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The Red Chair

The red chair did not move
All these years, though it
Did show signs of use;
Light scratches, heavy stains,
And it knew its master
By imprints of thighs on plush cushions.
Time spent idle, time spent spending time---
Master and chair, in conversation
Experiencing light, shadows, life.
Sometimes working into the night,
The chair did not mind overtime.
But now it sits in settling dust,
Alone and waiting.
Just, waiting.

Author notes

This poem was inspired by Deborah Keenan's poem His Red Chair, which can be seen here: http://www.threecandles.org/reviews/dkeenan_gallery.html

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Comments

1 - 8 of 8

  • AdamAdkins
    April 6

    Edit | Reply
    yep, this is very good indeed.

    I love Deborah keenans poem, but this one is just as good in my opinion, maybe even better.

    Your witting style reminds me, in ways, of bukowski


  • LostLoverPoet
    April 6
    Edit | Reply

    wow thts good and amazing

    its so abtract but not and with feeling shot straight from the heart i love it great write


  • midnight vampiress
    April 5

    Edit | Reply
    wow. i realy enjoyed this piece. its not often such good poetry comes from such unusual subjects. i realy liked the way you described the chair.


  • ForeverLastingComa
    April 5
    Edit | Reply
    hmm..this poem has a certain touch to it..very unique..had me wating to finish it..great write =)

  • Lowell Poe
    March 13

    Edit | Reply
    This is so unique.
    I really like the oddity of the subject of the piece.
    You really put your writing skills to the test, writing about an inanimate object. I would be hard pressed to have half the insight and really just a great imagination to write this so well. I often feel this way about trees...weird. You have taken the subject matter, which is an every day object, and really formed a story built around a life time. It's quite genius.
    Your comments on my work are much valued considering what a fine writer you are.
    Thank you for taking the time my sister,
    you are not only talented but kind.

    MANY MANY BLESSINGS,
    LOWELL POE.

1 - 8 of 8