Thursday, March 31, 2011

THE ATTIC

the musty air is heavy
smelling of piss from an old cat
warped 45s playing music convolutions
on a broken turn table
a folk blues revival
Dan Hicks And His Hot Licks
Monkey And The Engineer
with Jesse Fuller and the Dead
train wheels screaming without brakes
Janis and Jefferson Airplane flying high

the attic a multicoloured cherub of colors
with cracks in the walls
reminding me of the patterns of Brahms
I fill myself with empty space
separated from the musty air
my eyes are closed in divine pain
seeing beyond the gloom towards beauty
the musty attic not important anymore
I hear the music of myself
and write another poem

5 comments:

irenet23 said...

Wayne, how evocative of the attic and then like how you transcend the space toward beauty..

flaubert said...

I am so glad to see a poem from you, Wayne.
Love the imagery in this.

Pam

Judy Roney said...

I love this poem! What an artistic attic you took us to. I thought, yuk after the first few lines (all that mustiness)) and then Wow! Cool! You have a lot of treasures in YOUR attic!

SweetTalkingGuy said...

Hi Wayne, I really like this, it reads dead fast, like a speeding bullet. Phew!

margoroby said...

I love the carry back to my time in music and wallowing in the memories briefly before the beautiful last three lines carry me forward.
margo