My Old House, My Home MAG

July 1, 2013
By clericus ELITE, Byron Center, Michigan
clericus ELITE, Byron Center, Michigan
128 articles 0 photos 10 comments

Favorite Quote:
"..But inside something gnaws at me; some presentiment, anxiety, dreams - or sleeplessness - melancholy, indifference - desire for life, and the next instant, desire for death; some kind of sweet peace, some kind of numbness, absent-mindedness..." Frederic Chopin

Little house on the hill, little
white hand breaching the surface,
palm raised, fingers curled slightly.
Six windows, curtain eyelids closed
snugly after dusk, petunias in the
yard glowing from drops of the moon.
My old house, my dark green shutters
warmed with chords of the sun, alive
with bee nests and baseball skeletons.
My gentle, sloping hill, my feathered
grass that swooned before every sunset.
Bedroom window, my open eye to the
west, horizon of my childhood, my home.
My blue laundry room, walls dressed
in their teal dresses, oceanic threads.
Kitchen tile, rows of even white teeth
checkered in green patterns,
Yellow room, my bedroom walls,
lemon rind smiles, my home.

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This article has 1 comment.

TamzieW. GOLD said...
on Jul. 7 2013 at 8:37 am
TamzieW. GOLD, Pitakotte, Other
19 articles 0 photos 22 comments
I really like your unusual imagery- 'chords of the sun', 'lemon rind smiles'.... and the way you write about normal everyday things in a way that makes them seem almost magical! :) It has a very homey feeling, this poem.


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