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.
Florida constantly suffering
*Look as if you know what I mean*
This place is floating on gasoline
and I still can't figure out anything
But you flow on me pretty damn well.
and if that damn neon cowboy
can make a living shuffling cattle
then I'd be damned if I can"t learn to live too.
*am I right?*
This ghost is a woman riding on horses
and holding the torches
and as if it matters that we float on combustible grounds
I'd rather see it all burn down
(the bridge)
We spent all day building a house
and though the foundation was weak
we kept building and when the sun went down
and the house came up it was a damn good house.
*why fight this?*
he was the dull voice of every loud cry
my dad was a sound
and my god was a woman
Empty coral sheets
Fragrant into absence
Of a stillness warming fonder
And the essence of her...
Lingers longer and longer
My beach house girl
Always breaks away before the dawn
But, ocean breezes seem to whisper back
Her nightgown trails
Are spilling carelessly across the lawn
Silhouettes seeping through the sea grass
Backdrops into a breathless angel young
Sea gulls swooning about her ebony statue
As morning waves crashing out sultry song
As I near unto her
The once thought nakedness disappears…
Into sun rises between her legs
Underneath to the painting up, upon her dress
And strawberry creams ignite
Into angelic tresses of halo flare
My beach house baby barefoot
Toes curling up within the powder sands
And I hide among the dunes and gaze…
Upon her curves of splendor from where I stand
She is my Earth born organic goddess
From her head, deep down unto her soul
Then my glimpses catch those azure eyes
Unto moments where two shore line lovers stroll
My beach house girl
And her deep baby blues
Melting captivation unto my senses
As she swallows me up, along with the instance
Of this summer's glorious afternoon
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.
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 see how people live
in their glass houses...
and life doesn't seem so hard...
Sometimes I think
that people should see
outside of their own world
how the world really looks
from the inside of me,
from inside my glass prism
the glass house of cards
that's me...
And that they should feel,
what it is like...
and they should know,
that laughter masks my pain,
and that maybe they could care,
if they ever looked
outside their glass houses...
And then they would know
how really hard it is
to be me...
and not just them...
to be me...just for today...
In my glass house...
The glass house that is me.
( November 10, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
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
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
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
This house is small
it smells like gall
can't move my feet
there is no heat
this house is old
this house is cold
the roof is off
and so I cough
help.
Copyright Mccuen 2009
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