29 April 2011

The Old Blue House

Standing at the open grave
of another part of my childhood
I glance across the street
to the old blue house.

I whisper to my brother
'do you remember when'
he nods and smiles
memories flood his eyes

and mine.  Another family
lives there now. I imagine
they bump into shadows of my
younger me, a fearless me.

Maybe they catch a whiff
of pipe tobacco or hear
a Scots brogue on a winter night
and wonder, why.  The old blue house,

this cradle of my youth, stands vigilant,
watching over the reasons that I am
my past, laid gently
in the ground.


  1. Beautiful haunting memories. I think we leave an essence of ourselves wherever we go. (Hugs)Indigo

  2. Nicely done. Excellent landing at the end. The poem doesn't need the picture, merely supplemented by pic.

  3. Blue seams to be part of your heart.

    Your poem is full of emotion. I am pleased to enjoy it.

    Thanks for sharing. Hugs and smiles :-)

  4. I feel the same way when I drive past my old home. A part of me will always remain there.

  5. "my past, laid gently
    in the ground."

    stunning! ♥