There was a room
It was cold and removed
At the end of a hall
Where pictures hang true.
There's never 'nough light
To make out a face
Of children dressed up
By brides in white lace.
Dusty and old
Turned the house in its age
Like a book read too much
Cracked spine shedding page.
I still walk by quite often
Call it heartache, or need
I try remembering you, but...
Without chipped paint, or weeds.
Another Autumn's coming
With its frost and clear skies
Bringing winter upon me
Like the day that you died.
Author notes
Written August 29th, 2004
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1 - 33 of 33
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: : : X once more awesome work i hope the things above come out like their sposed to but once again like i said awesome its completly brilliant good job
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This was beautifully written.. I like your work.. I hope you don't mind but i would like to put you on my favs..but anyway great write..
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somehow this poem makes me feel...something I can't quite define,but ah cold,extremely cold but warmed faintly by a few memories. Ilove the contrast in
I try remembering you, but...
Without chipped paint, or weeds.
which is trying to redeem his present by looking to the past.Great write.
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Timeless
I've felt the darkness and the cracks in a room like that. Funny, leopard or blue has brought me to my knees thinking about new rooms with crooked smiles and little white lies. -
this is very beautiful and I love the rhyming...it flows in such a graceful fashion, and the sentimental quality of this is also very appealing.
best wishes, and thanks for entering. -
Very intriguin and with a very good pace and descriptions, yet leaving also enough amount to imagine for the reader, since a death of someone is mentioned, as all the lines bring you closer and closer in a spiral like the leaves in the wind themselves..until the final line brings the climax to the small story here...but this death could have been indeed physical or also emotional, even the death or ending of a house???...only you know...but I feel it is left open which brings a clever structure and richness to the write indeed. Thank you for entering your poem in the contest. ~ Juan Pablo
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This was nostalgic. I love it. Thank-you for entering.
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This made me sigh. Especially with such beautiful imagery that I don't see to often. It does make one think about the life one has now, and what will become of it as one grows older.
Cheers,
Golden -
The title brought me here. I found this very soothing. Kind of a growing old yet accepting. I simply can not stop reading the last two stanzas. Beautifully put.
Lady Raven -
In that case, your poem's very good, much better than I thought. Thank you for the new word, although I'd have to disagree with it being bathos (an anticlimax, a descent into something trivial) because I would say that the detail in the room was slightly more trivial than a death, but that's just me. Barbie. Xx
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Thank you David; How are things?
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That is wonderful old writing at its field of dreams best. Full of regret and laced with forlorn sighs. That is a great piece of work.
david -
I think you did a splendid job communicating your thoughts Dolce, and perhaps you even showed me aspects of the piece I might not have noticed myself subconsciously putting in. Thank you.
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I never intend anything when it comes to writing. I merely thought of the word 'haunted' and tried to define it in a poetic way that struck me as bathos. I do however firmly believe that a poem should and can mean something entirely different on a psychological level to a reader.
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It's hard to comment where so many others have tried and failed, but it seems a pity to read something and not share the feeling it stirred with the writer, though (and not to sound sarcastic) that you could be bothered by what any might have to say and in itself that is good, 'cause it doesn't really matter, but it is nice.
It's hard to follow you sometimes, in the images that you create: as if you see something in a light that isn't at first glance quite obvious to me and needs contemplation, long minutes of what does it all mean. Once again, I'm trying to understand, you make me think, want to see the image you had while writing this. And while I get the underlining idea that this brings forth, the past, time passing, memories, maybe a little melancholy? For me it's thinking of the past, being young and how good it was and while looking at something that represents that, now old and wasting away, it confirms that my youth is gone and I will never be that free again. It was all good, but it is sad that it ends.
I tried, but I'm shitty at bringing my thoughts across ordered and clear. Thanks for making me want to read more.
Edited on Aug 29, 7:49 p.m. because ''. -
The reason I thought it was about suicide is because it reads like a girl who overdosed. I will read again bearing your comment in mind. Yes, I see your message now, the language from the semantic field of decay emphasises it quite nicely. It still reads like an overdose to me 'though. Maybe it's 'cause I'm thick although, woohoo, I don't seem to be thick (exam results say I'm clever, you see). Yes it is a cleverly written piece but I can't help seeing a different message in this to what you intended. Barbie. Xx
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Lovely, thank you
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Hey... it is something sweet... something as mourning and looking back... for something returning on thoughts of a past... that was once real but is now only a dream... I think its work that should be bowed at because few seem to give a calm emotion... something better then... sadness... ~Dragonia~
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This poem is a threnody, a lament if you will. Which uses Autumn and an old house as a metaphor for change and growing old and that's it. It has a subcursor in its undertone of losing a loved one, but that's life isn't it.
