Grandma's Dusty Attic (version 3)

[determinedtofail]

Grandma's Dusty Attic (Revised Version)
By Shawn Austin

Tell me.
What is in your dusty attic trunk?

Because,
I want to know all of you.

I want to hear;
your decisions
your regrets
your stories,
hinged on laughter and tears.

Are we so different?
Have we not jumped through the same flames of delinquency?
With flashing eyes and glinting knives;
with only our shouts to protect us.

I see a crown
grey fired, full of last year's tinsel.
The crown of an elderly sex goddess.

Madam, your trysts beckon.
They demand to be liberated!
Lest you silence their sentiments?

Beneath your weathered skin
a quilt of wily words and tactful smiles.

Once more let us raise our lips to the horns of the bull!
Show me teeth, off-white
the color of soft pounding on old fences
with a sound that still carries through my ears,
like an ocean storm
with sudden lulls and returns
that betrays my assumptions.

I want to touch the fangs of the night,
to go on weeping into the soft arms of the night.
Till my skin is numb and I am in a pensive mood.

Till I find myself drunk with emotion.
Walking on an early fall morning.
Wandering the frost coated grass
that breaks like soft pine needles.
In a field,
In a field where a bee sleeps
obscured by grass and some petals
and dreams without waking.




Grandma’s Dusty Attic (Origional Version)
By Shawn Austin

Tell me,
What is in your dusty attic trunk?
What are these, things?
What is all of this, memorabilia?
Because
I want to know all of you.

I want to hear
Your decisions
Your regrets.
I want to exchange the painful honesty of it all.
Stories so terribly vivid,
That we are left afterwards
Tempered hinges with loose screws
Between laughter and tears
Wiped clean of ignored dust and retreating spiders.

Are we so different?
Have we not jumped through the same flames of delinquency?
With flashing eyes, and gilted knives;
With only our shouts to protect us.

I see a crown.
A faded lavender crown.
The crown of an elderly sex goddess
Glowing with the grey fires of holiday tinsel.

Your trysts beckon.
Now more than ever
Those stories are in demand.
They demand to be liberated!;
Least you silence their sentiments?

Beneath your weathered skin
There exists a woven quilt;
A quilt of wily words and tactful smiles.
Once more, Let us raise our lips to the horns of the bull!
Show me teeth, off-white
The color of soft pounding on old fences
With a sound that still carries through my ears,
Like an ocean storm
With sudden lulls and returns
That betrays my assumptions.

I want to touch the fangs of the night,
To go on weeping into the soft arms of the night.
Till my skin is numb and I am in a pensive mood.
I want to have heard
The secret stories of aged women
Till I find myself alone
Drunk with emotion
With a set of keys in my breast pocket
Walking on an early fall morning
Wandering the frost ridden grass
That breaks like soft pine needles.
In a field,
In a field where a bee sleeps
Obscured by grass and some petals
And dreams without waking.

[Marion Poirier]

Shawn, you have many powerful and eloquent lines
in this poem.

I see you have reverted back to using caps at the
beginning of each line. My first reaction was wondering
why you are using this antiquated method;
however, after a few more reads, I have to agree that
the caps work in some places. For instance in S2,
I have left the caps in the places where I feel they
work for the poem and changed the others to lower
case as applicable.

I eliminated a few lines that I thought, were not so much
over-done, as not needed. You don't have to hit the
reader over the head to make a point.
I simplified the first stanza and some of the others.
In S1, one line can say the same thing as three lines
(for example). I used a few more stanza breaks as
I think you need some more pauses in some places.

These are only my first impressions and hope you
find some of my comments helpful - if not (goes
without saying) please ignore. I think you've done
a great job with this. Grandma was a very interesting
lady - not the typical grandma to be sure, but that's
what makes the poem interesting.
Marion

Grandma’s Dusty Attic
By Shawn Austin

Tell me,
What is in your dusty attic trunk?

Because
I want to know all of you.

I want to hear
Your decisions
Your regrets.

I want to exchange the painful honesty of it all.
Stories so terribly vivid,
that we are left afterwards
between laughter and tears.

Are we so different?

I see a crown.
A faded lavender crown.
The crown of an elderly sex goddess
glowing with the grey fires of holiday tinsel.
Beneath your weathered skin
there exists a woven quilt, (comma)
a quilt of wily words and tactful smiles.

Once more, let us raise our lips to the horns of the bull!
Show me teeth, off-white
the color of soft pounding on old fences
with a sound that still carries through my ears,
like an ocean storm
with sudden lulls and returns
that betrays my assumptions.

I want to touch the fangs of the night,
to go on weeping into the soft arms of the night
till my skin is numb and I am in a pensive mood.
I want to have heard
the secret stories of aged women
till I find myself alone
drunk with emotion.

A set of keys in my breast pocket.
Walking on an early fall morning.
Wandering the frost ridden grass
that breaks like soft pine needles
In a field,
in a field where a bee sleeps
obscured by grass and some petals
and dreams without waking.

