Best Lifehouse Poems
The running man is drenched in sweat
as she flies by in her Corvette,
the music's loud, the bass turned high,
he feels the thrum as she flies by.
He winces at her green Corvette,
she reaches for a cigarette,
he slows his pace down to a walk,
she reaches for her phone to talk.
When he gets home he eats some fruit,
she figures what she eats is moot,
she wants to die both strong and bold,
he hopes and prays that he'll grow old.
He scrimps and saves most every dime,
she splurged and found it most sublime,
in to his work, his life he hurled,
she danced on tip-toes 'round the world.
They both grew old, as it turns out,
she still dances, he has gout,
her home is filled with little treasures,
his house is stark, each foot step measured.
Each treasure brings a memory
of trips she took by land and sea,
his house is plain, with bare wood planks,
but he's got money in the bank.
She takes in strays, both dogs and cats,
he takes his pants in, losing fat,
she feeds the lake fish, feeds the birds,
he finds talking a waste of words.
She dies laughing, bells on her toes,
never caring about money woes,
he enters a fine nursing home,
and there he withers, all alone.
Looking at his house
He sees nothing special
A pile of wood and sheetrock
Bigger than others
But he owes more than it’s worth
His house is underwater
A term he doesn’t understand
In real speak the house belongs to the Bank
To the brokers and the lawyers.
Wanting a piece of the American dream
He misrepresented himself
Taking crumbs from the table
So to speak
Fudging a number here
Adding a zero there
The smart money said it was alright
Don’t worry they told him
Everybody’s doing it.
He and his wife were barely making it
Hoping just to hang in there
Things would get better
They kept telling themselves
But it was too good to be true
The economy went south
Things went wrong
Lost a job
The bills piled up
He and the wife stopped talking
Broke, he feels pushed aside.
There are two sides to every lie
And in this one
There’s a bill somewhere
That’s long overdue
And so my friend
It will have to be paid by me and you.
I live in a house where
all the doors are closed
they hide away the secrets
that can’t ever be told.
I live behind these doors
hidden away, no one knows
what goes on within my head;
or the monsters the closet stows.
One by one, the lights go out,
but the darkness cannot hide
I walk past closed doors
that monsters hide behind.
They shriek at the door,
it shakes in the frame
fumbling with the handle
wondering how they became
the ghost that moans
and the monster that leers,
trapped behind the doors
to cover up our fears.
Their hands reach out
in that space underneath
clawed hands, fumbling,
hear them gnash their teeth.
I look down in the dark
the closed doors line the hall
wonder how we’ve become
the secrets, the lies, the fall.
And these day dreams fill my head
though the hour reads late
I walk light so no one awakes
Aeolus knocks at the gate.
But, others hear what they wish
so even if I were to scream
they’d only hear everything else
thinking it a bad dream.
For we are masters of pretending
spending our lives shutting doors
hiding away our secrets too big
to fit in dresser drawers.
I can’t sleep with all their howling
so I’m left to wander alone the hallway
and pray I do not fall victim.
But old locks and frames so easily betray
me to the monster who is persistent
and the doors they all crumble.
Unleashed I must face what lies beyond
the madness that they mumble.
I cannot hide from their truths
the grotesque and the beauty.
We’ve made monsters of our secrets
and they hold us to this cruelty.
Forced to hide behind locks
I live in this house suppressed by sadness
victim to their bite, I suffer secret’s sorrow
only to end up contemplating madness.
The monster of a gate commanded my attention
Heavy,wrought iron, ornate. A definite unquestionable boundary
It guided to a beautifully shaped pool
My gaze traveled to the house, three full stories
I imagined large rooms, the kind that could welcome a 10 foot
Christmas tree and both sides of the family.
Large shuttered windows strategically placed, it was a beauty.
This house had lived
Mommas had worn the floor rocking their babies
Cowboys had blown out birthday candles
And princesses had danced on their daddy’s shoes
How many paths had been paced waiting for that
Precious one to cross the threshold
How many goodnight kisses had been stolen before they crossed
Stockings had been hung, eggs had been hunted
Mother’s and Father’s Day presents glued and colored
And heads bowed before supper
The welcoming porch hugged and the perimeter of the front
Large wicker chairs with plumped pillows on either side of the open
Window while the curtain blew in the breeze
How many glasses of lemonade on hot afternoons, hands raised as
Neighbors passed, and bowls of homemade ice cream after church
What color had the house been, it was now hard to say
Not enough paint left to peel. The shutters hung crooked and the
Thousands of footsteps had worn the porch thin while small
Houses ate it’s yard
The big gate guarded a stained, empty swimming pool
And the ghost of giggles from days gone by
Years have past times have changed
But still a red door stands
Roses around the outside
Thorns that have been left within
Walls that crawl closer to you
Secrets that they hide
Tears that have fallen
Moments of joy as new birth has entered
A hope all would of been well
A struggle in timeless time
Passion denied water upon a flame
Laughter once shared but turned to fear
The pictures told a story
Love that was hard and full of pain
A house of no heart
As tears appeared I remember how I dropped to my knees
To be drowned in ones own being
Witnessed by the house of no dreams
But still moments I will always keep close
The times that were complete
The friends that I made the love that I gave
How my children played from tiny toes and smiles
Memories of happiness within my home
It feels like a life time to my young it is their lifetime
A house not any house my house
One little pig built his house out of ---STICKS
Another little pig built his house out of straw ---AND
The last little pig built his house out of ---STONES
This just goes to show you that pigs ---MAY
Not always do the right thing and may ---BREAK
Out of their pen trying to get away from wolves, which ---MY
Poem tells you, is trying to bring their flesh and ---BONES
To a place where he may eat them. He blew 2 houses down ---BUT
The house of stone could not be blown down, so in other ---WORDS,
When you stick together and work as a team you ---MAY NEVER, -CAN NEVER -WILL NEVER
Be beaten and you can say to your enemies, "You can never---HURT ME!"
