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PHELT

Submitted by Esker on Sun, 2016-08-07 22:38

Lining
the beaten tinned hinged handled affair
rustled it up like a Cossack
such wild hair
LuLulemon yoga pants
pale ankles
bent rummaged
bottom drawer
beams of your russet
hair dusting the floor
U came up at last
bending that fine
valley of spine
sun shinning up
in its hot amber
flash
pockets of shade
beneath upturned
eyes ablaze with
glee
"I can think of no one
else I want too give
these too!"
one eyebrow rides
higher...drives me
crazy...lace trim
steers me away
to your bustline
for a moment
But in your tiny
hands is the
Treasure from
the Trove U
stole away
I reach out
manage a
most menacing
maniacal smile
U giggle and
curtsey
I sit down in a
dusty old chair
once mint leather
(probably something
from the fathers..
"businesses")
U scoot over
a leg dropped atop
mine
arm across back of
mine your hair tickling
my shirt sleeve arm
I unlatch the latches
and lift the lid
It is an old make up
case...a small one
(probably her mothers
still wore the bee hive
fifteen years out of
style)
cradled inside on a
bed of cottonballs
some of them with
red smudged polish
is the Baretta
and nestled in the
slips for eye liners
are the shells
"Aint she a beaut!"
she cries and jumps
up...grabbing the
ram rod with a scrap
of rag...silk
breaks down the gun
spits on the silk and
gives it a few in and
outs...
hands it too me
grip end
I find it a very
gripping moment
I had forgotten
everything I loved
about her
Who ever said U
could fall all over
in love
of a little felt
lined box>>

..

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Vivovon

Mon, 2016-08-08 13:58

Overall, I feel it is sort of nostalgic. It is also mysterious in one sense.
I work hard to figure out what is the poem about. The verse "beams of your russet
hair dusting the floor" makes me think that it is pussy cat digging a drawer in the basement or attic as indicated by the "dusty old chair." Finding a "Baretta" in a felt-lined box sounds like a pleasant surprise.

The flow is good, making it a good read.

Please take a look at the verse "I want too give these too!" The phrase "too give" could be a typo for "to give?"

After all, if I misunderstand the poem please pardon me for my knowledge deficiency and kindly enlighten me.

xxxxx

Esker

Mon, 2016-08-08 15:20

Esker's picture

Russet beams....its afternoon...a warm day....air conditioning although central never worked
for a long time...Think Grey Gardens only suburban....Her hair is long..throws light like
sunshine..the red ball of dusk coal...impressionist paintings of the misty harbor..coal fires
heat...mass production stacks...gentry top hats...that kind of a day..Balleen black dresses
and urchins hawking the wares.... Baretta...Berrets...to...and too..never paid attention...
I suffer from ADD attention deficit disorder...its very frustrating...I just live in this fade out
landscape...Like FM radio at night....when it ghosts...or the old UHF overlay television
broadcasts in cities....I enjoyed the mulled...Poem or story..nostalgee..yes...people in the
rural or inner cities get locked into time zones...travel in portions of the old countrys and
time stands still...off the main highways....I know too...is inclusive..as also..I think in dual
layers often...sometimes three or four ..words come out jumbled...often I make no sense..
this is the best I can do.......why did he fall out of love? Oh yah..the anxiety...the stubborn
side....mood flare ups...outgoing madness....depression....The narrator or key descriptor
realizes she does indeed love him...of all the crap still in that crumbling mess she finds
something interesting..so he knows she put effort into it...she doesnt see all that jumble
she doesnt even have cable...an old record player....mind numbing stuff to a man about
town...baretta goes into safety deposition box...safe there...Russet...irish....new york
state roots...pale as a vampire..shuns the sun.....She is the Sargasso sea queen...counting stars and weathering the storms that bring just new junk.....He is the restless seeker seeing the stars...but with a different land beneath him....home is an ideal...not a function...shes bout the stablest thing he knows...and who knows why?? She said once too him that he brings her
the smells of the world she fears....to her he smells warm and wild.....He brings carnations often because they last the longest..she said they remind her of Harlequins...a carnival in a far away land her father was from.....Thank U for examining this story. I think if I just skip the extra O on the To s from now on it will read with less stumble...

author comment

Vivovon

Mon, 2016-08-08 15:42

I got it. Let it be the way it is.

xxxxx

Geezer

Wed, 2016-08-10 01:11

Geezer's picture
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Sounds like an interesting plot. ~ Gee

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

Esker

Wed, 2016-08-10 01:27

Esker's picture

isnt so much important...More like what is going on..
In that short scene
Women like me...Im ugly....Ive got a bad attitude
half the time...But Im articulate...I pull in the
thousand yard stare and dont give a fuck
vibe which IS real....but I was taught too be
polite...I listen because most people are up to
something...always..Motive...Purpose..Value
we are human....its natural...
None or barely the women I knew..live with
or lived with...spent time were focused on me
But they came too me with treasures..trinkets
they spent much time into picking up....carrying
the joy or indifference I gave em in response
they were ready for anyway.....when they see
in private liking the object or gift it gives them
great pleasure from me....
"you do give a shit"..I remember one of them...
their sharing is thoughftul.....time spent with
them.....others would give their right arm too
hear the true stories they tell me...the sometimes
trust when I am tired..slowed down...
dropped the armor...
there will always be the Number ones...
but the number twos are around forever
(almost) when I focus on them....
give them my eyes...(they are grey...I do have
a primal face...hungry eyes....)
my voice which is good.....I drone on
or I settle them....a gift..a power
for the kind of work I did..
not a paycheque job either....
what are they too me?

everything....
I remember their eye color
their stories
perfume they wear
brand of smokes
I take time to drop
words on all social apps
Im on and contact
with them
makes their day
for all my randomness
I remember to let them
know I remember them

Emmy is real
shes not a waitress
we got friendly
but Im too haunted
friend terms is best
there are more

in my travels real life
is more full of plots
then any imagined
fiction

but stories are a wonderful
thing to experience and
read..
half the time my characters
in every poem since I got
here is based on them

again Geezer..thank U

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