The Estate Sale

[sandpiper]

The Estate Sale



Those stacks of boxes piled up to the ceilings
had all been catalogued and photographed.
They smelled of dust. And memories. And feelings
wrapped up and trapped in picture fames. We laughed
when talking of the way she had hurled Chaucer
into the pool for peeing on the rug,
I dropped an 1860's Belleek saucer
remembering the look on that poor pug.
The Adirondack Autumn leaves were pressed
and packed to save, Venetian glasses hid
in bubble wrap that seemed a playful test
to see if we could pack the way Dad did.

The ghosts reeled round, they'd heard him at the gate;
"Good Day!, I'm here about your mom's estate..."







I'm currently trying to write a poem a day for April, and this is day three's attempt. I'm trying to entice my muse to come back- she's been out galavanting so long I've forgotten what she looks like... which is the main reason I've not been commenting as much, I just haven't been able to put my thoughts together properly lately. So please excuse the absence, and hopefully over this next month I'll be back in shape...

[Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47]

Cleverly penned sonnet, piper. Rhyme and meter par excellence! The enjambment works very well; I particularly liked the opening quatrain, and the feeling of reminiscence throughout.

(check typo on catalogued)

[LynnDoiron]

What would you say to Those in place of The in opening L1? For me, those "directs" the readers mind's eye to a particular place. Not a biggy, just a thought. Another completely inconsequential thought on my part: what if you put full-stop periods in L3 to replace commas?
In L5 -- perhaps intro Mom here, rather than "she" ??
I'm not good with meter so more than likely I have messed yours up with my thoughts. Glad to see you posting, piper. Are you using a list of prompts to write the poem a day? Sherry and I are looking for a list of prompts to get us going, too.

Those stacks of boxes piled up to the ceilings
had all been catalogued and photographed.
They smelled of dust. And memories. And feelings
wrapped up and trapped in picture f(r)ames. We laughed
when talking of the way Mom had tossed Chaucer
into the pool for peeing on the rug (--)
I dropped an 1860's Belleek saucer

[sandpiper]

Thank you both of you, and Lynn, No, no problem at all changing the words, except for the tossed, she literally hurled that poor puppy into the pool. he must've flown 15 feet. then sunk, and came up paddling and puffin'. emerged a wet rat, and sat at the sliding glass door with his back to the rest of the family for about 4 hours afterward. he was quite pissed... no doubt I would've been too.

For the prompts, I've not a found a list, just trying to come up with something everyday... that worked last year, so hoping it works again, and just get my mind moving again.

Here's today's effort which used art as a prompt, (and a line from one of my other poems)(cheated a bit there) but I think had as much or more to do with Leo's sand and straw reference as the picture...


On pondering Dali


The world laid out, just sand and bone, I kneel
to take impatient fistfuls, horde them in,
to gorge upon the dust and swallow. Feel
the pumice rake itself upon my skin.
For what? for what frail purpose must I give
my joie de vive back to the restless? So
that they can run, skip rope and freely live-
the winds caressing their wet hair? No,
its not that way,the way we've turned loss out
to be, with anger's thread stabbed tight through each
small button hole; a thirsty constant drought,
with clouds that hold rain just out of our reach.
I know she's close, I feel as if she's there
by me, I still can smell the lilacs in her hair.




Salvador Dali's "Female figure with head of flowers" 1937

[Marion Poirier]

Good poem, Piper. I'm wondering if you'd experiment
with shorter lines and stanza breaks rather than in
sonnet form. Suggestions to take or leave. Marion

The Estate Sale



Those stacks of boxes
piled up to the ceilings, had all been
all catalogued and photographed

They smelled of dust.
And memories. And feelings
wrapped up and trapped
in picture fames.

We laughed when talking
of the way she had hurled Chaucer
into the pool for peeing on the rug. period
I dropped an 1860's Belleek saucer
remembering the look on that poor pug.

The Adirondack Autumn leaves
were pressed and packed; semi-C
to saveVenetian glasses hid in bubble wrap
that seemed a playful test
to see if we could pack the way that Dad did. like Dad.

The ghosts reeled round,
they'd heard him at the gate;
"Good Day!, I'm here
about your mom's estate..."

[LynnDoiron]

Whoa! Nice one. Love the inclusion of the artwork. How do you do that?

I had a feeling the dog had literally been hurled. This is going to sound gross, but hurled coming after the mention of a person makes me think in terms other than throwing or slamming or the action of moving something through the air, makes me think in terms of getting sick. Of course that very slight blip goes away once I get the lines completed in my read. But there is that moment, then the next tiny moment of finding out Chaucer is not a book or a collection of tales but a dog. These are hardly even bumps at all -- just things that if we were sitting across a table from one another I'd nod my head and say, yeah.

