Best Gabled Poems
It was a lovely little house.
Built of white painted timber,
with a gabled roof clad in green tin,
it had never been a rich person's house.
It was her house.
And driving up to park outside it,
each time I went there,
was like the beginning of a new adventure.
I would always enter by the rickety side gate
and walk through that small garden she tended to on weekends,
in the hope that one day it might become beautiful.
The back door gave entry to her tiny kitchen where,
sometimes she would be,
baking scones or some other treat for her and me
to have later with some coffee or cheap red wine.
It wasn't a well designed house.
The bathroom and lavatory and laundry
weren't where you might expect.
And most rooms were very small.
But for the living cum dining room.
And her bedroom.
I never counted all the rooms in that house.
I'm not certain I even saw all of them.
But all of those I did see
were furnished and decorated with pieces that she
had shopped for at garage sales
and in second hand shops.
Except for those things that she had made herself.
There were pictures she painted,
and other hand crafted knick-knacks.
And some bottles filled
with interesting vegetable matter
embalmed in colourful oils and such.
It was a small house and a little quaint.
But beautiful.
And warm.
Her bedroom was of a good size
and her bed was large and sumptuous,
with a profusion of richly coloured cushions and pillows.
We'd discovered one another in that large bed,
in that good sized bedroom,
in that warm little house,
that still warms me with it's memories.
For there was nothing inside that house
that she had not chosen.
Categories:
gabled, memory,
Form:
Free verse
Snow continues toppling from darkling gray skies.
And by dusk, the flurries will bank on the ground.
Landscapes painted by Nature's hand, the artist
Hallmarks of winter ~
Embers turn to ash; darkness gives up the night.
Sunlight's shadows lengthen from pine and blue spruce.
Melting ice is dripping from gabled dormers.
Morning is frigid ~
Hushed, the silent world until creaking resounds
Footsteps crunch and crackle on beds of hoarfrost
Woolen scarves and mittens for warming cold hands
Sleigh rides o'er hill sides ~
Categories:
gabled, winter,
Form:
Sapphic stanza
River hugging banks
its current flowing, winding
through a bridge ahead.
Gabled bridge framework
breaks blue of sky, like woman
steals rainbow promise.
Rainbow chases sky
laughing at man’s ceaseless dreams
to find pots of gold.
Categories:
gabled, imagery, nature,
Form:
Haiku
The quiet heart departs rudimentary tasks, idle-fast in what it asks
content as a former-charlatan, like leaf and bough,
tree, root and earth, joined to wisdom at birth;
it has learned to keep the tongue still 'til the mind is glad
To wait unwanted and celebrate the yearning thresh
the gratutious peal longing within; a gabled-Gabriel
heaven-sent,
trumpets pounding ------ violins and strings screeching
hallowed silence...
the drums, arising, so arising ------ pittance proud
Arising, arising...
The Lady...
from the dark
And Aloud; my name echoed as delicate and soft,
so teased...
as the friendly hand of embrace so well known
He, I awaited, the old friend never alone, and she
whom never delayed to leave me be; the dreams of her
exalted amidst shadow among light, the old friend assures again
the Ancient Kiss...
She shall return, sayeth he ------
the light from the dark, and bring thee peace
In the leaving shadow prevails, the old friend departs
the return of rudimentary tasks, still silence shatters as glass;
drums too loud ----- rich with deceit, clamoring and toiling
incomplete
Replete: the old friend and she, painted in thy soul
never to forget
A Rendevous without exit (the annex)
Categories:
gabled, memory, metaphor, recovery from,
Form:
Rhyme
Whether a totally
tubular ordinary day, or...hmm...
perhaps at the
approach of yuletide,
one need not go
far and wide
across the webbed world
to experience being unified,
this quasi motto maxim of sorts
analogous to auld
sanity clause trailguide
motivates me to
seek if necessary
all the way to Telluride
to attempt Swiss-side
enlightenment with every stride,
thus please feel free
and clear to chat streamside
ideally at springtide,
yea your welcome, yes do
respond to this snide
loner if game to chess das side
to accompany this gadabout
(once pawn a time) rook
key nada so longfellow
wordsworth king rustler,
yup, who still attests
to occupy ringside
available vacancy for queenside
guest of honor, (gnome hatter
if ye happen tubby pride
full favoring an effeminate
poetic guy), also...provide
ding no aversion toward
this moon face planetwide,
Martian hood doth bleach blonde
his hair with peroxide,
this lapsed lose zoo lee
errant knight well,
that could pose a minor
drag) hubble restraint,
I would override,
but actually this ring
around the collar, (sans whiskey
perspiration at noontide),
drunkard, (that's when
my late morning gets broken)
yea...way offset from nationwide
conformity, nonetheless huff
fain tuff fellowship with me,
a chap who doth not arise
before the crack of noon
lest inside his noggin
oozes like a mudslide,
(which on May 31, 1889
washed away Johnstown, Pennsylvania),
the damn burst (like
a Led Zeppelin),
and roared down the mountainside
triggered (human sited) landslide
decimating, leveling, and uprooting,
every friggin gabled
house along hillside,
which essentially created massive graveside.
