The House

 

the house

A marble runs its random path.

Floorboards creak with spirit feet.

Agnes and Eloise sent their wrath;

the logs, lathe and plaster last.

 

Nordic design conquers the past.

Smooth wood polished with care.

Sits a leather and Van der Rohe chair,

soft pile carpets add a modern flair.

 

Games, drinks; a father in the know.

Three innocent boys stand in a row.

A stopping clock brings shocked surprise.

Exposed for their sheepish childhood lies.

 

Groaning pipes warm the nest.

Bitches Brew disrupts our rest.

Angel’s hair, soft bed for our nativity.

Colourful illumination; wooden tranquility.

 

The porch swing; a safe place for

our thunderous summer days;

Sitting, laughing, loving.

Time unending.

 

Dining windows plugged for winter.

A blue linen sea spread for dinner.

Candles floating. Food enjoyed.

Events shared. The youngest annoyed.

 

Nocturnal antics, escapes well planned.

The CB radio dutifully manned.

Zeppelin and Floyd in the smallest room.

Crash sounds, death, always loom.

 

The connection, smokehouse, trains forbade.

Study space, a thesis made.

Tools in order, hard to borrow.

The loft above, rarely ventured,

Eaves with dead flies for spiders’ morrow.

 

A sturdy structure like a fort.

Caretakers for but a time.

History is bigger, and life is short.

This comforting vessel, all mine.

 

© 2016 Todd Landman. All rights reserved.

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