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This poem has nothing to do with suicide? Are you sure you read it appropriately? I rhymed 'died' with 'skies', I think you're confused.
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I'm sorry, but I didn't understand a thing you said. I believe that is mainly in part to the fact that you can't spell, form a complete sentence,
or differentiate a pronoun from an adverb. I have no clue what "ur" means (outside of some lazy teen computer language), and I have a hard time taking anyone seriously; as far as critiques go, that can't write to begin with. I am a poet, that's what I do. I don't fuck around, and I don't respond maturely to ass-hats that can't form a sentence let alone spell the word "more", let alone put "grab me by the balls" in quotes as if Chaucer said it. If I wanted to grab people by the balls young man then I'd write a poem entitled "Queer with an oven mitt". -
Now if only 'died' didn't rhyme with 'suicide' and make this all too obvious. Nice, but not my favourite of yours. Barbie. Xx
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You know... reading this again... I see Gary Oldman, in My Immortal Beloved.. playing Beethoven, when he's weeping at the piano with his ear to the keys..... trying to feel her, catch and hear her.. his beloved.. yeppp.. it's HAUNTING..
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A reflective lament, all made of memory which, I think, is symbolised by the image of the ghostly house. The house represents grief for the beloved as it ages in time and is then reflectively renewed in the present image of the season of her death?
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interesting write, i didnt like it im sorry to say but thats more cause for want of better words "it didnt grab me by the balls" but it does show great talent
keep it up and i shall check out more of your works when im not so busy and short ontime
Edited on Aug 29, 3:03 p.m. because 'cause i was insulted at my bad spelling'. -
wow this is sad. i mean it's really good it's got good rhythm and flow and stuff... but it kinda went *thunk* inside me... like it maybe touched a chord that wanted to remain undisturbed. yay for being disturbed! muahahaha take THAT you stubborn chord! but um yeah in all seriousness, this is a lonely write but a beautiful one. i'm sure many could find their own meanings in your words. ok now i shall comment on Dana Hobart's comments just cuz i can. i didn't find much humor in her joke. her horizons just need to be expanded a tad. and while i understand what she meant when she mentioned "forced rhymes", i hate it when people try to put poetry in a box and say stuff like, "oohhh well if it's not rhymed PERFECTLY then it's just total crap and not worth the points i earned by commenting." i mean sure if you're writing poetry because you WANT it to be perfect and instill a sense of awe into the perfectionist-minded reader, then yeah go ahead and make it rhyme perfect. but i like this as is.
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Maybe it is just me, because I don't write much rhyme, but when I read: By brides in white lace, and Without chipped paint, or weeds, it sounded forced to me. I did not mean to be so negative... when I say something like that, I always try to counter it with something positive as well, and I do think your imagery is really good. I especially like forth stanza, the image of the book. Maybe it is too late for me to be reading poetry... forget what I said. Sorry.
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Once (years ago) I was granted knightship for bravely rhyming Hep C with pepsi, it was delightful; as I'm sure you could imagine.
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Speaking of comedy... Airsupply? brilliant.
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Really, how so? I've never forced a rhyme in my life.
However, I once forced some thyme to bespackle my leg of lamb. -
Where pictures hung true...? I didn't know they could hang false... LOL... just trying to be funny.
Your images are good, but I have to be honest, some of the rhymes feel forced to me. -
This is very atmospheric with that dingy room and its half lit pictures on the wall. I like the comparison of the rundown house to an over read book.
Despite the melancholy theme here, that last stanza had me looking forward to crisp autumn mornings. A lot of imagery crammed into a short piece here… just the way I like it!
~ Louise
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Ahh it reminds me of a country house with some old pictures in guilt frames and dusty linen with that funny..old linen smell.. yeah, this certainly has a mysterious quality to it hun.. well done
~GILL~xxxx
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