For dVerse Poets, Jan 6, 2026

26 Replies

Down in Grandma’s Cellar

Sleeping over at Grandma’s, her rooms all stuffed with treasure
there for my explorations, their pillaging my pleasure.
The barn so full and shadowed with pigeons, mice and more,
I did not venture farther than to peek in through the door.
But the basement was forbidden, so I overcame my fear.
To test my new maturity, I had to venture near.

Down in Grandma’s cellar, I could not see the stars.
There weren’t any planets like Jupiter or Mars.
But still it was as dark as night. The light from one mere candle
seemed the only light the ghosts who lived down there could handle.
As I creaked down the ladder rungs, glass rattled on the shelves
as though the time-dulled canning jars told stories on themselves.

Rhubarb on the nearest shelves, peaches in the back.
Watermelon pickles seemed poised for the attack,
swaying on the upper shelves, dusted by the years.
I gathered up my courage, pushing down my fears.
So many eyes caught in the dark––glassy gleaming sprites
waiting there to satisfy the family’s appetites.

But no one came to gather them and spread them on a plate.
The waste of it was senseless—their empty, useless fate.
How many hours she’d labored to gather nature’s fruit.
How many other hours used up in the pursuit
of washing, peeling, cutting, and packing them in glass,
packing them in cauldrons and boiling them en masse.

Where did the hungry mouths go? Why did they go untasted?
What happened all those years ago that their richness was wasted?
Accustomed to the secrets kept hidden behind blinds,
we kids retained the questions that stirred our tiny minds.
So many of these mysteries lie hidden in my past.
Remarkable how long their spreading shadows seem to last.

 

For dVerse Poets  our prompt was to use 3 poems by Elizabeth Bishop as examples colored by our own poetic voice to take the reader to a place, a person and an occasion, incorporating  accuracy of detail, spontaneity, immediacy and mystery to write our own original poem. 

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About lifelessons

My blog, which started out to be about overcoming grief, quickly grew into a blog about celebrating life. I post daily: poems, photographs, essays or stories. I've lived in countries all around the globe but have finally come to rest in Mexico, where I've lived since 2001. My books may be found on Amazon in Kindle and print format, my art in local Ajijic galleries. Hope to see you at my blog.

26 thoughts on “For dVerse Poets, Jan 6, 2026”

    2. lifelessons's avatarlifelessons Post author

      I actually find it easier to write a rhymed poem than an unrhymed. The limitations help to make choices. I realize, however, that this can be a drawback as rhymed poetry is not exactly in mode.

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  4. kim881's avatarkim881

    In my experience, cellars can be scary, sometimes hiding treasures if only we had the courage to look, Judy, and Grandmother’s cellar is a delight to read about. I love the rhyming couplets in this poem, which adds to the child’s point of view, and the way you make the rhubarb, peaches and watermelon pickles threatening. And then the realisation that nobody is going to eat the food that Grandma worked so hard to store.

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    1. lifelessons's avatarlifelessons Post author

      My dad once refused to eat cookies she made and she said, “Oh you kid!” and tried to make him eat them. Then she took a taste and it turns out she’d put linament instead of vanilla in them.

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  9. Dora's avatarDora

    This poem has all the elements Bishop would have reveled in, Judy. The watermelon pickles “poised for the attack” tickled me, and the rhyme and meter of this wonderful poem is filled with humor and child-like curiosity. I love how each detail rolls off the tongue and mind in exploration, until as the poem concludes we wonder with you at the prolific labor of love that went “untasted.”

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  10. rothpoetry's avatarrothpoetry

    Beautifully written, Judy! I love the feel of the old basement. We had one in our house when I was young. The canning jars lined up talking to themselves. And I love these lines…

    As I creaked down the ladder rungs, glass rattled on the shelvesas though the time-dulled canning jars told stories on themselves.

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  12. Lisa or Li's avatarLisa or Li

    Judy, wonderful reflections on a special time in a special place. This stood out for me:

    The light from one mere candle
    seemed the only light the ghosts who lived down there could handle.

    And this:

    So many eyes caught in the dark––glassy gleaming sprites

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