Moth

June 13, 2013 at 10:01 pm (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , )

Attic ulating, up the words I climb
in slippered undulating rhyme and
stop, unlock the heavy door, a key
to sticky notes before, and there
in chests the best are laid, the odd
and old and folded, saved, unsaid
they fester in the gloom, their spell
a chrysalis too soon. Ah what to take
and plunder? Through asundered parts
I blunder, scattering pasts in tissue
screams, all tip and topple, broken
dreams in dust and dappled light are
held again, and one, it might not
be a pretty thing, will be a moth
and from my midnight pen take wing.

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15 Comments

  1. julespaige said,

    There is an enchantment to old attics. Best if they are from ones family…but I’ve watched a few home shows to know how so much is abandoned when some just get up and leave for what ever reasons that seemed quite rational at the time.

    Do visit with a link to that thread of an idea I may have lead you to.
    Perhaps I’ll think on it as well…and we can compare our weaving?

  2. Anna :o] said,

    Superb Julia – I am in love with this and cannot stop reading it, sighing with pleasure as I do.
    Anna :o]

  3. john said,

    Stunning, dear Julia…simply stunning! I love the poem and I adore the novel layout. Brilliant! ‘And there in chests the best are laid, the odd and old and folded…’ It simply sings…

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      Good morning, John. I keep thinking about our conversations about inspiration etc. Attics and cellars rock!

  4. nobodysreadingme said,

    Gets my vote, a tweet and a FB share. Lovely. And having met you I can hear you reading it.

  5. j matthew waters said,

    notes from the past can be quite inspiring ;`)

  6. cindy knoke said,

    This is just stunning. Bravo~

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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