[MichaelFirewalker]

it is very strong, this sonnet, in many ways----the one that struck me is the vibrance of your memories, and the clarity with which you pen them, and balance them within----michael has done two close-family estate sales, and the emotions numb after awhile, too many memories, too much joy turned to sudden loss----this poem inspires respect...

love,
michael

[sandpiper]

Thank you MArion, I like your version very much, and yes, I will play with mine. The sonnet's stuffed with filler and fluff, got it. :-) I appreciate you taking the time, really enjoy your comments.
Lynn, hurled, got it... I'll see if there's some other way to say it but still be a throw as opposed to a toss... and I pm'd you all of the the instructions for adding pictures to threads.

Michael, thank you, we actually decided in the end to tell the guy to go away. It was apparently too much for us to handle, and my mom was a packrat who collected in order to fill a need. Therefore had all sorts of emotional attachments to everything she had. We (siblings and I) couldn't bring ourselves to suffer the hauntings that might occur if we had let this particular auction guy take the things for a song. So, we're currently in a holding pattern on that... it'll all work out in the end, I'm sure, and I appreciate your kind comments, as always.
Thanks!
-piper

[mfwilkie]

piper, I'd keep the meter and rhyme.

Here are some quick thoughts:

Boxes, packed and stacked to reach the ceilings,
had all been catalogued and photographed.
They smelled of dust. And memories. And feelings
trapped in picture frames wrapped for sale. We'd laughed
recalling the way she hurled her dog Chaucer
into the pool for peeing on the rug;
I dropped an 1860's Belleek saucer
thinking of his posture—one pissed-off pug.

In the lines below, I'm a bit confused as to who pressed the leaves to save. They seem to contradict the opening when all was packed and stacked, and it's out of syntax.

The Adirondack Autumn leaves were pressed
and packed to save, Venetian glasses hid
in bubble wrap that seemed a playful test
to see if we could pack the way Dad did.

After reading your notes on the origin of the poem, you might consider re-writing the couplet to reflect your change of mind.

Maggie

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Haven't read your other responses, Piper, so this may fly in the face of them. Here are some thoughts:

Those stacks of boxes piling to the ceilings
had all been catalogued and photographed.
They smelled of dusty memories and feelings
enwrapped and trapped in picture frames. We laughed
when talking of the way she'd cast old Chaucer
into the pool for peeing on the rug,
I dropped an 1860's Belleek saucer
remembering the look on that poor pug.
The Adirondack Autumn leaves were pressed
and packed to save, Venetian glasses hid
in bubble wrap that seemed a playful test
to see if we could pack the way Dad did.

The ghosts reeled round, they'd heard him at the gate;
"Good Day!, I'm here about your mom's estate..."

[jtaylor]

I like this poem -in its many forms- because I love an estate sale or an auction. (Auctions are not as plentiful in NC as in Ind.)
I think I like the four-line stanzas, but I admire the skill in creating a sonnet. Could one of the pictures be of Chaucer so that the memory links to the task at hand?

[Sherry Thrasher]

I hardly think you lost your muse, Piper. Both poems are excellent and yes, I too thought Chaucer was a book. Poor, poor, wet Chaucer the pug. Dogs certainly do express emotion. I admire your mastery of the sonnet.

Please pm me the instructions for adding a photo as well.

Sherry

[Ron Buck (halfshell)]

you know how intangibles come to life when we have garnered perspective via experience and can dot the canvas thoughout to blend with a finer brush? This is what carries the poem here and I can fall right into the moment without climbing over the furniture.

well played!

tidings
ron

[ramadevi]

I too, admire your mastery of the sonnet (both of them are very fine work...and your muse did those from long distance?! My muse has been galavanting too, but she is rushing home to relax by the fire and relish fine poems like this one).

i would not trim this down, even though Marion's version is also nice. I think it works splendidly as a sonnet.

I like your edits... like starting the first line with Those.
I like the broken feel of line three. It gives a good emphasis and dramatic pause effect.

Nicely detailed imagery
Adirondack autumn leaves.... pressed to save

I like the witty closing.

Warm reagrds,
rama devi

[LynnDoiron]

Thought I'd bring this one back around. No comment other than it's worth it.

lynn

[sandpiper]

Thank you everyone for your comments and suggestions. I've not had a chance to revise this one yet, trying to wrap my brain around shorter lines; but I will try to come up with a worthy edit. I appreciate!
-piper