Sunday, March 9, 2014

Refit


The walls are empty,
pocked with nail holes,
shadows of pictures―
a room without windows.

Too many years
since the piano was tuned.
Behind the sofa no longer
a good place to hide.

Laughter sleeps like stones
under shroud sheets.
I have forgotten
the dance, the lampshade.

I pull a chamois from my pocket―
not going over Jordan―just spring cleaning.

Dust smells new:  a scent of yellow.

The holes stare with tiny, hammered eyes.

I could use a shovel. 



tk/March 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth breathes a bit of freshness to my words:





*Lee Plaza Hotel, Detroit, photo by Bonnie Beechler


at
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , ,

29 comments:

  1. Gerry @Strummed WordsSun Mar 09, 10:06:00 AM

    Heart breaking! Excellent poem!

    ReplyDelete
  2. humbirdSun Mar 09, 10:34:00 AM

    Dramatic progression here....by the end wall holes turn to eyes of....monster. The shovel could help....

    ReplyDelete
  3. UnknownSun Mar 09, 10:45:00 AM

    Sounds sad . Laughter sleeps like stones
    under shroud sheets.
    I'll
    It has feelings of sadness.

    ReplyDelete
  4. relSun Mar 09, 10:57:00 AM

    daunting task ahead, but worth it to reignite the laughter.

    ReplyDelete
  5. LolamouseSun Mar 09, 11:48:00 AM

    Looks like my teenage daughter's room! I, too, could use a shovel!

    ReplyDelete
  6. HelenSun Mar 09, 12:51:00 PM

    Exquisite poetry ... Mr. Stainforth is remarkable today ...

    ReplyDelete
  7. Other MarySun Mar 09, 02:09:00 PM

    The title gives me a little ray of hope.

    ReplyDelete
  8. kaykualaSun Mar 09, 02:34:00 PM

    With all the debris, a shovel is necessary. Nicely Tess!

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
  9. Kathe W.Sun Mar 09, 04:56:00 PM

    wonderful poem- third verse and last line especially! Thanks Tess for Magpie Tales!

    ReplyDelete
  10. Stafford RaySun Mar 09, 05:30:00 PM

    Well done. I suggest you invest in two things; an insurance policy and a box of matches. X

    ReplyDelete
  11. MichaelSun Mar 09, 09:00:00 PM

    hmm. This one hit home for me. Such nostalgia

    ReplyDelete
  12. AnonymousSun Mar 09, 09:46:00 PM

    Well suited to the imagery. Love the picture.

    ReplyDelete
  13. WayneMon Mar 10, 01:26:00 AM

    Nicely done Tess

    ReplyDelete
  14. BerowneMon Mar 10, 04:59:00 AM

    A somber prompt, a somber poem. Well done...

    ReplyDelete
  15. Silent Otto Mon Mar 10, 07:49:00 AM

    Old age comes to us all.....remember to throw out all the furniture every few years !

    ReplyDelete
  16. Irish GumboMon Mar 10, 09:13:00 AM

    A good one, Tess. Some excellent lines to chew on.

    ReplyDelete
  17. Magaly GuerreroMon Mar 10, 04:19:00 PM

    That shovel is now dancing in my mind.

    ReplyDelete
  18. Bekkie SanchezMon Mar 10, 05:18:00 PM

    I could definitely use a shovel! Lol! Thanks for the pictures in my mind.

    ReplyDelete
  19. JohnMon Mar 10, 05:49:00 PM

    thoughtful

    ReplyDelete
  20. UnknownMon Mar 10, 07:12:00 PM

    "Laughter sleeps like stones..." Gorgeous imagery!!

    ReplyDelete
  21. RajlakshmiMon Mar 10, 08:13:00 PM

    What a beautiful yet touching write. Loved the part where laughter sleeps like stone.

    ReplyDelete
  22. LynetteMon Mar 10, 09:00:00 PM

    I like the mixed metaphor of a "scent of yellow". Very clever.

    ReplyDelete
  23. Belva Rae StaplesTue Mar 11, 08:10:00 PM

    A shovel certainly seems in order, I think.

    ReplyDelete
  24. AnonymousWed Mar 12, 09:50:00 AM

    Wow.. thats a lovely interpretation of the photograph Tess.
    I loved the "yellow" reference here! :)

    ReplyDelete
  25. Tess KincaidWed Mar 12, 01:16:00 PM

    I appreciate your kind and generous comments, dear readers...

    ReplyDelete
  26. Cait O'ConnorWed Mar 12, 01:46:00 PM

    Love it and the last line hits the spot!

    ReplyDelete
  27. HelenaWed Mar 12, 07:56:00 PM

    Fabulously written and voiced and I so agree with Cait!

    ReplyDelete
  28. ~T~Fri Mar 14, 01:52:00 PM

    Quite a job for the spring cleaner. Nice!

    ReplyDelete

Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)