Monday, June 26, 2006

New Poem

What the House Might Say

The Hardwood Floor
My boards ache.
I’ve lost my luster.
I used to be inspired by
the small earth under me,
but you can walk over me
only so many times before
I turn my planks against you.

The Area Rug
Since I moved to the spare bedroom
I long for your stiff pine
against my back.
Your every flaw
creates memories
I hold deep within my fibers.
I miss protecting you.

The Stove
My eyes are crusty, always covered
with the butt of a pan. Once
I was the hot shot around here.
Now the microwave and I
share a difficult companionship.
No one fries anymore.
Why am I here?

The Microwave
Some days,
I’m just not fast enough.
10 seconds, 20 seconds, half-hour—
trying to beat my own best time.
Someone’s always watching me,
but I’m more than a flash in the pan.

Touch my buttons again and
I’ll break your fingers.

The Fan
Can you hear me?
I whisper your name back and forth
across a balmy room.
Dust me.
I need to be cleaned.
I shake my head in disapproval,
reveal my slow-turning
pain.

The Telephone
Stop calling me.

The Bathtub
When I feel empty,
I pretend I am a pool,
or an ocean
so vast there is no floor
and no end in sight.
When all else fails
I am the last resort,
the only place left to go.

The Crib
I hear everything:
soft sighs
tucked between
the folds of the sheets.
The mattress imprint
leaves the impression
of a life being lived.



Copyright 2006 January G. O'Neil

17 comments:

Jennifer said...

amazing. I soaked up every word.

Delaleuverses said...

My favorite are the stove and the fan, you created a masterpiece with this poem. Bravo!!

January said...

Thanks!

Still a work in progress (can't get the first stanza to work), so suggestions for improvement are helpful.

Writing Blind said...

My favorite:

The Telephone
Stop calling me.

Keep with it, what you've got so far is really good.

Kristine said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Kristine said...

You drew me in with your thoughts...

January said...

I like "The Telephone," too.

paris parfait said...

Very clever! Terrific poem!

bb said...

*Touch my buttons again and
I’ll break your fingers.* Oh how I love this!
What a fantastic series of poems. Poignant AND laugh out loud funny. Can't wait to see how it gets in an even shinier version, how dazzling will that be? ;-)
Well done!

Marilyn said...

Love this!

Lynn said...

This is brilliant. I love the lines No one fries anymore.
Why am I here?


I laughed out loud at that when I read it.

It's still making me laugh.

January said...

Thanks Lynn. As I read it, I think all the house is a metaphor for my warped view of things. Yikes.

chiefbiscuit said...

What a cool idea to write about your home like that and what various furnishings and mod cons would say ...I think you've nailed it!

ecm said...

I just found your blog. I loved this poem...thinking of what all these inanimate objects are thinking about. It seems popular, but I also loved the phone.

Kathleen said...

brilliant! i, too, am glad i found you!
i look forward to absorbing more.

thank you for stopping by.
it is very nice to meet you!

Bug said...

I laughed outloud at the telephone saying don't call me!

Oh, and I started my own writer blog. You've inspired me. :) http://writerbug.blogspot.com/ I hope mine is half as successful as yours (in terms of how often you post really good posts.)

Dani said...

The stove is my favorite, also, with the butt of the pan in her face. I can hear the witchy attitude in the lines "Nobody fries anymore. Why am I here?"

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