Attic Key
When the transpiration of earliest dews
Failed to staid and invigorate
The amputated isthmus of the atrium
You would blithely shun
All the lovely, saccharine bones
Even the crunchy stride
Of the svelte V-formation
Of the veering migrating birds
Paving the soggy nimbuses
Of hapless shades and parasols
For they unfurl a reminder
Of capitulating abandonments
And like a wolf without a howl
You would aimlessly amble
With feet of morose
To cave inside, distraught,
In the clandestine dappled corners
Where the myriad of the dead
And the plenitude of dying breaths
Rattle uncouthly for
A greater hunger
And in the riving of hushed comport
Of the attic's remedy
You would sulk to descry
Your maudlin heart beating briskly
Sodden from the attrition
Of the charlatan sun
Amongst the trellises of cobwebs
And shoddy bed of dusts
You would lay your empathy
And the stagnant breathing
Of the attic's clockwork verve
Would feign an assuaging sweep
To resuscitate the prattling blood
Fervently seeping through
To clutch you closer
Like a bullet darting through
The place where no one knew
Divulging its own nadir
And that was all
That your bleeding needs
To find that you are
Not yet in the bottom
Of your so called pits
And the sun would again seethe
Grazing mellifluously
The bullets buried
To your aching lovely bones
And swear and spiel a promise
To purge the bleak attic
From its latticing derision
And let the light stray and stall
When the next morning dawn
But you always seem to forget
Where the promises coiled
Perhaps, you have crucified a script
In the scathing walls of the chambers
Of the pumping mechanical valves
That you need the fathoms
Of the attic's secrets
So you would stash
The attic key
Into the pathos
Of remorseful wisps
In cases
Of emergency.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Night in Their Attic
From this attic, the ceiling is
Almost kissing the floor
And the hapless heart is
No too far from a plethora of slumber
As I lay here, pensively wafting
In the smoldering rail tracks of oblivion
Darting to the final station: an abeyance
My sodden eyes swept the parameter
And it measured the expanse;
Everything was closer.
My emaciated chest
Can even rise to graze
The creamy phosphors of the ceiling
But there was a backdoor
Where everything slewed
Because in their attic
I was still
Bleak
Rolling in the gutters.
The clock didn't shifted
Its gears and triggered
A blacker serration of cinders
Plummeting with the pillars
Of my constitutions
Yet, I engulfed the humming air
Like I never tasted it
Because I wanted more life
And there could be one,
Stashed in these corners.
The moon didn't sprawled on her divan,
The sun didn't grind his maws,
And the crowd didn't fill
The maladroit patios,
But I was breathing
Between the floors
And the ceilings,
Restless from a revelry
And a lack of slumber
As how I wanted to be
Benumb from
Bereavement:
A life cloyed
By genial walls.
poem by Norman Santos
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A Light In The Attic
There's a light on in the attic.
Thought the house is dark and shuttered,
I can see a flickerin' flutter,
And I know what it's about.
There's a light on in the attic.
I can see it from the outside.
And I know you're on the inside... lookin' out.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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I Do No Tours
Where
Do you get all of this 'stuff' from?
'From the attic'
From the attic?
But
I don't see any attic
'And you wont
I am the only one that has the key
And in my 'home'
I do no tours
I do guests
And no tours do those guests get.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Amys In The Attic
Mr. piser, I think you should come up here
Amys in the attic and brain has gone ecstatic
Not another day of all the suffering and pain I was just a little boy ever so naive
Amy was my best friend, I never want to hurt her
I never wanna ever wanna think about her murder
On the playground, I chase her down the slide
I chase her cross the monkey bars and she would run and hide
Jinglin and tumbling, I pushed her off the sled
Amy coincidently hit her head
Dumbling inside my brain, down came the wade
Amy isnt answering, who would get the blame?
Amy isnt laughing, amy isnt crying
Amy isnt really breathing, God I think shes dying
Suddenly, the air is cold I must get her inside
Even though she died, amy has to hide
Nobody must ever know that I made amy sick
Lock her up forever in the attic
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to
Should I walk the terror stairs, and savior all my
Terror fears, no
Mr. piser, I think you should come up here
Amys in the attic and my brain has gone ecstatic
Every day I suffer but eleven years have passed
How long will this keep and the nightmares last
Sitting in my living room, another strange feeling
I think Im hearing tiny footsteps on the ceiling
Looking in my mirror, the image isnt clear
I feel as if a little girl is standing at my rear and
Then I awake at the blink of an eye
Voices from the attic yellin, why?
What if amy wasnt dead living in the box
Banging on the walls, rattling the locks
Feeding on the roaches, rodents, and filth
And when theres nothing left, she feeds off herself
Why do I think in amy of this way?
