Sweet Escapism
We may want the past to come back, but only the good parts of it, my dear…
Through the cracks on my wall
I’ve traveled
With escapism as my armour
I planted my feet
On hard hot tarmac
Grounded
In a world I cannot write
Sat between the grass and hard soil
In clothes that would be eaten by moth
Without materials to fill the sky with dust
So I watch the space between the clouds
To remind myself of what brings colour
To fibres eaten away by the rain
I wet my tongue so that it helps me bud with wonder
Stepping in a home I did not build
Hard working men and women drink
The toil of the land sweating
Colour
By the blackness of coal
Holding each other under the skies of thunder
They must work until they die
So that I may wear the cloak of escapism
Cry
Over the cracks of my house
But I must enter the blocks that lean to the right
Though it stayed standing with spite
I am in a home I did not build
So to afford a life of living
I must bend with flight
Fly high inside my head
Like the seagulls in the sky
Never mind that things were free
For mothers and little trees
It’s hard to remember a life that’s worth a beat
So sing little trees
As you outgrow the ones who will never come
So with travels, I escape where I am from
WAIT…
a link to the place and history that inspired this poem
Photos of that day, to travel back in time. Taken by me of course. As a thank you for reading and stopping by. An extra something at the end. A bit more poetry, written in the last minute. Before pressing published.
Let them rest their clothing on dead chair
To hold a body
No longer there
Lockers
Though they rust
With open doors
They crown
From beyond
Thank you once again for reading. ♥️🤗🙏🏽
About the Creator
Caitlin Charlton
poetry too close to home
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Reader insights
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Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
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The Ritual of Winter Challenge Winners
Welcome to the Winners Announcement for The Ritual of Winter challenge. This prompt focused on winter rituals and the meaning that settles into them over time. The top pieces stay grounded in ordinary acts and repeated routines, letting winter shape the work through pace, attention, and restraint.
By Vocal Curation Team4 days ago in Resources
Comments (14)
Fantastic!!!❤️❤️💕
Thank you for taking us on such a fabulous journey, Caitlin...and "dead chair" has got to be my favorite line...there were many. I don't know how I wasn't subscribed to you already...I have remedied that <3
I feel like there is more than just one crooked house here; crooked people who don't care about good, hard-working folks equals exploitation. 😢ugh I am sad which means you wrote this really well to reach into others hearts.
How nice it is to escape to the good parts of our past... Sometimes too nice, and then we end up lost. I loved the way you tied it to outside sources, too! 💛 "With escapism as my armour" hit me hard. The poem, as always, is perfect, Caitlin. Loved the addition of attached pictures. I hope the trip was enlightening! ♥️
Very nice job, Caitlin -well done. 😉😉
Such lovely & profound work CC! Thx 4 being the perfect tour guide!
Sometimes they just don't care about safety measures when mining. That crooked house was fascinating but still scary to think about what could have happened. Loved your poem and the little more you gave at the end!
"A dead chair" ..very evocative description!
I felt like I was walking through history with you. I loved the photos too!
I love your poem and the photos are very interesting. I should go there to continue my research on the First Industrial Revolution. I was in Birmingham doing that.
Your bonus poem was terrific, It felt so lost, a memorytrying to revive itself. Your origianl poem placed me right in the same time and place as you were at. I ofund myself smiling and nodding in remembrance .
Escapism is a tricky sort of thing, because like you mentioned, we so often escape to only the good parts, the parts almost fully crafted by others. Your poem captures this sentiment so precisely. It was absolutely phenomenal—almost otherworldly in its ethereal, dreamscape-like language, but so very human at its core. Stunning, stunning, stunning ♥️
This was truly riveting and I'm in awe of you! WELL DONE!
This poem feels like a quiet breath between realities—soft, dreamy, and full of longing. You captured the beauty of slipping away into imagination so delicately. A lovely piece that lingers after reading.