Challenge: The concrete thread

[vampiredust]

The rules are simple here. Write poems about concrete objects, things you can touch and feel.

I'll start:

Curtain Rail

It's a cheap one, stretched
across my window frame.
A pair of thin white curtains
dangle dangerously from hooks

sliding across its metallic skin,
held together by a peg. There's
a gap and I can see the outside
world unzipping, bit by bit.

 

[wildsweetone]

Spring Rain

This morning I watched raindrops
fall slowly from the sky
as if the clouds were reluctant
to let them go. They landed
on the cherry blossoms
pink turned chrystalline,
gathered, to fall to the ground
and pooled where the cat
hissed, his ginger paws
nailed to the deck
as if he never intended to cross
the great green ocean
again.

 

[Tzara]

Dictionary

I have friends who call you doorstop,
but for me you hold my mind open
for business on a Saturday or
keep me company, late on a rainy write.

 

[wildsweetone]

Bread Tag

You're white as a ghost
and as I untwist
you I wonder who it was
that tied you to the bread bag,
what bones ground
to tie your unyielding shape
to this brown plastic wrapper.
I have a collection
overflowing a wooden box
on the kitchen bench,
if I add you to it, will you fall
or hold the rest in place?

 

[champagne1982]

Panasonic

You sit there gleaming in your hard
plastic shell with all the right
buttons that just scream for his hands
on your sensuous curves.

Play me when you have a spare
moment. I'll take you everywhere
ever dreamt, ever imagined.

As you tire and weaken after
visual orgies and audio ornament
obviously, you need new batteries,
your possibilities no longer remote.

 

[wildsweetone]

Chickens

Dad has a dozen,
white with red wobbly wattles
that tease the starlings
into swooping. One squawk
and muck splatters
to the ground, feathers
fluff in a frenzy
of fright and from the deck
arms and shouts
weave through the air
until everyone settles.

 

[The_Fool]

Lighter in Red

Find me
Fixating on a lighter
Red
Deliberate in my attempt
To peel the label
In one piece
One roll
Ending up in an ashtray
Flicking the lighter
At intermittent intervals
Staring into the flame
Next
I think I’ll peel the label
From my beer bottle

 

[wildsweetone]

Digital Camera

The history-cracks in my palm
cradle you as my eyes
peer into your square screen,
stare the length of my arm out
to a created earth. I see
blossoms and beatles,
bruised bodies and bent buildings
and sometimes there is more
colour in the tagging
than in the rainbow
in my garden.

 

[MsBug]

Coffee Cup

Morning's first caress, most days
Sensual curves tease, beckon to be held
Robed in navy blue polka dots
And steamy perfume full of promise
By design eager to please
An insatiable thirst for more
And yet,
warm company at night
for a cold muse.

 

[WickedEve]

Sweet Adele's brush,
heavy sterling.
100 strokes before bed.
In bed, 100 strokes on her mind.
100 strokes back out of bed

Come to bed, Adele.
Sweet, compulsive, obsessive Adele.
Come to bed.

Heavy sterling brush,
sweet when it cracks her head.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Vise grip

See-saw the cool pin
back and forth
and wonder what marks
it leaves on a head
and the sea-shell
sound distortion.

 

[Tzara]

Beer Can

Cylindrical and tall, though not always tall enough, it is
the contents, though, of which we think. Their acrid tang,
as we drink its liquid down, bespeaks entanglement

and confused response. And, oh, yes, we know all about that—
your sometimes thinking or somethinking weirdo fucking thing.
We continue silently to prosecute your ways. And, yes, we drink.

 

[vampiredust]

Stamp

Her Majesty's silent face sits like a silhouette
on the side of my last two stamps, trapped
in a fake gold background. The book of six
cost me £1.98, the other four already used,

some for letters, others for things to get
lost in that void in Primrose Hill (Sorting Office)
I'm not sure what these two survivors will
be used for yet. Perhaps I will send a postcard

to myself, imitate tourists and write messages
about the weather and how oh-so-wonderful
life is here. Or perhaps I'll just attach them a
pigeon's wing and let it go. Flying is always good

for them. Always good.

