he hides himself into an empty wrapper
a hollow shell that remained after the storm
where life once resided before the heavy toll
of addiction arrogance destruction hurt and
the combustive mixture of void and destruction
an all-inclusive ticket to stagnant displeasure
a homeless abode untenanted wreck
futile worthlessness vacant desolation
disconnected and detached he does not half fill
the cover where isolation has taken his place
and shielded nothingness evaporates from his mind
in which melancholy oozes lost hope
a sheathed vacuum with suction pump attached
portrays the only reminder of motion and living
he feels very little but pictures himself
as Dali´s warped melted clock
a time bomb disguised as a land mine
for good expandable measure of meaning
12 November 2023
Hampered decades withered wasted
Filtered faint supposed adult phases
Thumb stuck under parental watch
Otherwise valid options squashed
Tip toe inhibit, always present parents
Lame version of living, aged thirty seven
Stagnated, restricted mentality of boy
Stranger to poinant beckon, own voice
Girlfriend experience has to be paid for
Without privacy, mature desires unable
To explore collected life's excitement
Warranted ability boxed and frightened
Nightly dinner served, bed Mum tidies
Long spanning dependance, care relying
On compassion, viewed incompetence
Spun by insulting cyclic denial's dance
Worked fifteen years for family business
Residing rent free, secure job benefits
Have a five bedroom house in next suburb
Sits always untenanted to avoid trouble
Your foresight surely conjurs panic
Soon elderly parents may not manage
Destined to remain home, become their carer
Tiny limit of terrified world takes you nowhere
Amid the glacial hills of central Maine
There stood forsaken, gray, an ancient farm,
Which always filled us with a vague alarm.
Atop the humpback ridge of a moraine,
Abandoned now, for centuries it stood,
Defying time, and ice, and hurricanes.
Its windows now were yellowed, cloudy panes,
Its weathered clapboards, bleached unpainted wood.
We’d see its silhouette against the dusk:
Its gambrel roof was reared against the skies
With dormers like two staring, evil eyes—
Unyielding in their aspect, heartless, brusque,
Perhaps a touch of malice in their glare.
And though untenanted for many years,
It never failed to stimulate our fears,
Because the house seemed gleefully aware.
But was it haunted? So we all assumed.
Yet still each May we’d watch as swifts would nest
And use the eaves and dormers for their rest;
And in its dooryard fragrant lilacs bloomed.
February 16, 2019
Enclosed Rhyme Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet, Sponsor
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