The Box (a poem)

The Box

Written January 2nd, 2013

In my house, there is a box.

The box is mine, and in it I hide

When the house gets too loud

Filled with shouts and tension

Gossip and anger

When it’s too much on the outside

I shut the door on my box

And fill it with tears.

But it’s just cardboard

Very flimsy, very thin

Through its paper walls

I can still hear the agitated din.

Turn up music

Stuff cotton in my ears

Even when it’s quiet

I can still feel the scars

From all the dysfunctional years.

Rooms (a poem)

Rooms

Written February 22nd, 2012

Music drifts down the halls

Piano crescendos and saxophone solos

Electric guitar screams and soft flute dreams

All spinning down the corridors

Inviting passerby to dance

One can listen in the lounge

A bright cozy room with plush rugs

Vivid expressionist paintings line the walls

By the soft warm hearth she can socialize

Or dance to the tunes drifting in from the halls

We Won't Give Up (a poem)

We Won't Give Up

Written October 26th, 2011

The forest glows with color

Filling our eyes with vibrant yellows

The air around us full of cascading leaves

Our laughter rises with the soft earth aromas

A sweet misty rain falls upon us

Racing through the trees

We burst into our awaiting refuge

Before we turn blue and freeze

The house creaks beneath our feet

Our delighted chatter echoes down the halls

The smell of old books fills the rooms

Paintings of summer cover the walls

A friendly warmth spreads and glows

Encompassing our hearts

And chasing the frost from the windows

Late at night on the porch

A chill wind flies

And the lake kisses the shore

Whispering of love and hope

The trees sigh softly as the sleep

Swaying contentedly in their dreams

The moon climbs higher

On the lake surface her lovely face gleams

Frozen Mornings (a poem)

Frozen Mornings

Written September 18th, 2011

The house retains a serpentine chill

That slithers down into the bones

It seeps out from the stone walls

And up through the icy wooden floors

That sting defenseless bare feet

We emerge from our sleep weary and worn

As though we never slept at all

Our knuckles swollen and slow

Inflated from the serpentine cold

We hide away beneath warm blankets

And pretend we never woke

The House on the Hill (a poem)

The House on the Hill

Written April 13th, 2011

There is a house atop a hill

Lonely on the outskirts of town

The windows cracked, the shadows still

The vines crawl

And the grass is tall

Nature is claiming it back; running it down