 

[Senna Jawa]

The rules are simple here. Write poems about concrete objects, things you can touch and feel.

I'll start:

Curtain Rail

It's a cheap one, stretched
across my window frame.
A pair of thin white curtains
dangle dangerously from hooks

sliding across its metallic skin,
held together by a peg. There's
a gap and I can see the outside
world unzipping, bit by bit.

Great idea, congratulations, vampiredust--this thread has potential. Everybody, don't waste it, have discipline. The poem above was doing fine (almost) until the last two lines. Don't say "outside world". Stay specific, concrete, true. Write what you truly see, feel with touch, hear... Avoid junk like "outside world". Also, remove "dangerously" or do something about it.

 

[Senna Jawa]

Sweet Adele's brush,
heavy sterling.
100 strokes before bed.
In bed, 100 strokes on her mind.
100 strokes back out of bed

Come to bed, Adele.
Sweet, compulsive, obsessive Adele.
Come to bed.

Heavy sterling brush,
sweet when it cracks her head.

Eve, don't rush.

This poem doesn't belong to this thread. Nevertheless it has a wonderful promise! The last line spoils everything, it's bad. Without that line, true, I don't feel that you already have a complete piece. But what's your hurry, Eve? Wait, give it time. Don't produce something half cooked.

 

[RhymeFairy]

My Candle

I watch as you weave your spell
around flickering memories. Distant
nights and so many evenings alone.
Just you and I my friend, whispering fantasy
or fiction into the pages of this waxed image.
What once burnt hot now settles down
at the end of the jar wicklessly empty.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Ice Cube Tray

If only I could be as compartmentalized.
Work, here, home,
here, love, here,

you, here.

 

[wildsweetone]

Pinot Noir Bottle

I wonder if
at nine a m
I should lift you
to my lips,
let your red satin stain
slip down my throat
before work.

 

[Cub4ucme]

Mum's the Word

There is a grave in Manahawkin
I don't know who lies below
all I see is black granite
in the shape of a guitar

I bleed the blood of strings
atop this soiled ground
where old stones appear
each new spring when frost
gives way to morning dew

I won't ever read the marker
it would all become too personal
I prefer to save this space
ten paces from my mother

It's where I go after planting mums
for mom and all the guilt she left me
I can blame her now
the people resting here
they don't argue

and the sun always seems to greet me
heading west on my way out



cu

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Old Cat

heavily comfortable
across my knees
turning to watch
as fingers find keys
hollow-cheeked now
her once-smooth gait
arthritically awkward
but oh her coat still shines
glossy and on occasion
she's not too proud
to chase the bit of string

 

[ParrotDee]

Great idea, congratulations, vampiredust--this thread has potential. Everybody, don't waste it, have discipline. The poem above was doing fine (almost) until the last two lines. Don't say "outside world". Stay specific, concrete, true. Write what you truly see, feel with touch, hear... Avoid junk like "outside world". Also, remove "dangerously" or do something about it.

Syd Barret's Freezer

I have a brick, it's a very thick brick
and if eye is the windsheild....

Damn, that's cold.

Sorry, Senna. Too good not to lampoon

 

[tungtied2u]

concrete countertops
why not eat off a sidewalk
at $100 a square foot installed
you could afford catering
not to mention
a damn good bottle of wine
even treat the homeless
who live down the alley
and have the city send their boys
to clean the table afterwards

 

[clutching_calliope]

Dish Rag

You’re limp in my hands
and I wonder if
it was something I did.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Ottoman

My faithful foot servant,
your doggish presence
lifts my sole.
..............Otto,
you’re my favourite
palindrome. ..........Staunch
leathery-skinned Otto,
you’re the only man
for me.

 

[RhymeFairy]

You’re limp in my hands
and I wonder if
it was something I did.

Or not ...

this one