This POEM is an Example of a New Form of
POETRY Dane-Ann and HGarvey Daniel Esquire are trying to sanction
They call it “ End Line Word “ Poetry Thank-YOU
He remembers their first time, in the evening chill
near to the cornfield behind the house on the hill.
Where the old folks live who are lost behind its door
and don’t know where, or who they are any more.
He visits her most days, she often doesn’t know who he is
at the house on the hill, where she now needs to live.
Sometimes she looks at him with a certain look in her eye
and he knows that look and he tries hard not to cry.
He wonders if somewhere behind those troubled eyes
the woman he loved so much somehow still survives.
And just occasionally in a moment of lucid thought
she remembers the times when her life was less fraught.
The time they were young lovers, passionate and free
and so happy to be married in the spring of fifty three.
The children they raised and all their cute little ways
and the sounds of Sinatra and Minnelli, on the airwaves.
He sits in his chair gazing through the window each night
up to the house on the hill, until the last moment of light.
Wondering if she looks down at the place she called home
and if she really knows he still lives there, all alone.
This is her house
Her four walls
Look from any angle,
There are still four walls and a door
She stares out of her misty window
Still her little house in blue skies and cloudy rain
Her life she lives
Her days she conquers
And where does she go?
To her little house
Her four walls and a door.
I would live in that house in my imagination,
sleep in the rafters of that old house
play cards on a small table by dim light
in my imagination there, where family waits,
a warm bed with many quilts. My favorite
parts of this whole life are there in that house
where I was so green as to believe happiness
was a warm place in the rafters, dreaming.
That old house was old and rusty
But it reminded me of something
I didnt konw exactly what
But I knew it had a meaning
That old house was painted gray
But to me it just stood out
Yea the color had faded away
But their was something about that house
That old house was very crooked
And that grass just wasn't green
But theres some things that werent seen
Some things that only I could see
That old house did have a reason
Why it caught my curiosity
It reminds me of my life
And the things that make me last
But the crooked doors and shattered windows
Are like the hurtful times from my past
Form:
>>>>>>>>God is the mass all of the ass , and the build up of everything around us.
He is the wind and the waves.
The razor that shaves, he is the door knob to your door.
He is the pinesol on the floor.
He is the buzzards on the road that get in your ways.
He is the ugly and pretty, good and bad.
He gets and has gotten had.
He brings a smile to your face and a tear to your eye.
He is the chicken that you bake or the chicken that you fry.
He is the sand and the beaches.
The grapes and the peaches.
Yes!
He is the slugs and the leaches.
From the white house to the crack house that is he yet again.
From the man at the store ringing the bell, to the man on the corner preaching about hell.
He is the sweet and sour skittles.
The dark and white chocolate.
From aids to cancer he is the cure and the answer.
He is the daily destractions.
He is the chemical reactions.
He is the government around us.
He is the friends that surround us.
He is at work and at play.
He is there when you go and there when you stay.
When you hear children's laughter that is he yet again.
He is the white in the snow.
He is the growth in your body from your head to your toe.
He is earth and gravity from dirt to core.
I could keep going and going and give you lots more.
You know who he is.
Judy Lynn Hawkins
The kids are the future of the land
While we sit here and just hold hands
You talk about having a kid
I just ran and hid
I realize you’re not messing around
We move into the house we found
Nine months fly by fast
I just wanna go back to the past
This little boy is my child
He will grow up to be wild
Next we know another is on the way
This is going to make us pay
That little house is to small
Our son will be living in the hall
We have to add on to our home
These kids will have room to roam
Two kids are plenty
We don’t want to many
If we have another kid
That baby is going up for bid
Form:
I woke up this morning and sit here with tears in my eyes.
Her seeing me came as a big surprise.
She has no idea who I might be.
Plus some kind if proof she demanded too see.
she wants me to find the people in her past.
The ones that in this life no longer last.
Asking me to take her back home.
To the house where her and my nephew lived alone.
That house house over 20 years ago.
It's been torn down and all I have are pictures to show.
She talks to that lady that no on else can see
And the boys are always here to some degree.
This is the worse part that we have finally hit.
This day I am not sure I can take.
Starting off with tear as I wake.
Into this day can I make it all fit
Because today stronger I can't seem to get
So I sit there in this room crying alone and venting to you
You can bet this has all taken me by surprise
I have never woke up with tears in my eyes!
An Uncle Charlie Original
© 2010 unclecharlie
Colored ice glittering in a vapor trail
crystallized path of a purple slug
loud voices add to the silence
delicate wings drip of pastel dust
crystallized path of a purple slug
heavily moistened musty smells of life
delicate wings drip of pastel dust
Silent celebration in a house of glass
heavily moistened musty smells of life
loud voices add to the silence
Silent celebration in a house of glass
Colored ice glittering in a vapor trail
I walk into the lord’s house
All I can see is a mouse
Where have all the people gone
I look outside and see it is dawn
This house should be full
Not empty like the candy bowl
The savior has come at last
You should have left your past
Now while I fly high
You stare in the sky
This world is coming to an end
Repent your ways and push around that bend
The lord will always take one more
In his house nobody is poor
Form: