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.

5 comments:

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

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

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  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 :-)

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

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

    stunning! ♥

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