Best Timehouse Poems
Heading east on 16th Street
where the road becomes a “T”
it’s the last house on the south side
that means so much to me.
Pine shrubbery up to the windows
giant cottonwoods stand guard
an arch above the driveway
an eighteen acre yard
Wrapped in warm wood siding
inviting young and old
“Come! Sit upon this porch of mine!
Such stories yet to be told!”
The shingled roof, though worn with time
still boasts unyielding strength
a red brick chimney standing tall,
giant windows down the length
I helped to plant those giant trees
when we were both still small
and pulled the weeds from every inch
of eighteen acres....ALL!
I’ve climbed out of those windows
some punishment to escape
I’ve run across that rooftop
donned in a long red cape
I’ve crawled under that porch
upon my hands and knees
to rescue baby kittens
or little brothers for to tease
I’ve chased the dogs around the house
upon my faithful steed
who was just a Shetland pony
but always up to the deed!
Within those walls, and out it seems,
many lessons there were learned
and in the process of it all
the memories, on my heart, were burned
Though things change, as all things do,
there, most things stay the same
like love and laughter flowing ‘round
and calling out my name
Now, when I’m growing weary
and need a place to hide
I jump into my trusty car
and go out for a ride
‘cause
Heading east on 16th Street
where the road becomes a “T”
that last house on the south side
means so much to me!
Trudy Diane Rider
10-2003
I have built
a house on the hill
of dream
We both have craved about it
overstating the travail it was taking us
to get things done, but in reality
I was more impressed by the swift
and gentle tempo of our hearts
We unpacked boxes
of chocolate memories
The welcoming blinds grappled
with sea wind breezing in
Last night, we greeted
the quiet hill
with our breath panting from such usual rite
into the contentedness of desire
And the stars photographed
our blushful thoughts, engraving them
into the house
that we both wished
The house of a thousand mirrors!
Blood, dripping from the corners of my eyes
Intently I glare
Reaching out within the stillness....
Rippling waters, about a face
That I can no longer recognize
Voices calling out
Vague to my ears
Is it there or is it here?
Melting forest....
Stepping, unto the other. side
Mystical in this pagans moment
I look around
Blood, dripping from my fingers
Once again, I have arrived....
Silence amid the laughter
Growing nearer
Suspended in time
Further I go
Deeper, into the unknown
Atop the reflections, of this surface
The current, of these tilting tides....
I walk among the procession
In the house of a thousand mirrors
Blood, dripping from my tongue
Is it here or is it there?
These raging rushing waters
Of this, darkened turning sky....
Standing, within the silence of the stillness
Rippling colours, of carnals taunting
Rising, amid the crimsons waterfalls
Now, dripping from this heart
In the house of a thousand mirrors
The mirrors, of the ever, poisoned mind....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.... Sin!
Beady black-eyed bird perched in the bush
outside my window cocking his head
from side to side eying the squirrel-proof
feeder that is coated thickly with a layer of
Vaseline not to keep the squirrels away but
to keep the rats out of the feeder who have
taken up residence in the pampas grass which
separates my house from the neighbors and
who have multiplied (the rats, not the neighbors)
at a rapid pace ever since the neighbor's yard man
killed that perfectly harmless snake, waking me
from my daylight sleep...the harsh and unusual
noise of a man pounding a snake to death with a
stick and wanting to stop him but unable to open
any windows in this old house which were all
painted shut by careless painters or demented
residents, perhaps Joe who used to live here and
briefly made his ghostly presence known when
we first moved in, but now only occasionally pulls
the shower curtain open if we leave it closed and
sometimes makes a rattling noise with the little
lever that closes the drain in the bathtub which we
never take baths in because who wants to lay
around in tub filled with soapy dirty water, fecal
cells floating around attaching themselves to your
chest, your hands and then you feel like you have to
take a shower, anyway, so why waste time that you
could be spending watching the bird who is eying
the greasy feeder with great suspicion.