She was once a lovely girl running out to play
Maybe its all a dream insane fanatic
Maybe theres no amy in the attic after all
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to
Should I walk the terror stairs, and savior all my
Terror fears, no
Mr. piser, I think you should come up here
Amys in the attic and my brain has gone ecstatic
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to
Should I walk the terror stairs, and savior all my
Terror fears, no
Amy isnt dead...
Amys in the attic and my brain has gone ecstatic
Barrels to my nugget semi glock automatic
Should I pull the trigger, would this break the chains
That keeps amy locked in my brain
No, I must be starting to pray that I wont
I pray its just a figment, to see this carry on too long
Amy isnt dead, I never knew an amy
I was just a boy, how can you blame me?
Maybe thats okay, but shes tapping at the walls
I see a darling little girl is floating down the hall
Slowly coming toward me, her arms are spreading wide
Opens up her mouth to show the maggots inside
Crying, whining, rotting is the feeling
Tiny drips of blood crowning from the ceiling
Landing on my head, Im psycho-sick Ive finally had it
Amy, know Im coming to the attic!!!!
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to
Should I walk the terror stairs, and savior all my terror fears, yes
Mr. piser, I think you should come up here
Amys in the attic and my brain has gone ecstatic
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to
Should I walk the terror stairs, and savior all my terror fears, no
song performed by by Insane Clown Posse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Attic
'There's nobody in
But the light is on
And a chair just creaked,
Did you hear it, son?
There's been no chairs
For ever so long,
So who's abroad
In the attic, son? '
'That grim old lady
Who haunts the stairs
In a faded dress
With a world of cares,
Whenever I look
She disappears,
But lives in a world
That's drowned in tears.'
'They say she mutters
Beneath the moon
From the window there
In the month of June,
The light was out
In that ancient room
When she jumped from the window,
Into the gloom.'
'Why does she haunt
The attic, son,
If her soul took flight
When the moon was gone?
What is she trying
To tell us, son? '
'There's nobody in
But the light is on! '
26 October 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Attic
Climbing the stairs to the attic up above,
she stopped a moment to think.
What will I find in the rooms so cluttered?
Everything under the sink.
For no one had been curious enough
to see what they could find.
She'd been the one in her family
to never leave anything behind.
And so she entered the musty rooms
and slowly took everything in.
The boxes, the piles and clothes of old
that belonged to most of her kin.
She tried rummaging through pictures
of people she knew right away.
And still there were other faces
whose memories did not stay.
She came upon a picture of two,
two that she did not know.
Completely mesmerized with this picture,
something inside started to grow.
An uneasiness within her heart
for the two looked just like she.
The world stood still for a minute
as she thought 'How can this be? '
And so she searched some more that day
and found her baby photo.
It was attached to a newspaper clipping
that was printed long ago.
'Baby survives. Mom and dad dead
in a terrible wreck.
No identity of the parents that died
Baby girl is just perfect.'
In her mind she knew for sure
a mom and dad had found her,
raised her, loved her as one of their own,
Her eyes all tears and blur.
She knew it was supposed to be
that the attic would always hold
a special meaning for her to keep,
knowledge she kept secret like gold.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sonnet IV
Up at his attic sill the South wind came
And days of sun and storm but never peace.
Along the town's tumultuous arteries
He heard the heart-throbs of a sentient frame:
Each night the whistles in the bay, the same
Whirl of incessant wheels and clanging cars:
For smoke that half obscured, the circling stars
Burnt like his youth with but a sickly flame.
Up to his attic came the city cries --
The throes with which her iron sinews heave --
And yet forever behind prison doors
Welled in his heart and trembled in his eyes
The light that hangs on desert hills at eve
And tints the sea on solitary shores. . . .
poem by Alan Seeger
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Toys In The Attic
In the attic lies
Voices scream
Nothings seen
Reals a dream
Leaving the things that are real behind
Leaving the things that you love from mind
All of the things you learned from fears
Nothing is left for the years
Voices scream
Nothings seen
Reals a dream
(chorus)
Toys, toys, toys in the attic
Toys, toys, toys in the attic
Toys, toys, toys in the attic
Toys, toys, toys in the attic
In the attic lies
Voices scream
Nothings seen
Reals a dream
Leaving the things that are real behind
Leaving the things that you love from mind
All of the things you learned from fears
Nothing is left for the years
Voices scream
Nothings seen
Reals a dream
(repeat chorus) (yayayayayayayow!)