[Ron Buck (halfshell)]

it's tough to make choices when filled with the fire of the moment. So much here to play with and the passion is the key, that deep internal frenzy that allows the intensity of pursuit to singe the plain of the mind. Seeking a balance will take you to new places... all of which are worth exploring...

nice lean back at the ending... some modifiers may be overworked and unnecessary... but the play's the thing and to play extends both poem and poet.

tidings
ron

[determinedtofail]

Marion and Ron,

Been rather busy as of late, but wanted to say thank you for all your comments. Hope to have some time today to truly take time and enjoy your comments more fully. Hope to repost a revised version soon,

Keep Writing!!! ;D

--Shawn

[Ron Wallace (Scotshawk)]

Shawn, there is so much power and potential here, I'm not sure where to start. Trimming some modifiers and getting to the heart will help. I like much of Marion's thought here. You need to lock yourself alone with the work for a bit and pare down to what you feel are your best images, best lines, best thoughts. I know they're all best right now, but you have a good work here that can be excellent. As it is, it still appeals strongly to me. Moves me at times as good poetry should. Ron

[determinedtofail]

Thanks Marion and Ron for your suggestions. When I wrote the poem I was partly thinking everyone's grandma is not the typical grandma. I'm quite sure mine was a stripper.
Interesting to hear that capitals are antiquated.

Sorry for taking so long to reply, I was working on another poem that I couldn't put to rest.
I took some time with this, while alone in the parking lot, and tried to trim down some modifiers without loosing the core. Still a work in progress though I'm sure.
All thoughts are welcomed.

[Marion Poirier]

Austin, I like this poem a lot and the revisions
you have made. This is really unique and interesting
What stories she must have shared or at least peaked your imagination.
Just a few minor suggestions to add.
Excellent work! M


Tell me,
What is in your dusty attic trunk? question mark

Because
I want to know all of you.

I want to hear,
Your decisions
Your regrets
Your stories
hinged on laughter and tears.

Are we so different?
Have we not jumped through the same flames of delinquency?
With flashing eyes, and gilted knives; (do you mean gilded?)With only our shouts to protect us.

I see a crown (I'd reword this - perhaps glimpse a crown)
grey fired, full of last year's tinsel
The crown of an elderly sex goddess.
-----------------------------
Not too crazy about the following stanza - or the word
]Madam - It seems a little off. (could be me.) Personally, it is my least
favorite stanza - however, different strokes.

Madam, Your trysts beckon.
They demand to be liberated!
Least you silence their sentiments? (I think you mean Lest?)
(I think you are influenced by Shakespeare in above
stanza. It sounds like old English.) Are you from the U.K.?
-------------------------------------------------------------------

Beneath your weathered skin
a quilt of wily words and tactful smiles.

Once more let us raise our lips to the horns of the bull!
Show me teeth, off-white
the color of soft pounding on old fences
with a sound that still carries through my ears,
like an ocean storm
with sudden lulls and returns
that betrays my assumptions.
Eloquent and flows smoothly.

I want to touch the fangs of the night,
to go on weeping into the soft arms of the night.
Till my skin is numb and I am in a pensive mood.
Very nice!

Till I find myself drunk with emotion.
Walking on an early fall morning
Wandering the frost ridden grass (not sure about ridden)
that breaks like soft pine needles.
in a field,
In a field where a bee sleeps
obscured by grass and some petals
and dreams without waking.

Ditto!

[determinedtofail]

Thanks you guys!

Marion,

Not from te U.K., though older English poetry was in my mind at that stage of the poem. Oh, my first name is Shawn, but noticed from this site that I don't mind my last name being used. So I am happy to be called Austin.

[Marion Poirier]

Shawn Austin, Please allow me to play a little with
this one. I am becoming more appreciative of different
styles, but one thing I'm opposed to is inconsistency.
When you use a capital letter at the beginning of
an incomplete sentence should you have a period
after the one before - incomplete or complete?
Minor detail but I would keep my devices consistent
or within a pattern. Here's a couple of suggestions:

Excellent revision.
Marion

Tell me.
What is in your dusty attic trunk? (Italics)

Because
I want to know all of you.

I want to hear: colon
Your decisions. (period)
Your regrets. ditto
Your stories
hinged on laughter and tears.

Are we so different?
Have we not jumped through the same flames of delinquency?
With flashing eyes(,) no comma and glinting knives(.period
With only our shouts to protect us.

I see a crown
grey fired, full of last year's tinsel. period
The crown of an elderly sex goddess.

Madam, your trysts beckon.
They demand to be liberated!
Lest you silence their sentiments(?). period

Beneath your weathered skin
a quilt of wily words and tactful smiles.

Once more let us raise our lips to the horns of the bull!
Show me teeth, off-white
the color of soft pounding on old fences
with a sound that still carries through my ears,
like an ocean storm
with sudden lulls and returns
that betrays my assumptions.

I want to touch the fangs of the night,
to go on weeping into the soft arms of the night.
Till my skin is numb and I am in a pensive mood.

Till I find myself drunk with emotion.
Walking on an early fall morning. period
Wandering the frost ridden crusted grass
that breaks like soft pine needles.
in a field(,) period
In a field where a bee sleeps
obscured by grass, comma and some petals
and dreams without waking.

[determinedtofail]

Marion,

Please, call me Austin. ;D I believe I now prefer that name here in this context. I foresee the repetition of seeing that name will always recall many emotions associated with this place.

Thanks for the pointers. Fixed the capital and endings. Used to mainly reading my poems to myself and capitalizing every line. Both are old habits I am trying to adapt good grammar to. Having the input of others reading my work is very beneficial, and almost all of the corrections make sense to my ears and eyes. I left a just a few words undeleted due to my own particular OCD poetry organization. Thanks again to you all.


Cheers,

--Austin