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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: old photodots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: marysunshine
    ASL Info:    34, Female,
    Elite Ratio:    4.48 - 610/705/75
    Words: 222
    Class/Type: Poetry/Nostalgia
    Total Views: 1745
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1568



    Description:
       Old albums in basements can remind you of people who you'd almost forgotten were alive.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsold photodots
    -------------------------------------------


    Dry-rotted basement boxes.
    Burial place for relations’ faces.
    Paste and corners hold them
    in not-so-acid-free albums.

    I see the dead of my short days.

    The historics beat a hazy picture.
    They hum a party…from back in the day.

    Whiff! Old nicotine…
    Vanilla ice cream

    George Jones’ nose cracks
    One is a lonely number…

    Wide men without their shirts.
    Big beer belly.
    Gall bladder removal
    on the level
    where my eyes were.

    Low bosomed hugs
    from the strict cooking M’ams.

    “Poker anyone?”
    “Poke her? I don’t even know her.”
    Hands of aunties on my ears.
    Uncle Bob gets a pinch.

    Whiskey naps for Uncle Jack…
    pipe still smoking.
    Someone put a mixing bowl
    on his head.

    Daddy’s daddy, Pa-pa
    whittles little birdies
    for the Princess Mary…
    Cigarettey grin.

    ”Thank you Pa-Pa…kiss kiss.
    Let’s sing the ‘Daisy Daisy’ song!”
    Alone I hum a wishful verse
    to eyes of celluloid paralysis.

    A breath…and shut. A puff of dust.
    Back they go to cardboard purgatory...

    I'll surely resurrect sometime again
    the remembered members of the day.


























    Submitted on 2005-07-18 09:35:24     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I'm glad I dropped by to read your latest. I always was a fan. You've recaptured your dead relatives not through hearing and sight - such images like photographs lie and don't show the person within, just the withered or bloated exterior without. It is good that you concentrate on teh senses of touch and smell. I shall never forget the feel of the bosom of my first lady Dentist (oops! I forgot I wasn't meant to mention that.) I certainly have a childhood memory of a visit to myn old bachelor uncle who played the violin and had stained every inch of his body and room the same mahogany colour of the violin with his cigarette smoke - the smell lingers most. They will thank you for their brief resurrection and I thank you for an interesting poem. Arthur
    | Posted on 2006-03-20 00:00:00 | by hanuman | [ Reply to This ]
      Dang, It's been a while since I have been on this website and I forgot how beautiful your writing is. THis is a great poem. It expresses exactly how I feel right now looking at a written photo album so to speak. "alone I hum a wishful verse, to eyes of celluloid paralysis." beautiful wording and imagery.
    | Posted on 2005-09-02 00:00:00 | by Kapone | [ Reply to This ]
      well this is good i was wary of the nostalgia warning (don't get sentimental it always ends up drivel) but you've managed to re-create memories without wandering into delusions.

    i love the way you made each stanza a seperate photograph, the way you described in turn different facets of each scene- how some memories concentrate on conversation or sounds, some on imagery and sights, some on smells, tastes..textures, and sometimes just memories about the person in the picture.

    also the way you combine phrases to give the impression of the mood of each photo/scenario taken at this party. cigaretty grin says he smokes, he's smiling, he's a gruff but kind old man... princess mary says she's little and precocious and absorbed (well to me at least). each stanza leaves a different impression and this collage of scenes gives a very similar feel to actually looking at old pictures. my only complaint is the title. why not old photographs? or something... since it's about more than one photo it just seems strange. anyways... i liked it.
    | Posted on 2005-07-19 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ]
      Obviously I liked it in the first place, but the changes made make it even better. I love that about you...you keep striving.
    | Posted on 2005-07-19 00:00:00 | by deadndreaming | [ Reply to This ]
      I love it.

    LOL

    I like how you bring us through each photo, the imagery is flawless, the rhymic quality almost impeccable. Opening Stanza really pulls you in, as far as critique, this is deserving of something even greater, good job. Beautiful and brilliant piece. I think you should pat yourself on the back, but then again you're probably a bad ass poet, so...I also like the use of Onomatopoeia

    Whiff! Old nicotine…
    Vanilla ice cream

    I tell people onomatopoeia can be a persons best friend and powerful tool if used correctly, which you have done...

