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Roanne Manio Jun 21
Your stairs shrieked like an infant at midnight
and your walls haunted my dreams.
Still you housed my hands that touched so tenderly your floors, your mold, your crown.
Your windows stared: eyes on a hill. And I wonder what it feels like to be seen
like a monument in a ghost town.
You housed my head
so constantly swirled, maimed, losing consciousness.
You housed me so fiercely, intensely,
with a love that sang my restless soul to sleep.
Everyday you kept me in your arms, your womb.
You framed all my sunsets, my stars,
my endless sighs.
It is time to let your walls collapse,
your doors forever close,
but I have left my heart underneath your old, old bones.
An ode to the house I lived in for 24 years.
Nigdaw Dec 2021
an intimately vast space
spread out in small pockets
where once a treed horizon
dared to peek out into view
now walls enclose the square feet
so precious to the privileged few
real estate, though nothing real
about it at all, built on dreams
and promises unfulfilled
you can plan your OXO lifestyle
advertised on billboards
of temptation on the roadside
that passes what looks
like a battlefield, nature making
one last stand of liquid mud
to repel all boarders, but to no avail
tarmac veins snake and harden
making new arteries to a future
braver infantile world
of possession and greed
W Winchester Oct 2021
444
From within my
Glass house
I keep a pillow
Full of stones
To lay my
Weary head
A chest full of
Bricks
To build my bed
And a cabinet
Full of molotovs
In case I need
A drink
hmmm
Thomas Steyer Jul 2021
There is a house in Newport Green
They call it the sturdy one
It withstood all kinds of stormy weather
Ever since time had begun

If you're wondering why it's still there
Even though it moans and groans
Never mind smart wood construction
It lasted thanks to good bones
Raven Feels Jul 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, and she dreams:?

expired sunset
a multicolored sky fired and met
wings of flee burnt rain
dawns of lasts in unseen flames

the table dines
lions chase forests of mine
like when the first sip shadowed
of the water green in lakes shallow

hands shot eyes intake
tremble ripped canvas of french fake
ashes unknown no name
to reach out faces or claim

polished the twenty third
out of the bathing bird
a Sunday morning motions
a faze of a dark table believed bad omen


                                                                               -----ravenfeels
Andrew Jul 2021
They bought a house -
I hope they live there awhile,

perhaps till they're old

and someday,
when that driveway is cracked
and the door needs fixing,
they can look out and say

I know I lived a good life
Sharon Talbot Dec 2020
We live on the dark street at night,
Rows of old houses huddled in the cold.
Only one small door has a hesitant light
Glowing yellow against wooden gold.

Flowers and weeds are crushed and dry,
Wreathing withered, brown, grass yards.
Frozen blades crack as feet walk by,
Only wild things cross the hay-like swards.

Old people huddle near the wood stove
Or bake bread and pies in the oven.
Their little dogs are let out for a minute’s rove.
Even they shy away from a world so frozen.

The world of black and white
Dims sight and stultifies the senses
It dulls imagination.
So one goes to sleep and waits.

Waits for morning and
The first ray of sun
Reminding one of spring
And the light, warming the street.

December 2020
This was my impression when glancing out the front door late at night. I was cold and seemed much darker than usual, which was fitting.
Blackenedfigs Dec 2020
It is fascinating to listen to the world wake up in the morning. It’s as though everything is still and frozen in time that even the birds are hesitant to start their morning songs. But then suddenly, as the first stretch of daylight crawls across the lines and rows of rooftop houses, you can hear the whole Earth start up in stages. First the signaling of the distant trains, their own morning song in a way I suppose. Then the rest of the neighborhood follows suit in a chorus. Car engines rattle on to melt the ice off their windshields and they too, groan and moan not yet ready for the daily grind. I picture people sipping their coffee while their kids quickly and hastily brush their teeth to make it to school on time. The buses stagger in lines to greet them at their doorsteps. One by one the birds unruffle their feathers in the treetops and begin to rise in song. The streets that just lay undisturbed moments ago, pristine with a thin layer of 4AM dew, are now bustling with car exhaust and scurrying street cats who are simply trying to get out of the way. And you in the midst of your tossing and turning murmur something in your sleep and I wish I could lie here forever.
A lesson in prose poetry.
S R Mats Oct 2020
Snakeskin,
Crawled into it and it felt good.
Real good.  Good enough to live in.
Forked tongue slips in and out;
Poison drips, fangs cannot be contained.

Eating all, choking on frogs, going for bigger prey
Until all is gone, gone, gone -
Lining up to pet the snake, feel the skin next to theirs
******* out brains to fill craniums with crap.
And the world has gone mad, bad, and sad.
luna imagery Aug 2020
Houses are like little cages
Little cages that is trapping
Every little incidents inside it;
Trapping every little shriek
Trapping every upsetting stories;
One wants to tell
It locks everything inside
Houses only shows you what you want to see;
It only displays what you wish to see;
It shows you what a normal house should be.
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