Shelter

Experimental Prose

Fuzzy are the memories of how I came to this spot,
or the shovel to be in my hands.
The first turn of the soil with the shiny metallic head and then another..
Slowly to start, gradually picking up the pace as it went.
Hours, days, months a growing obsession that raged on
until the depth was to my satisfaction.
Overwhelming was the smell of damp earth,
worms tangled in long hair and beetles wriggling between toes
as the sturdy walls were being built.
Each brick carefully laid and mortared securely
in copious amounts of tears.
Bed, lamp, table, chair, rug,
a hoarders stockpile of can goods and necessities.
What more could ever be needed?
At last farewell to the sun as the door closes
with the sound of the keyless lock clicking into place.
My haven
My sanctuary
My prison

You will never ever get to me in here.

Reviews

[The Verse: A Poetry Jou..]

Are you describing a home, or the need for a perfect home to become our shelter? My interpretation is of a housewife, whose only audience are the worms and beetles that keep her company even in death, but a need to try your best to stock up even on canned goods and even a whole in the ground you fill with warmth. maybe not.

[Rogue]

These are definitely some unique thoughts. I enjoyed reading them. Thank you. :)

[The Verse: A Poetry Journal]

My pleasure.

[Rita L. Sev]

A sanctuary - a grave. Is one really different from the other? This has me thinking of all the possible meanings to take from it - that is a hallmark of great poetry!

Also, your opening lines strongly reminded me of a song my brother wrote, called "Shovel":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qRvuv8_pJc

[Rogue]

Thank you, Rita and thank you for the link as well. He's got a really good voice and I enjoyed listening. :)

[Rita L. Sev]

:)

[Peter H]

wow the effects of being hurt over and over again can cause us all to bury our feelings in a stock pile of facades , i like this piece good write

[Rogue]

I appreciate your insights here, Peter. thank you. :)

[quinfinn]

i built one of those..."people" keep trying to tear down the walls, and when i acquiesce, i see the light and retreat. well penned!

[Rogue]

Yes, well... I was keeping this one close to the vest so to speak. And perhaps here, I will elaborate...
This particular line is very important "You will never ever get to me in here. " what this means is: I have a life, a real life, a good life, a happy life, and a life where if I can dream it I can make it happen. I am surrounded by friends and family that love and adore me. Not a soul here can have my life nor effect it. This is a website, where I am happy to go about reading and commenting and laughing and encouraging anyone and everyone who is friendly. I have no desire to be in the top "writer spots" I don't need that spotlight. I won't send read requests and I won't feature work. And it truly makes me laugh when I watch all these reviews I am getting lately (and many from good and trustful sources) and yet my ratings are tanking at a major rate. Hell, I am most likely rated the worst author on here. And yet, you and some others know just how much that has no effect on my real life "writing".
No... You will never ever get to me in here.

[quinfinn]

duly noted and admired

[Rogue]

Let me clarify here just in case: It doesn't matter the bad that anyone does or says to me here. It will not alter my life.

[quinfinn]

oh, i concur

[Samuel Dickens]

You know, that little cocoon in the ground has a certain allure. As a kid, I dug myself a "Bugs Bunny house" in a field near our home. I liked the idea of being safe and unseen, but in reality, it was a bit too earthy and damp to afford much comfort. After I'd left for the Navy, the weeds grew up around it, and a guy mowing the field "found" my hole. Damned gophers.

[Rogue]

Hahahahaha
Love the Bugs Bunny house! Sam, you and I would have gotten along splendidly as kids I think. I had no problem with crawling here and there, climbing here and there, playing in dirt and mud and swimming in creeks.. Bugs, worms, all worth holding up and inspecting closely. I truly was a horror for my mother. The most ungirly, girl in a dress and she could not keep shoes on my feet. Just a barefoot heathen. :)

[Samuel Dickens]

It does, it sounds we were poured from the same mold. My mother thought I was a terror.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

once we die, no earthly force or person can affect us again.

what a terrific analogy in this piece.

reminds me a bit of ophelia's description of her father's grave, in Hamlet.

your wording is so visual.

jacob

[Rogue]

Thank you, Jacob for reading and these wonderful thoughts here. :)

[wynn]

I like the parallels between building the walls of a house and building mental walls to shelter one's self from destructive emotional situations. Thanks for sharing. :)

[Rogue]

Thank you for reading. :)
I hope to see something new from you again soon.

[wynn]

haha! i just posted something this morning :)

[Troy Henson]

Well written. Great imagery In this and it kept me intrigued.
It has great depth but I must ask from what do you hide from?
The shelter protects and is a safe house for you but is it sanctuary you seek or a prison.
Nice work
Regards

[Rogue]

I like the questions you posed here. Thank you. :)

[Ken Simm.]

Haven, sanctuary and prison. Near where I live is a place called Skull House Lane. The story is that someone did what your protagonist did in a house in the lane during the English Civil war. To get him out the house was burned to the ground. Legend has it that anyone now removing the skull that was found after the burning will have very bad luck. One man tried to throw it in a nearby river. The skull returned and he drowned in the same river. One owner tried to remove it as far away as possible. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck.
Needless to say the skull still hs pride of place in the house.
It strikes me that this could be the final resting place of your protagonist. He/she wants to come away from the world but the world won't let itself be walled away.
This could be one of the finest uses of metaphor in horror that I have seen on this site.

[Rogue]

Wow. That is a heck of a compliment, Ken and while my instinct is to balk and deny it, I will just say a gracious, thank you. I appreciate your kindness and you reading.
And of course, you knew I'd love the story. Thank you for that as well. :)

[Cool Handless Luke]

A thoughtful and "constructive" piece you have written here Marge. I like the sense you get of it being built with every line you read. Some walls you build up can truly never be broken down. Unfortunately this also makes it impossible to escape. Truly a prison, as you put it!

[Rogue]

-grin-
I missed this earlier. Gotta admit Marge is better than Maude -shudders-
Thank you very much. I am getting a little better at getting the horror in my poetry -cough- short thoughts. :)

[Azure Skein]

beautiful

[Rogue]

Thank you. Very kind of you to say. :)

[Azure Skein]

Sorry for not leaving anything constructive haha. I find beauty in dark things and your poem is very mysterious, I like that it could be perceived as a tragedy or a victory depending on viewpoints. I'm not wording this review very well, Christ, but I really love your writing. ♥

[Rogue]

Thank you again. I am flattered. :)
I shall come and read you as well today, I promise. :)

[Rogue]

You have no writings added yet. Please message me when you do, I would love to read them. :)

[Azure Skein]

My prologue chapter is up now! :)