Secrets remain hidden,
A story stays untold.
Walls grow taller,
And the padlock keeps it closed.
Keys are given
To all who reside within
And to the few who earn my trust.
Because what lies inside
Was meant to be hid.
The outside,
A perfect dreamhouse,
White-picket fence and all.
How ironic,
The same colour of drywall
In which I watched a crater form.
Few visitors ever see
What goes on
Behind closed doors.
Once I give them a spare key,
Nothing is hidden anymore.
The doorknob beckons for your hand
Before it’s too late.
Now you see inside the house,
And I know
What happens next.
Now you know my secrets,
My deepest, darkest fears,
And that shatters your lens,
Because I am now real.
But the windows are now smashed,
The story’s been told,
Walls are still crumbling,
And a new padlock now holds.
In labyrinthine longing,
where my weary spirit
roams,
I seek an effervescent
haven to call my home.
A luminescent refuge where
the anxious heart finds rest,
Where benediction
whisper and the soul is truly
blessed.
Amidst the cacophonous
clamor of this transient
world,
Your peace, oh Lord, is an
opalescent banner unfurled.
A paradisiacal sanctuary,
inviolable and true,
Where tribulations dissipate
in the cerulean blue.
So let me be transfigured in
this hallowed, holy place,
A resplendent
convalescence wrapped in,
Your abounding grace.
There is a school of thought
That says
Marmalade is only for breakfast bread
My mother also had that view.
However,as for myself
I will spread it,unsparing,
Morning ,noon and night.
A yacht would be the cherry on the daiquiri
but a tad too opulent for me
Give this admiral a sturdy old dinghy
let me row my way out to sea
A mansion with all the trimmings
six carports, servants quarters separate
Then again, with my aging Edsels
why invest now; I’m not desperate
Ah, a round-the-world cruise
just the tonic to soothe
Yet relaxing at home on my couch
I peruse the planet on TV, munch and slouch
So, just let me alone and leave me be
bathroom breaks ~ adventure enough for me
still stands on solid ribs
My love once looked at me
that way
I call you home
even where crooked angles
fight for space
against contesting cobwebs
The neighbors walk
golden retrievers,
but I do not know their names
There is love in one of the rooms
one room away from me
where pictures escape their frames
and jump at new opportunity
I cannot
hold onto anything
that will anchor in mud
These stairs are sinking
There is blue and green
and skylight
one room away
I hear the mockingbirds
chittering for joy
where colors mate for life
The unsentimental earth
holds it all down
closer than kissing
and a shared bed
That love knew such
continuity
when the weight of it
mattered most
**Every House Holds a Story**
Every house conveys a story,
Each narrative unfolds layers of history.
Years of unspoken truths can influence our future,
Regardless of how carefully they are hidden.
Unlike the enigmatic identity of the Mona Lisa,
Some tales may be wiser, left unvoiced.
Within each home, there can linger unhealed heartache.
Every room serves as a subtle reminder of the past.
Once a heart is broken, the healing journey can be arduous.
Misinformation and concealed truths can foster a persistent sense of unease.
We all desire representation in our government,
A voice that advocates for our interests.
However, the onus for change rests with us,
House on the hill barricaded by brick, placed in 1981.
Sheltered by the flood, but bound and bathed
With the anguish of the mourning there.
Mostly by the caretakers of the children,
And then too the children as they grow older.
But they swore never to be like them, and that they would move away.
Across state lines in houses shielded by a sea of forest.
They would stay in touch, but just enough to get away with it.
Just enough to stay out of the mouths of those they ran from.
But close enough to not feel guilt for cutting ties.
One day that house won’t be ours.
It will return to the hill as it was made,
And remain a living relic in the stories we tell, and in our hearts.
Not for the suffering it kept shut inside,
But for the nesting it provided, and the memories that took the shape of us.
There was a house.
There is a house.
There was a kite.
There is a kite.
There was a clock.
There is a clock.
When I
dig the earth
with a spade,
the earth falls into
the spade’s memoir.
The spade falls into
the earth’s memoir.
In the pond nearby,
a blue water-lily
does not fall
into anything.
It
calls out to the kingfishers,
saying,
Come,
have some fish and go.
Fool, who sole associates
Comfort with those, high-roofed
And streeted, storm-proofed.
Heart's and mind's, alike walled, lit
At whose depths, to shelter
Rest, peace securer.
Lift me upon this sunshine
dig me out after all that has happened
i am the true enemy of my own creation
truth above lie and i am the king of tears.
Understand me like i am to burst in words,
I'm full of smell i can take you out with one breath
once i have held this sword it was yours
that my friend is what friends are for.
Your throne will be mine one day,
you will fall and i will rise from the ashes,
stop me now or the world will know,
who i am is a craftsmanship of God.
I was made from pottery and glazed with fortune
i am breakable but on that table we all sit
as one we all believe we will all die together
under this roof nothing can take us down.
I walk and stop at closed door,
And wonder what is behind it.
I walk through opened door,
And interact with what's inside.
That house is empty,
But I feel no emptiness.
I notice such strong walls,
And feel shielded, protected,
And secure in body and soul.
Above, there's a 9 foot ceiling
and a roof above my head for
Which I am grateful to be
Enclosed from sunny hot rays
And the wind-driven heavy rains.
No. Those strong beams of the roof
Are not cedar, and the rafters are not
Pine like King Solomon's, but again
I say, I am grateful for That House.
I always saw it as small
A quaint little shelter
I never saw it as a mansion
An erected Helter Skelter
When growth brings you up
Into a space of revelation
Root work drives you deep
Contrasting the elevation
The gap swells and expands
The wounded eye sees the truth
No one has ever been safe
Raped and mauled before reaching youth
It's too late, patterns are set in stone
Rising in thick, laid walls
There's a very large, ornate door
Allowing every taker who ever calls
How does one take possession
Of territory given to demons and spirits
Those who have the capacity to help
Stay away, while others, look on, and fear it
The mind wishes the structure gone
But territory is fought and won in LOVE
The process is so slow, but steady
And the work of Restoration through grace...is all I can dream of
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-25-2026
She is a brick house
She is very beautiful
Her name is Scarlet
This is "House of Khloe" part two
Grand mama has long gone home
Free from disease and pains
Lo, at last our mama has joined Grand ma
In the heavenly assembly
What a sight what a glory that would have been
Grand mama with her adage and admonition
And mama with her melodious voice
Joining the heavenly choir, laying down crowns
And raising the royal diadem in joyous celebration
We the house of Khloe are not mourning again
We also join the host of the heavenly choir
From earth we lay down the crowns as we bow in worship
The miserable
and the unhappy
like to
bother me
on Tumblr
by sending
me stupid asks
telling me
I'm "running
in circles"
when I am
mostly at peace
and
just doing
my own thing
while healing
and recovering
from the pain
of my deep past
but these
so called occultists
are mere frauds
with no talent
and I notice
they like
to try to
destroy my joy
because it seems
to make them
feel something
deep inside
that they
cannot feel at all
unless they try
to dim my light.
House Categories
Read wonderful house poetry on the following sub-topics:
beautiful, childhood, country, dream, family, gingerbread, haunter,
and more.
Definition | What is House in Poetry?
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Related Poetry Forms
abode, apartment, building, castle, condo, condominium, crib, dwelling, environment, home, homestead, household, lighthouse, mansion, mortgage, residence, shack