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Toys In The Attic
In the attic lies
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
Leaving the things that are real behind
Leaving the things that you love from mind
All of the things you learned from fears
Nothing is left for the years
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
(Chorus)
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
In the attic lies
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
Leaving the things that are real behind
Leaving the things that you love from mind
All of the things you learned from fears
Nothing is left for the years
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
(Repeat Chorus)
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Toys In The Attic
In the attic lies
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
Leaving the things that are real behind
Leaving the things that you love from mind
All of the things you learned from fears
Nothing is left for the years
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
(Chorus)
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
Toys, toys, Toys In The Attic
In the attic lies
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
Leaving the things that are real behind
Leaving the things that you love from mind
All of the things you learned from fears
Nothing is left for the years
Voices scream
Nothing's seen
Real's a dream
(Repeat Chorus)
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forgotten Accommodation
We climbed the narrow attic stair,
And entered rooms established there.
Thick grey dust lay across the gloom,
Many years spent without a broom.
Cobwebs hung in every place,
New occupants had filled the space.
On a shelf sat an old birdcage,
Tenanted in another age.
Chills swept in from a broken pane,
Small window letting in the rain.
A rickety stained brocade chair,
Seat and back were now threadbare.
Curtains frayed along their edges,
Hanging crooked. Also ledges
Nailed up on the damp crumbling walls,
Odour of abandoned mothballs.
Wallpaper, once with roses pink,
Now gave off a horrendous stink.
Forgotten accommodation,
In this lonely bleak location.
Empty now of occupation,
Who slept here, what was their station.
Just how hard was their daily grind,
So much history we could find.
Something scuttled along the floor,
Down the steps to the corridor.
A resident we had no doubt,
Some little local layabout
Who we had unkindly disturbed,
Leaving so quickly quite perturbed.
We climbed back down the attic stair,
Away from this poor mouse’s lair,
Back to the present and fresh air,
Off down a pleasant thoroughfare.
Happy that we wouldn’t have to see,
What their life turned out to be.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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C.B.***2 Wit
..........................He's In The House........................
................ .....In The Attic Frozen Still.................
................Only Moves When He Has To...........
................Waiting To Get His Nasty Fill...........
...............I Hear Him From Time To Time........
............When The Cold Cracks His Base........
............And He Tries To Move His Arms.........
........................Just To Feel His Face.................
..And When We Are All In Bed Slumbering....
..........The Ghost-He Slinks Down The Stairs...
...............Pillages Our Kitchen For Food..............
..................Robbing Our Cupboards Bare................
.....................Some times He Leaves..........................
............. .......Out The Patio Door, He Goes...............
...................But Leaves The Stick Out In View..........
.........................Just To Let Us Know...........................
.............. ......Its Harder For Him Now...........................
.....As The Bay Door Is Tighter Than Leather..........
........But He Manages To Still Slink Around..............
.............To Meet With His Birds of A Feather............
.............Now I Carry A Very Large Stick.....................
................And An Even Meaner Knife And Gun..........
........MESSAGE TO THE GHOST IN THE ATTIC.....
...The Days Coming-When You Are Totally Done.....
poem by Theodora Onken
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Tag, You're It
Let's assume
That he's the groom
And he's been waiting
To consummate all night
And you're the bride
You're locked tight
Inside the bathroom
And you're overcome with freight
Now here's the chiller
He's the killer
You've discovered
You're trapped, alone, you're scared
We cut to you, we move in close
You're catatonic
You get a close up there
And in this shot
Here's what we got
He breaks the door down
And tears your nightgown lace
You see a can, it's aerosol
You grab the hair spray
And light it in his face
There's a very hungry man in the cellar
Oh, waiting
Or is he in the attic closet
Waiting
Debbie? I like this game.
Debbie?
Debbie? Debbie? Debbie?
He blindly grabs you
Tries to stab you
But you're quicker
You over act right here
You see a cat, a ball of yarn
A knitting needle
His vision's still not clear
He's stumbling 'round
Don't make a sound
And then he grabs you
"Hide and seek, my dear?"
He shifts his glance
You see your chance
You grab the needle and you
You plunge it in his ear
There's a very hungry man in the cellar
Oh, waiting
Or is he in the attic closet
Waiting
There's a very hungry man in the cellar
Oh, waiting
Or is he in the attic closet
Waiting
And just like the scene
In "Halloween"
You think it's all over
And you're gazing into space
But you got to make sure
You hear something, you start to turn
And you're standing there frozen
Staring him face to face
And he looks at you and says
"Tag, you're it, Sweetie
Bye, Debbie. Debbie, Debbie, Debbie.
Goodbye, Debbie...
