and gold?
Where was all the old man’s toys?
That the grave robbers stole and sold
A lot of his stuff is still out there
In Egyptian antique stores
And Egyptian homes and country fairs
To get something you could spend a lot for sure
Nowadays Ramses is lying in state in the Cairo Museum
And men and women and girls and boys
All flock to the museum to see him
And Tutankhamen’s wonderful toys
If I was to take a word, say focus,
Stand it on its head,
And ask with growing sense of dread,
Why my friend did you just now,
Fly upon this particular
Moment’s verbal locus?
Torture I might answer, like waterboarding,
Might explain a thing or two.
Indeed the stakes are dear,
And the coast far from clear-
For foggy shores clarity prevents,
The utter contingency of cluttered events.
Focus is the mine shaft of the mind,
Magnifying that which falls
Into categories of significance:
Signs of a trance, a mental dance,
By which thinking signifies
The magnificent follies
Of a man upside down
In a world of lies.
No subtlety there,
Poet banging hair chest bare,
The mental frequency hertz,
Screeching, scratching, snatching,
Lose bits of hurt out of the air.
The mathematics of falling
Made clear by Newton,
His numbers uncovering
What was
Always there:
A god already in free fall,
The Fall, the autumn of our birth,
The forsaken garden,
Two dummies hand in hand,
An undulating snake,
A world of entanglement,
All fleeing into a desert dream.
For what? To where? And why?
The three double jews of the trinity
Which Law forbade no One to ask,
Yet no body did
Put focus to task.
She reappears all the time.
The rabbit hole stood for what was to come,
The worms therein what was done.
The trip down was fun,
Getting out gave more than the sum.
The prism diffracted the invisible
Beams of light,
An assortment of possibilities followed,
The world explained, the mind contained,
A boundless infinite void of space,
Surrounding us,
Disgracing us,
For we had to face,
The borders of our place.
Trapped inside
We looked the other way,
Attic floors, token doors,
A distilled virtue, forgeries for another day.
The sky was not the limit, we were.
The atoms of the mind mere reflections
Of our best guessing games.
There though, lay our best hope.
After the bloodshed
She reappeared again.
But only after.
Choices like Templars into the night,
Distracted the courtesies of a harmonious cosmos,
God had blood and died,
Men embraced humiliation and cried,
Change, the abomination of free will,
Altered the fabric of time.
Focus put by for a rainy day.
Distraction, the play thing
Of an unruly monster lurking in the shadows of thought,
Vomiting a pile of disassociations.
Stepping out into the Autumn night of Halloween
It is the Witches and the Warlocks turn to dance
Their air of mystery and mystic is all around
The zombies or the Undead cannot speak
but,their presence seems to be abound
Ghouls of the Men
Vampires within the Ladie's evil grin
It is out here on this Night
When old wives tale frighten us with delight
My footsteps carry me beyond the hill
A cemetery there which omits a deathly thrill
We(meaning a friendly spirit beside me)know the Cackle
Inside many tomb,ready to come out like a babe from its mother's womb
The moon is full and the Old Man paints his smile
Trick or treaters are out,,having fun for a little while
Tonight all Halo as strange yellow mist creeps from behind a boulder narrow
Dancing amidst the moaning dead,darkened shadows surround this timid Head
I feel like Ichabod Crane,strolling,with terror,upon the Midnight Domain
Ghosties
Goblins
Maybe the old Headless Horseman
Perhaps,the wretched creature of a certain Frankenstein
Many of these apparitions could be just a figment or Reality having a smile
The Corridor of the dark as I wander through a deserted Schoolyard park
An evil happened there,just a few moons not long ago
Halloween Night..1980 when I was ten
A grade schooler was being hazed upon
He was locked in a decrepit old trunk,tucked,not so sweetly away,in the attic of
this old place..his peers left him for the night
They came back the next morning before the session began
after lifting a set of keys from the sleeping janitor,they went up to the attic to see
The trunk was open,HOW COULD HE HAVE GOTTEN OUT??
tip-toeing near the open trunk and peering down with trepidation..
only to find,a bloody handwritten note,written with EXTREME AGITATION
It said:YOU LOCKED ME AWAY BEFORE YOU DECIDED TO PLAY
BUT..I WILL COME BACK UPON THIS LAND AND MY VENGENCE WILL HAVE
HIS FINAL SAY!!
