NCN World Poet Tree: Not an Attic, but a quiet room.    
 Not an Attic, but a quiet room.6 comments
15 Jan 2006 @ 15:56

As in history. I once wrote in an attic. A large victorian house in Clapham. Though this attic was quite huge,with a single broken sash window, which I altered by removing the sash and replacing it with a casement window, so I could elbow lean and gaze into distance and sky.

I have been writing for well over thirty years. In the main poetry ,but now I work on a novel. I have gained slight recognition, by accident rather than intent. Of late I have begun to publish on the internet, and I am building an on-line anthology, using my free web space.

There are many works and many that have been destroyed over the years, including all the longhand scribbles that showed the build of a poem. What I leave behind me. Is not the mechanics of writing, but the thoughts from a Poets nature.

I write only for its own sake, not for fame or recognition. And I write using a computer keyboard, rarely altering any work once it is written. Even now. I fall into another phase, where poetry changes into a greater maturity of human understanding. Within an absolute that is undeniable. Held tight by a measure that has no mark by which to rule. Such measure contains another absolute. That of an awareness of human content. I recognize my human role, as the measure slowly fades into a return into the debri of stars. As I begin so I end.

Kernerewek

Terrace.

In the wild and windy weather
The Gnomes are falling,one by one.
Take down the coloured pots
From off the parapet,
Nip all dying flower heads.
One long box,
Has grass growing, and weeds!
In among the Geraniums.
Place it in a cill
Within this quiet tranquil room,
And let the grass grow long
Something of an English meadow.
for bare feet dreaming
In an Autumn City.

Kernerewek

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6 comments

15 Jan 2006 @ 16:49 by jstarrs : I like the idea of...
bare feet dreaming.
Feet always seem so far away
until we cut toenails or dig our toes into sand
on some summer's day
or even when they start to act up fidgy...
The best is when someone, loved, massages them...
then, they start dreaming wildly
& make our brain go all soft & squidgy.

(ps, I took the liberty of adding a pic - change it if you want, M)  

15 Jan 2006 @ 17:24 by kernerewek : Thank You.
No the pictures are just great. Now I do have something somewhere on toe.sand etc. A case of digging for it.  

16 Jan 2006 @ 13:08 by nraye : Word Attic
comes from Georgian times when all artists and poets who could went to Attica, the "county" of Athens in search the wondorous Muses of Elgins fame. They took the most modest of lodgings, in the attic, taken by poets since Roman times for the same reasons!! And of course everyone, countrywide had an Attic after that!! but probably bereft of a Poet.  

17 Jan 2006 @ 09:29 by kernerewek : Thank you.
So I learn. Attica. In a manner of speaking I am in an Attic. This flat sits on two level houses below. Nothing above but sky. I have a 25'x6'6" terrace and a sitting room, that has three doors in its walls, which means it is a glorified landing. be it quite large. But I did once rent a flat in Antrim Castle. The old nursery. Huge rooms and haunted! Such an amazing place to both live and write in  

17 Jan 2006 @ 14:00 by Grace c. @67.43.137.204 : My 'attic'
I came across 'you wriing in your attic, n that gives me an idea. I've a sort of an attic in my house. It's a nice big room, on the third floor. When my husband n I bought this old Victorian house in 1980, we fixed it up, n converted the old, run downattic into a nice big room for my 2 little boys, then. My older son lived in that room for a few years b4 he moved to Victoria, B.C., where he was tragically, brutually, beaten up in a senseless, violent act. He's in a Rehab now, cos he can't walk or talk. Our attic room is now vacant, but I'll use it to write -of my sorrows, pain, grief and anguish and the good things in life. I was up there in that room, just 2 days ago, at night. I looked out the big,picture window n saw a beautiful glorious moon in the majestic lovely night sky, and the stars. I had switched off the lights in the room to feel, see and experience the beauty n the wondor of the night skies...
************************************
Sorry to hear about your son, Grace.
I'm glad this log & the above poem might've helped you to turn your suffering into, at least, something useful...if you'd like to post some things here, please let us know. (Jeff)  

18 Jan 2006 @ 16:10 by kernerewek : O dear
I am most sorry to hear your Son was so hurt. And wish him all the luck in the world and recovery. Do us your Attic and when your Son comes home. Get him up there with you, so he can feel the silence as well.  

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