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Drivin Me To Drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Its about to go down
When the remys in the system, it aint no tellin
What the other person sayin, theres too much yellin
Even though I know, that aint what I need
I cant take the naggin and the bitchin and the screamin
No matter what I do it just aint enough
You say I dont take you out and buy you stuff
But you got these thangs, provided by me
Somebody pass me the vsop
Chorus:
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
Come home from a long day
Instead of havin dinner ready
All you got is somethin to say
Goin on like I need that
Im doin all I can and you can keep that
Said I never met no girl like you
Ungrateful thats the truth
Always got a problem
Wont you tell me what Im supposed to do
Girl you got some issues
Straighten all that out baby
Or I wont kick it with you
Chorus:
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
Bridge:
Say you got me on that hen dog
Cuz Im tired of askin you whats wrong
And Im feeling kinda crazy
All I want is somethin - from my lady
Say you got me on that hen dog
Cuz Im tired of askin you whats wrong
And Im feeling kinda crazy
All I want is somethin - from my lady
Chorus:
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
song performed by by Jagged Edge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shadow Of The Cross
At the drowsy dusk when the shadows creep
From the golden west, where the sunbeams sleep,
An angel mused: "Is there good or ill
In the mad world's heart, since on Calvary's hill
'Round the cross a mid-day twilight fell
That darkened earth and o'ershadowed hell?"
Through the streets of a city the angel sped;
Like an open scroll men's hearts he read.
In a monarch's ear his courtiers lied
And humble faces hid hearts of pride.
Men's hate waxed hot, and their hearts grew cold,
As they haggled and fought for the lust of gold.
Despairing, he cried, "After all these years
Is there naught but hatred and strife and tears?"
He found two waifs in an attic bare;
-- A single crust was their meagre fare --
One strove to quiet the other's cries,
And the love-light dawned in her famished eyes
As she kissed the child with a motherly air:
"I don't need mine, you can have my share."
Then the angel knew that the earthly cross
And the sorrow and shame were not wholly loss.
At dawn, when hushed was earth's busy hum
And men looked not for their Christ to come,
From the attic poor to the palace grand,
The King and the beggar went hand in hand.
poem by John McCrae
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The Attic
The attic holds such fascination
I climb the ladder in trepidation,
The attic is a time machine
Most things hidden and unseen,
I lift the hatch and take a peak
The old rocking chair begins to creak
Dust coats the old wooden chest
The lid embossed with a crest,
All the games of yesteryear
In the corner, uncles spear,
Boxes piled with books and photos
Most containing all my heroes,
Snakes and ladders, ludo, lots of games
They belonged to my brother James.
Oh! look my old train set
On the ledge fathers old cornet,
A place where I can come and dream
Oh! just hit my head on the beam,
Underneath the old guitar
Just found my 007 car,
I think I'll go I'm getting mellow
Maybe I'll return tomorrow
I descend the ladder and close the hatch
Just for now I'll watch the match.
poem by Hazel Connelly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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House of the Setting Sun
In the tawny moiré of your eaves
I found a city lying asleep
Buried in their tangled locks
Of synthetic gold and
In the tinkers of inebriation
I found the streets
That will ferry me home
And the sun would never bow
To cut the salient swath
Of time and vertigo
Because these walls hold
The pliant corolla of
Of surfeit gaiety
And this floor is the threshold
Of infinite chances
In the pale gilded walls
I impale myself like a wallpaper
Slathering every soul
Into the graves in my skin
I am one with the yellow house
And we are the maladroit spin
Of the clock's wafting arms,
The silent breathing
In the attic's chambers,
And in your bright collection
Of quasars and chandeliers
I will never be a shadow.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Toys In The Attic
So many years have passed me by
and so many toys in the attic lie.
Old rusty skates that used to glide,
I see them lyimg on their side.
A doll carriage, a wheel that's broken,
The doll that said 'Mama' now unspoken.
Coloring books all yellowed with age,
memories of 8 colors are on every page.
A kite assembled all by my dad,
the best kite a kid ever had.
A tricycle that mom and dad kept,
a remembered fall when I had wept.
Yo-yos and batty balls in a box,
and plenty of legos and wooden blocks.
So many toys from my childhood days
are in mama's attic that's like a maze.
They're everywhere I step, everywhere I look
but the best thing there is a pocketbook.
Mama filled it with pennies she saved for me
and they're better than all the toys I see.
See my books at stores.lulu.com/reizerj
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Attic
Its just an old moldy attic.
You'll not see anything crazy or dramatic.
Its all just a real mess.
Take it from me its all just a bunch of stress.
I have to clean it from bottom to top.
Everytime I look around me the work is just begging me to stop.
Its hard trying to decide what has to be given away.
Everything just disappears any way.
Box after box and I still did not find my drawings all day.
There Is a Fanatic Clinging Onto a Madness
There is a fanatic clinging onto a madness...
As if no roof to a ceiling exists.
As if there is no attic through which hot air escapes.
This madness has been reached.
There is no wish for it to be replaced.
And those who have achieved it are pleased.
It seems to reflect,
A feeling of a rush that many have come to satiate.
There is a fanatic clinging onto a madness...
As if no roof to a ceiling exists.
As if there is no attic through which hot air escapes.
This madness has been reached.
There is no wish for it to be replaced.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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