Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: E · Poetry · Environment · #2072983
winter cup
Prompt for: Jan 24, 2016 (Ren)
Subject or Theme: Favorite hobby or pastime; anything EXCEPT writing!
Word(s) to Include: bashful, horizontal, "name of your pastime," "any color" (or any derivatives of these words)
Forbidden Word(s): favorite, hobby, fun, enjoy, my (or any derivatives, compound or hyphenations of these words)
Additional Parameters: Minimum of 24 lines; no one word lines
Remember, do not use forbidden words ANYWHERE, including title or the brief description.

A gatherer of collections:
somewhere between magpie
and packrat.
Antique books of embossed leather
with velum pages and gilt edges,
first editions all and (frequently)
by obscure authors no one has ever heard of.
Numerous shelves hold
an conglomeration of
(to mangle a phrase from the
Wizard of Oz)
clinking, clanking, clattering collections
of caligenous junque:
owls made of spoons and forks,
twisted, welded shapes
forming nightmares and fantasies,
seventy three (I counted!)
old wrought iron
skeleton keys surrounded
by bashful Mark Roberts faeries
hanging from the underside of a shelf
(for why should the space be wasted?)
to spin and twirl as impulse or breeze dictates.

Wind chimes dangle from the eves outside
bedroom windows,
hang from branches of the maple tree,
dance in windows and hang from cabinets.

A parliament of owls perch on the branches
of the tree in the office.
Flights of dragons have landed
in the nooks and crannies above myMom's schoolmaster desk.
A treasury of dragonkind: pewter, cloth, bone,
china, cloisonne and wood - wings spread or curled
they but wait.

Old trunks make coffee,
end and bedside tables
with storage inside
for yet more
miscellaneous stuff.
Rocks garnered on various road trips,
one from everywhere we ramble
make one immovable. Another filled to the brim
with (mostly black and white) photographs
of our grands and greats. A third,
Annie's grandmother's grandfather's trunk,
holds family memorabilia including
dad's WWII leather aviator cap
and mother's nursing pins. The last
is replete with innumerable tiny, odd-shaped
and (probably) empty
boxes of tin or glass or wood.

Glass bottles, cobalt blue,
of every possible size, shape and hue.
Yes and aside from the antique books
volumes of poetry line crannied nooks.

Chunks of wood from the USS Constitution
or pretty much anything
from Old Ironsides.
(The living room is constituion-ally nautical!)
Mental trivia, assortments of quirky minutia,
and ever since I learned how to read,
odd words. What hubby calls
five dollar ones
that I can use in place of the typical and expected.
Sinuous, thesaurus, synergy and sycophant.
Laminated, lexicon, luminous and lemmings.

Then there's the coffee mugs,
(and I use them all)
from all over the world.
Mostly I use three: Toulouse Lautrec,
an owled one and one from here!
Lastly I collect sticks.
Drift sticks, walking sticks,
twigs, branches and staves.
Flared willowood, hickory
and blackthorn, carved, embossed,
painted and turned.

Pictures, canted,
never horizontal,
frame the hallways:
empty spaces are few
and far between.

Peruser of estate, yard, garage,
rummage and whatever sales,
I treasure and scavenger hunt
seeking yet another whosit or whatnot,
gidgit and gadget: an Ariel wanting
bits and pieces of other peoples lives
to reformulate and configure.
Ever on the hunt for a new passion
in which to delve, eclectic mind
to meander or acquisitive fingers to cosset,
eventually, one collection or another
makes it way to someone new
as their eyes glow and they scamper away
gleefully and I,
I fill created space
with the newly gleaned.

Almost Spring ... wondering what treasures await.

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