    I also like the Three dog Night reference intininal or not

    One is the loneliest number...(two can be just as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one...)

    LOL

    Great Piece...this is going right into my mutha[censored] favorites. It has such a strong voice.

    Ryan B. Wilbur
    | Posted on 2005-07-18 00:00:00 | by 27_deadpoets | [ Reply to This ]
      wow... this is brilliant... really...
    and also quite timely...
    i work in a rest home with old ladies and while its not what i plan to do with the rest of my life i really love the oldies... theyre so beautiful and wise and yeah...
    anyways... theres one hallway at work where there are big photo boards covered in photos of the oldies over the years and well... they become such a part of the wall and im always so busy that i dont really look at them very often at all...
    last night one of my old ladies died while i was working and i found myself infront of these huge photo boards remembering not only this one ladies life but all the others who had gone before her and the impact they all had on my life for different reasons...

    i love how you call this box a burial ground... it is somewhat of a burial ground though not one that is defile with headstones knocked over by drunken teens... its almost like a sacred indian burial ground... ya know...?

    beer bellies and scars seem to feature in most of my memories too though im not sure about photos... when my olds split up we somehow stopped taking fotos and they all got shoved in a suitcase somewhere... im gonna have to hunt it out now im thinkin...

    anyways... this is a most gorgeous write... really it is...fully of laughter and smiles.
    im really glad you found your albums so you could share this with us.
    | Posted on 2005-07-18 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
      Oooers, I really like this, and how it takes you back to those times that seem like so far away, or that you can't imagine that was ever you, and it's really hard to believe, and you took that and you wrote into a little container outline for the world to see your disbelief. I loved it because, I was looking at baby pictures of myself yesterday, and I couldn't picture myself ever like that, and it sort of felt like it wasn't really me, but just a version of me, or something along the lines of a clone. The stanzas were nicely put together, and when I read them it was like riding a bike down a hill, with the excitement and everything. My favorite line was "I see the dead of my short days.", it was a very sad line indeed, and it carried so much emotion in it. I have to say great job to you indeed.
    Peace and love,
    Aya
    | Posted on 2005-07-18 00:00:00 | by EmpathicAya | [ Reply to This ]
      maybe it's growing up in the midwest and/or the same general era, but this sounds all so familiar to me. I could change a few names and it might be my photo album (then again I could change a few names and it might be memories that I've created for my kids). A great trip down memory lane where a colorful group of family once lived, alive and well and at least partially intoxicated, safe in your mind and filled with oxygen by that dusty old photo album.

    I love everything about it. The language you use is refreshing. I can see you as a child in the middle of all this. It is not strange...it is your life, things you were accustomed to, and the love and laughter is apparent.

    Nice phonics, great images, a bit of longing, some sadness for what is gone, but mostly just the joy of a time when you felt so safe, even in the midst of such controlled choas. And the stories of the scars always came up...and George Jones did have one cracked up nose...and someone was always covering our ears...and somebody always ended up with a mixing bowl on their head.

    I just love it! Cigarettey grin indeed!
    | Posted on 2005-07-18 00:00:00 | by deadndreaming | [ Reply to This ]
      This brings back memories. I see myself sifting through the old boxes of photographs from my childhood and remembering how uncomplicated my life was back then. I do that from time to time. Just to see the faces of those who are gone, and the faces of those who have aged.

    This is a very good nostalgic piece which makes me feel sad. Only because I long for those simpler times.

    Great piece.

    Brightest Blessings,
    Crystal
    | Posted on 2005-08-24 00:00:00 | by lenotoire | [ Reply to This ]
      Girl, you brought back memories! From the beginning all the way to the end. The only difference was the music. We weren't country western music lovers. Other than that everything else was like coming out of our family get togethers. Yeah buddy, always an "uncle" who got a pinch. I got to go and look at some old photos now!lol! This was a great piece! Very homey which I love...you take care, wanda
    | Posted on 2005-07-18 00:00:00 | by bigfineq | [ Reply to This ]


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