Categories:
gabled, bereavement, celebration, confusion, death,
Form:
Free verse
My neighborhood is decorated with festive lights,
Large inflatable santas, snowmen, and nativity scenes
Glittering plastic icicles drip from front porch eaves,
A wide-eyed Martian would wonder what it all means.
A Frosty the Snowman, as big as a Greyhound bus,
Is bobbing and weaving, to and fro, with dramatic flair
There is even a gigantic sleigh with eight huge reindeer
On top of a gabled roof, how did they get it up there?
Our Central Park is aglow with huge lighted displays
Depicting everything that suggests the season’s festivity--
A Christmas village with a group of winter-clad carolers,
And live sheep, cattle, and a donkey at a rustic nativity.
I am very content with my small Christmas tree --
After all, this year, there’s just I, myself, and me.
written December 20, 2021
Categories:
gabled, christmas, holiday,
Form:
Sonnet
Near the cold, brackish waters, wretched with bogs
where a gust of the sea wind, lifts the veil of the fog
a rider, approaches, through the branches of trees
As his steed has a thirst, having need for a rest,
and paws at the earth with a fumbling stance
There comes, just a moment to glance all around
While his horse takes a nibble, on the stubble of grass
His eyes focus in, with a curious chance,
In the strange cloistered fortress, with a lift of the dew
is a brooding old castle.....and the story, ensues.........
A forgotten old castle, with moss covered stones
On the edge of a forest, in the thick of the sound
It is riddled with mystery, not a soul to be found
Yet his curious nature, invites him to prowl
Near the top gabled window, does fair maiden look down?
Waiting the chance to call out, or come down
dark spells to intruders, of which he is one...
Care not! He is fearless, with courage unbound
With panther feet nimble, not a step to be heard
Will a flash of a sword, find a gallows disturbed
or chains of a dungeon, waiting to fill
with no one the wiser.....no fret from the hill?
The arched bolted doors, have weathered the storms
He carefully knocks, yet the doors guard the lore
Nothing shouts out, not a bell left to chime
So he climbs to a cove, that lies over the door
And into a chamber ....to startle the girl!
She has waited for rescue, since a frightened young child
Her blue eyes are oceans like the sea in the sun
He sweeps off the floor, her delicate frame
and her eyes are so large, he almost falls in
It takes not a word to calm and convince
Together they flee, from this dark prison's cell
And a story book ending,,,,, is the one that I tell
~
Categories:
gabled, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Reading diaries of different discussion blots is considered to be akin to perusing the top shelf of a historical library section. Each label once worn drops like stones sinking into the carpet and creases of streamed floorboards. Floorboards do float don't they? Have you not seen the many that pass the doors? They are quicker than the doors anyway so best spray the armpits and go jogging then. Thought the woodworm athletic tribe. Gathering gabled garbled gargling gatherings greet giant Gregorian gargoyles getting generally gifted garters gutting grouped gismo geckos. How triumphant then? And hopefully a dance will last longer than a sharp snapped second. Seconds are neither seams, seamstresses, nor stressed sultanas in safaris and saris, nor are they acrimonious android alphabetical alpacas racing to a degree of a nine foot tail spin. Ring ran road. And a big lorry leering. Lecherously. Leeches lingering. And limbs lumber. How rather audaciously brilliant then. Isn't it? Kent jam race on the large spoon. Z meteorologic Z at fifty cones carving creative cosmoses' to sixteen apples in leotards cheering on the waves. 1 2 3 4 ~ and clam. Z
Categories:
gabled, baby,
Form:
~ ~
"Still round the corner there may wait, a new road or a secret gate."
J.R.R. Tolkien
~
In the dim, dank gloom, looming high on the hill
By the cold, somber waters, deep, dark and still
I stumbled, then glanced, a dim cloistered fortress
A brooding old place with a story to tell
A forgotten old castle, with moss covered stones
On the edge of a forest, with mist in the sound
It is riddled with mystery, not a soul to be found
Yet my curious nature, compells to trespass all around
Near the top gabled window, does a wizard look down?
Waiting the chance to cast his spell to my crown
I nervously wonder, will my footsteps be heard
Will a flash of his wand, cause his wrath to disturb?
