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May 18, 2005
Their House
There has to be a door,
house have doors, solid
and they can be closed, and
a knob you hold within your palm,
and turn, then it sqeeks, turning in
or out(doors turning in are more wellcoming)
and you get in, there are always doors
Windows are the sights of the house
Smaller in size, but necassary any how,
they allow seeing, breezes, the air, the
sounds of the birds, you can look trough, or
look down, they allow you outsides in small
incruments, as you wish, they are not to be climbed
in or out, unless your heart betrays your senses,
it happens, at youth when you can climb up, hold
take another look and jump to the safety of unexpecteds
but its youth that must decide, windows look better
not done in some printed fabrice, or silks, they only
tease the appetite of the passerbys, abstracting the air
the passages of the souls, and in so many demensions, life
And of course a fire place,
of stone preferable, at the heart
of the house, with a long chimney to
the upside of the roof, so warmth stays
in, and the smoke, the black soods get out
while the house is kept warm, and a love seat
on the side, as the fire burns, so lovers can claim
their hearts in intimate settings, close, cozy, for
comfortable gatherings of twos, a girl a boy, a daughter
or a son, or however you add up your intimacies, a place
for man of the house to bend on his knees while his wife sits,
grieving for forgievness, while pushing a dagger further in
his wife heart, just a civilised quiet place of sort for the
emotional uphievels, or where she could get drunk, and tip
the bottle over, going upstairs to her empty bed alone
There should be a bakyard
for fleeting summer days, the
smell of barbecue, and the eluding
breezes that succumb to the heat of
long hot summers, or an Indian summer
a place for the hammock to remember
after noon lazy naps, and a swing that
moves high, or a seesaw to attract the sounds
'of laughters and joy of children in summer gears
their sweaty palms, with their hair wet
sticking to their necks
And of course the accoupants who live
from time to time, and then go away, looking
back, with sweet regards, calling it their house
Posted by Idinraha at May 18, 2005 03:21 PM
Comments
correction on last line: calling it their "home"
and for some its a shack by the freeway overpass with tires to hold the roof over their head...
and for some they have many houses and even palaces but they can't find a home in any of'm.
Posted by: LiveLife at May 18, 2005 06:48 PM
no deary dear, it is their house, once they are outside of it, and also the poem gives the houses their own identity, seprate from the ones who think they own it and it is a home for them
Posted by: Idinraha at May 19, 2005 11:47 AM
Yes, change it to "home" it reads much better.
Home is where the heart is - that's what I believe. Doesn't matter what it looks like, how many pretty things you have, if the people there are not the ones whom you like or enjoy the pleasure off, then it is not a home. Just bare walls, and pieces of furniture...
I liked your poem a lot. You could write a script on it's premise - a house, over the years whoose occupants bring something different to it. The occupants change of course, but the house remains the same...and the house appears to give something back to the people in it.
Posted by: ShrinkLady at May 19, 2005 12:14 PM
thanks for kind comments, the reason I like 'HOUSE', better, is that the word itself has more individuality, and girth than the word "home", this is a poet about a house, it comes from outside in, it is being observed, it is not a home, their accoupant though might think it is a home for them, but they allow the house its identitiy by calling it a " hOUSE".
If it was about a home it would have been a different poem, and written in a different style, thanks for the sugestion
Posted by: Idinraha at May 19, 2005 01:01 PM
I struggled with this one. When I first read it I found myself trying to draw parallels between the attributes of the house to the range of behaviors and experiences that the human occupants were encountering. Anyway I could not quite resolve that. Maybe that was the point that looking in from the outside the house is just a house and the family is just a collection of people interacting or expressing themselves in different ways.
I agree with LiveLife and ShrinkLady on calling it "Home" at the end, since that is coming from the perspective of the occupants. I don't think by calling it a home at the end that would take anything away from it being a house (from everybody else's perspective).
Posted by: cycho ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.idinraha.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at May 19, 2005 07:20 PM
A "house" is a buildng for habitation or specified purpose but a "home" is a place of refuge and rest...
See, when the occupants look at it as though it is just a house, it has no connection to them and there is nothing personal regarding the house - it is just that a building and it does not old meaning unless it is a home.
For the reader that's the point I would get if it read as "home" - here is a buidling and it holds much from the outside in - but for each individual who resided in it, it is that unique difference that made it their home?
I guess I am not connecting with the word "home."
Posted by: ShrinkLady at May 20, 2005 01:03 AM
Correction:
"I guess I am not connecting with the word "home."
Posted by: ShrinkLady at May 20, 2005 12:42 PM
"House"
Posted by: ShrinkLady at May 20, 2005 12:42 PM