constructing poetry

looking for you

it appeared one rainy afternoon,
set down an alley
with antiques in the windows
and a sign, painted glossy red and gold:
“Ye Olde Christmas Magick,” and it
drew me in because randomly
misspelled words designed
to simulate archaic-isms
make me laugh and because my list
was still lacking checkmarks
beside very important names
(including yours).

the door rang in tune as it
opened for me, a relief
after the day’s discord.
the air was still and quiet. no carols
ringing in the year—instead,
my ears felt muffled—
as though I were walking through
a feather pillow.

it smelled of Christmas,
piquant with cinnamon and oranges and
evergreen and mint, so thick
I could taste it.

the proprietor
looked at me over silver, square
rimmed spectacles, his beard
long and white, his coat red.
“Do you need help, Rhyssa,”
he said, and I shook my head
and turned to view the merchandise.

three steps more
before I stopped, befuddled.
he shouldn’t have known my name,
I turned, but he was gone,
leaving a sparkle
of gold dusted cobwebs
behind the counter and
blank wall where the door had been.

but I wasn’t scared
although the exit was gone.
instead, I caught a glimpse of
a bound journal with a pen
just waiting for epistemological
adventures, a pair of dangly
earrings in the shape of snowflakes
and bells, and a book I’d been longing for
and reached out to almost
touch—

but my eye was drawn past
to a cat—white with blue eyes
and a grin, staring at me from her
shelf where she sat in ceramic glory,
and it was as though she shouted
Rhyssa, take me. I’m perfect for her!

and he was at my elbow,
reaching for the cat before I knew
I’d decided it was hers.
“Wise choice,” he said, and laughed
so that his belly shook, “it’s
better to give than receive,”
and it was wrapped and I found
myself walking out the door
before I even got my wallet out, the
floorboards creaking in tune
as I left.

enclosed is the cat. it swears
it belongs.
as for me,
when I opened the packages
from you, I found
everything that had caught
my eye.

line count: 75 (I think. I tried counting several times and got 75 twice)

Prompt ▼

Shopping for the perfect Christmas Present, you meander in to an old antique store you've never noticed before. Time has no meaning here and you wander, entranced, by the items you see artfully displayed in old trunks or balanced precariously on dusty shelves. Antique furniture, jewelry piled as if in Aladdin's cave, musty old books, elegant hats of some long forgotten era. What do you find? Why is the cat (?)watching you? Why does the proprietor seem oddly familiar? Do you venture up the stairs to the second floor? Why do the wide wooden floorboards creak sounding like an old carol? Do you look out through the fogged windows to see outside and if so, does it look the same? Using some of these details, and more you come up with on your own as you wander in your mind's eye, take us on a descriptive journey to your finding that ultimate gift. Will it be as intended?


Words to use: piquant, befuddle, ring, set, cobweb, feather, gloss, spectacles, at least a four syllable word starting with the letter E.
Forbidden words: shop, store, buy, gift
Additional parameters: details, descriptive phrasings, find more than a simple gift. At least 48 lines, rhyming or not.