- Books, Literature, and Writing
Clear Clutter Thoughts
Its name is not attractive, not pretty and not beautiful
It sounds as it is
Piles of useless papers, clothes, furniture, bric-a brac, wots-its
Books, equipment with missing innards, busted springs and no plugs
Greedy, hoarding war-time mindsets in peacetime, in
Good times, blotting and spotting the landscapes of otherwise lovely times, visiting times
Of friends and relatives times.
Is there a liquid tummy-soother for the cringes in the bellies
That clutter scenes provoke in those that fend
Protect or care?
Meanwhile the clutterers either are unmindful
Or depressed at pendulum’s end.
Is there a herbal tea
That could cure the clutter junkies
Of their predisposition to own
A gamut of belongings –
Books not shared, just stored
Pinging, blinking, humming gadgets
In their packets
And should this...condition be exacerbated by a spending disorder
Well then, we shall have the privilege of beholding -
Tortured racks and shelves of
Couture of seasons past
In a tone-deaf apartment
(Just in case you bump into someone who needs one)
Or should the budget restrict a little -
Entire charity shop contents
Mind you, one’s own clutter like one’s own flatus, may be tolerable to one
But not to a hundred others.
I spoke to Madame Adele
One day, about the disarray
In her home
She resides in a quiet, elegant postcode
Where voices are compelled to hush
As they enter the roads
And the houses wear their old-money air
Madame’s home is lovely
Within, it is cluttered beyond belief
Challenging to comprehend
As you enter the house sideways.
In a few minutes
You exit the living room so that she may get past
To graciously make you some tea
And you exit again for the tray to come in.
Come in with anything
That needs to be put down
It will get lost in the piles around your feet.
Madame, I venture
Why do you live this way?
She smiles at me,
Looks away to weigh our friendship
And I contemplate her profile
So beautiful even now
Her eyes come back from the past
From before I was born
And she says
I shipped a beautiful home
My dowry as a new bride
Dinner sets, linen,
He burnt everything he couldn’t smash.
Before he beat me.
So did you also once judge them all the same?
The girls’ clutter
Middle-aged and elderly clutter
Of bottle covers, seventeen pairs of old spectacles, strange ottomans and cassette tapes
Family and farmhouse clutter
Food and drinks clutter
And the rubbish?
Someone in a third world village asked me what clutter is
So I showed them photos
And they said ‘Oh, rich people’s belongings!’
Its name is not attractive, not pretty, not beautiful
It is a reflection of what is within.