Stephen Bone’s poem – Attic


The sturdy steamer trunks
scabbed with peeling labels.

The rusty rictus
of an upturned grate.

An abacus subtracting
beads onto the floor.

A blind doll. A flock
of damaged shuttlecocks.

A gramophone long retired,
Toscanini At The Met, still in place.

A Baby Belling.
A yellow beach ball

still limply holding
his father’s breath.


This poem first published in Smiths Knoll


His collection, In The Cinema is published by Playdead Press 2014, £7.99

Stephen Bone started writing poetry several years ago, encouraged by Alan Ross. His work has appeared in magazines including Seam, Smiths Knoll, The Interpreter’s House, The Rialto among others. He has worked in television, theatre and film.

8 thoughts on “Stephen Bone’s poem – Attic”

  1. I was recently at a writers workshop where the instructor asked us to start writing after looking closely at and considering an object — and so use that as our starting point. So this attic poem is an excellent example, to my mind, of where objects can be literally filled with meaning and life – as in that powerful last couplet. Every detail in this poem is so carefully chosen. Thank you!

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