The arched bolted doors, have weathered the storms
I timidly knock, yet the doors guard the lore
Nothing shouts out, not a bell left to chime
Nothing is here, but an old nursery rhyme
So I sit and I ponder, should I wander back home?
Should I continue my search for the fantasy gnome?
I will take home a story, be it sweet dreams, or gory…
And I’ll write a new fable….of the Castle Book Story
~
Inspired By Tracie’s Contest: In a land called fantasy
Categories:
gabled, imagination, old, fantasy, old,
Form:
Rhyme
endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin *****sapiens
bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy
pitting dishabille helpless imps against killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled
but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles,
gruesome harmful indiscretions
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the omnipresently
(well nigh since time immemorial
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled,
justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic, fabric ripped retroactively
ramping atavistic simian base,
thus leveling the playing field.
Categories:
gabled, absence, age, analogy, confusion,
Form:
Delusional love, received in kind
Yearly styles of painted smiles
As if gold both did find
A pyrite love grown so cold
Seemingly,
Either bought or sold
A dalliance glowing of Hawthorne penned trait
Of Scarlett Letter ruse, and Lee's Mockingbird hues
A secret is borne of consequence great
A Child lives on, once thought not
In gabled house, nary worry fraught
A forgotten son is not the view
Photographs cherished, if only a precious few
Categories:
gabled, father, introspection,
Form:
In the dim, dank night, looming high on the hill
By a slow, somber river, deep and still
Black scribbled tree branches, beckon the stars
with bent, riddled, knuckles, arthritic and scarred…
Here hides a mansion, imposing and stark
Groaning with secrets, alone in the dark
Cedar and sandalwood, once graced stately doors
All that is left, is regret, to the core
Nothing to bury,
but an old desperate story
Filled deep with whispers and curdles of weeping,….
Fury and secrets and tears for the keeping
One top gabled window, a brief flash of face
Bleached by the moon, …then, oddly erased
Barred are the doors, but hidden inside
She wanders the rooms, still dressed as a bride
She walks through the garden, in a lost, foggy, haze
Dark clouds, above her, wherever she goes
Heavy with intention, they hover and choke
Mist from the swamp land encircles like smoke…
She grips tarnished urn, filled with ash, some kind
They spill in the wind, to seek, or to find
A place to join the earth, a place to find a rest
They seek final rest in the place they know best
Where the season of love, has withered to dust
No place here to linger, beware if you must…
__________________________________
For Contest sponsored by Jerry T. Curtis "Creep Me Out"
Categories:
gabled, imagination, mystery,
Form:
Rhyme
chin lightly nested atop
loosely peopled interlaced fingers
supported via multi purpose table
bent arms displayed elbows cocked
(approximately gabled
at ninety degree angle),
which pose frequently assumed
when pondering what to write,
an idea spawned when clothed left fingered limb
inadvertently roiled the so called "funny bone"
named because of funny feeling generated
when Ulnar nerve compression
triggers pseudo shock sensation
coursing one direction or another
traveling from neck down into hand
constricted in several places along the way
such as beneath collarbone
or at wrist
most common place for compression
(hands down)
behind inside part of elbow
medical terminology tagged
"cubital tunnel syndrome."
interestingly enough, this scribe attests
more frequent occurrences along
liberal democratic side
no matter I claim dominant right handedness
and reckon eyes that human body electric
eel silly not perfectly symmetric
also chiming in that such vulnerability
a very minor design flaw
extant within the amazing
*****Sapiens anatomy.
Categories:
gabled, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Escaping into verse,
the base of the castle rumbled,
the ground beneath was shaken
with new cracks inside its walls
Escaping into verse,
all towering deception crumbled,
as the self-anointed jumped and fell
landing prostrate and so small
Escaping into verse,
the mime shouted out enabled,
his silent thunder raining down
with a message now to scald
Escaping into verse,
a new steeple built and gabled
its bell to ring a lyric toll
—new life to those recalled
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Categories:
gabled, life,
Form:
Rhyme
ANSWER:
I'll be your loving Gilbert
And you'll be Anne to me
I'll build for us a gabled house
Like those in Avonlea
I'll court you like in old times
I'll play for you and croon
We'll marvel at a starry sky
And kiss under the moon
We'll pick some wild berries
Run barefoot through a field
I'll ask your hand in marriage
And hope that you will yield
We'll lie in bed together
Your legs on top of mine
Who cares about the weather?
With you it's all sunshine
And every year for reason
We'll try to go see Brooke
And every Christmas season
Reread our favorite book
QUESTION:
What is? ____ __ _____ ______
Categories:
gabled, for her, i love
Form:
Rhyme