The school was beset by this horrible deed,and it was closed forevermore
because the children confessed and the Pain would never recede
some say..the spirit of the little lad still haunts the old school
Laughter could be heard if many,who dare,decide to explore it and play it cool
Pardon me,my weary Halloween reader..it is TIME for me to head back before
I become no more,by an ominous Night Creeper(or the Ghost of The Attic Child!!)
i was arrested because my room mate wouldnt leave my condo
then i was arrested because my roomate wanted me to leave his apartment
cousin died after going to dentist
ive been held hostage
222 tips wouldnt take the information, the news wouldnt respond
ive had a gun pointed at me
i lived in an apartment where night after night doors were kicked in
through my relationships i know of 3 people who have been murdered
ive grown a lump on my forehead and jaw due to medication
i endured pain in my testicles for over 6 months, and no doctor would give me the
treatment
in a hospital i was held down and injected a needle, to wake up 3 days later with
nerve damage
father died in head on collision
my computer accounts have been hacked
ive been a victom of identity theft
rash for a year and no doctor could remedy it
molested as child
grandpas estate was a mess
abandoned by mother
hider in the attic who tore up my belongings
grandpa was in a coma
my grandma was quadrapalegic
police have ransacked my apartment
beaten by two cops
victom of drug ring
i have a sister and brother i dont know
ive moved at leat 20 times in the last 15 years
ive flatlined
been homeless four times
my first middle and last names are titles to songs
as is my birthday month and year, good movies too
ive been drugged
woken up with strange bruises
been plajerised
abandoned on the side of the road and strange towns
attempted suicide several times due to medication
know of paralegal and judge scams,
police loophole for the insiders of drug ring gangs
my grandfather was a war hero, on both sides of my family
i at the age of 31 years have yet to have the right to my own person
or live where i want
if the above doesnt sound like torture to you
you are the enemy, and wipe that smile off your face
ive predicted terrorist attack in my tourism class
tidal waves in the hospital
and like i said on youtube charlie, they don't see it coming
i predicted my grandpas coma
a girl with shingles that would live
i still wonder if the conversation i had with kurt cobaine through the television was
real, but he did comit suicide a week or so after,
i know we as people like to sing and dance and compete as we play house
so what would you bring to a remote deserted island?
the list goes on.... im not even kidding
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?
Toy collector:
He holds the bear gently in his old wrinkled hands as he gazes into its kind beaded eyes. The toy collector sees love lined in its double stitches and his childhood in the busted toys smile.
There stitched in black thread he can hear the sound of a child laughter, happiness, and growth reviving his memory of youth, like a jolt of life to an empty vein.
The years have passed freely, almost fleeting by. He had no more time to play in grassy school yards or hide from girls wearing satin dress, he had to grow up. The boy eventually turned into a man and was forced to pack away his toys regrettably into a wooden box.
There they sat in the attic awaiting the return of their beloved friend while he aged slowly into an adult.
High school came and went, college, even marriage but unfortunately he was never blessed with his own child. No one to share in the lined pleats of his own childhood. All of this he now recognizes in the bears sandy eyes.
The toy collector hands his most prized procession to his wife, a dazed look covering his forlorn face.
She takes his withered hand and speaks gently in his ear.
“All the memories in the world could never replace the love between a man and his bear.”
“Yes, but even the toy collector eventually grows to old and must let go.”
He replies in woe.
His thin lips force a smile as he repacks the boxes that escaped him long ago and in the early morn of the next day he patently sits alone outside for a bus to come.
The driver honks her horn and greats him with a warming smile.
“Are all of these toys for our orphanage?”
The toy collector regrettably nods.
“Things have been pretty rough but this will surly lift there sprits up.”
She confesses as she gently grabs a random box.
As she stacks them one by on into the now cluttered van his bear falls onto the pavement below.
Unable to pick it up he wrinkles his brow with great sadness.
Suddenly the passenger door opens revealing the face of a young girl and as she draws near she extends her hand and clutches the bear.
“Did you find a friend little Lou?”
His heart melts as she kisses the teddy gently then smiles.
“thank you.”
The child coos softly.
The toy collector lives in the toys he collects, but the man lives forever in the bear the child now possesses.