There is a house beside an acridity creek
Worn to the weathering grave.
The paint is chipped away.
The house looks like a light snow on grassy plains
Or scattered dominos about a marble countertop
Shutters hanging by a single screw.
How ironic.
A chimney with red lipstick bricks,
It is falling apart as bricks lay scattered about.
The roof is caving down
And I wonder.
I wonder who use to occupy this once thriving house?
Were there children to tend to?
Was the fireplace a puffing smoke as it warmed or cooked?
Did the children run through the grassy fields in summer’s twilight?
In winter did they buddle up tight and drink a midnight’s tea?
Was there a grandmother who sat rocking on the porch?
Her eyesight fading as she makes another quilt.
A husband that plowed the land, his second wife.
A tattered wife who rang a bell to signal dinner.
And I wonder as I pass by.
A contest entry
- Write About Change! by Between My Ears.
800 points, ended November 20, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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I liked this a lot, I often have similar streams of thought looking at old houses. Thanks for your entry.
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i enjoyed this poem very much, it is very visual i felt like i was the passer by. the soft background you have chose also compliments the soft flow of the poem too if that makes sence ( i know what i mean) good luck with the contest.
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It is interesting, I often find myself wondering at things like this. What used to be here? What happened to those that were here? Sort of reminds me of a ghost town.
I think he meant creek like a body of water not like a noise, however I believe acrid would be better used as an adjective than acridity. Though you may have done that intentionally for some reason I'm not aware of. -
Technical stuff first: creak (meaning squeak or groan) doesn’t fit the meaning of your first line. The first line of your third stanza is a statement rather than a question.
Other than that, I like your poem a lot. I have had that same experience. Look at it now. Wonder how it was. Interesting, poignant picture.
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I really liked this. You didn't just simply state what you thought could have been, you painted detailed images of a warm and welcoming place that once stood strong. I think many of us pass by things that used to be thriving places and simply choose to forget about them, for they hold nothing for us now. But they do. They hold warm memories or lifechanging stories, great write
~gracing smile~
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where is this muffin bribe everyone is talking about?? the only bribe i see is a returned comment bribe, but i suppose either one will do. ( though muffins are quite tasty, im sure they are quite hard to squeeze through the computer.) and onto the real comment.
i like the picture i see in my head, that you painted with the first two stanzas. and then the internal questions, answered to yourself, in once again, a picture of:
a grandmother who sat rocking on the porch?
Her eyesight fading as she makes another quilt.
A husband that plowed the land, his second wife.
A tattered wife who rang a bell to signal dinner
the only suggestion i have, is to separate the last stanza into two stanzas, the questions as the third stanza, and then the second picture, as the last one. -
written like a master
ok first I would like to say I wouldnt have even clicked if I wasnt offered a blueberry muffin but even worse I know I wont actually recieve one and I want one bad now
any way onto the poem amazing I loved it and I loved how you turnd the poem into a story but still pulled it off as a poem and the amazing part is the poem flowed prefectly with every single word and still held form definetly amazing there are not many people in this world that can pull the story off as a poem as you have and so very well done also I loved it great job
Lucian"
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nice
its very cute. (i love your muffin bribe ;P)
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