A poem for the season
Posted: Thu Oct 19, 2006 3:30 am
It was written by an obscure 17th century English poet and was recently rediscovered. It had been thought destroyed in the great fire of Welherst Castle in Wales, but a cunning team of archeologists followed some cryptic directions written in blood on the back of an ancient map and . . . ah, just kidding. I wrote it a couple weeks ago . . .
A House Gone Mad
Rain cloud clots the vein of summer
Welcome mat’s greeting an ironic sham
Kitchen counter’s bad with numbers
Stub your toe on an old door jamb
Living room leaves guests feeling sick
The chimney's overdue for cleaning
Stoke the fire with a walking stick
Bright ideas too hot for gleaning
Feather the dust of closet bones
Lock the doors with skeleton keys
And heed her when the wind she moans
Or twirls the vain in her wretched breeze
White picket fence now all but gone
Front door screams from a hinge’s creak
Something breathes in the backyard lawn
The dog’s been missing for more than a week
Floorboards give as the steps they stutter
Banister rotted to a mess of splinters
Shingles dance to the beat of shutters
Blowing in the gales of year ‘round winters
It’s curtains for those who dare to sleep
As moonbeams drip through a dirty pane
Midnight’s dreamtime for nightmares deep
Candle glow casts a shadow insane
Pay no mind to the basement bugs
Hang your coat on a crooked brad
Ignore the attic when it shrugs
Because you’re living in a house gone mad
A House Gone Mad
Rain cloud clots the vein of summer
Welcome mat’s greeting an ironic sham
Kitchen counter’s bad with numbers
Stub your toe on an old door jamb
Living room leaves guests feeling sick
The chimney's overdue for cleaning
Stoke the fire with a walking stick
Bright ideas too hot for gleaning
Feather the dust of closet bones
Lock the doors with skeleton keys
And heed her when the wind she moans
Or twirls the vain in her wretched breeze
White picket fence now all but gone
Front door screams from a hinge’s creak
Something breathes in the backyard lawn
The dog’s been missing for more than a week
Floorboards give as the steps they stutter
Banister rotted to a mess of splinters
Shingles dance to the beat of shutters
Blowing in the gales of year ‘round winters
It’s curtains for those who dare to sleep
As moonbeams drip through a dirty pane
Midnight’s dreamtime for nightmares deep
Candle glow casts a shadow insane
Pay no mind to the basement bugs
Hang your coat on a crooked brad
Ignore the attic when it shrugs
Because you’re living in a house gone mad
but this IS an incredible poem. Thank you for sharing it. Would you mind if I printed it out and hung it on my wall? Giving you credit, of course.