The Deserted House
Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,
Leaving door and windows wide.
Careless tenants they!
All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.
Close the door; the shutters close;
Or through the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy
Of the dark deserted house.
Come away: no more of mirth
Is here or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.
Come away: for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell;
But in a city glorious -
A great and distant city -have bought
A mansion incorruptible.
Would they could have stayed with us!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Related quotes
A Repost Of The Past Poem
i step out of the door
from my dark room the windows are not open
it is humid and cold
i step out of the door the windows are still closed
i lock the door and step upon a patch of green grass
the dews are hanging on the blades and shaken
i look upon the sky
and there is this star still shining
despite the opening of the mouth of the morning
i was in deep slumber
i close my eyes
i see your face but i promise there shall be no tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Leaking Roof
it is raining and here i am stuck
under the roof of a deserted house
the windows are open
nobody has come to close four windows
looking to the street like an insomniac,
the door is creaky like a sore throat
sounding like an incurable allergic sneeze
the crazy wind bangs it from time to time
and i do not mind the routine of noise
for a while a walk to and fro
like i am making a picket
observing the details of how a deserted house
can look like
or feel like: there seems to be a growling silence
abbreviating itself like a scream
cut short by my hands kept inside my pocket
i look up and see the leaking roof
making a rhythm of the dripping beat
of this poem.
i have nothing in mind, i am empty
and emptying still. I take in so much quantity
of silence, the weight of thoughts,
the silly purposeless probe
of what i am suppose to be and where i must be going
after this temporariness of loafing.
The rain stops. I am leaving.
The rhythm ceases.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Consent
i
only knock
you are the owner
of the door
of the house
if
you open it
then i
enter
but you close
the door
and the windows
of your house
airtight
and so
i turn my back
and walk
away
if you change
your mind
however
i am just
a stone
throw
away...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Doll's House
The music comes on with the lights,
the little opera of emptiness begins, the little
dance of no one there —
just the rooms exhibited,
furniture in them like ideas,
a stage set waiting for action out of the blue.
But no,
even the fire in the hearth is neon, warms no one,
the drawers in the painted chests,
are filled with nothing,
the tables loaded with miniature, fake, repasts.
It’s night outside, about to snow, the dollhouse lights are on:
you’re in the dark,
watching the dollhouse like a thief,
pilfering its pockets for a clue to your own life,
wafted over by smells of cooking, and silence.
Inside the dark
a flute starts to play, imaginary people come in at the door:
invited to stay, they take off their coats,
tea is made in a miniature pot — oh,
it’s good I hear you say, let’s have crumpets too, and we put them on,
you and I, they’re almost crumbs but we toast them,
and what kind of jam do you want, I say, on top of the butter,
and you say raspberry,
and I give it to you, reader,
I give it to you and we both eat.
Outside the big house it’s snowing.
Applied frost creeps up the sides of the doll house windows,
the fake fireplace glows electric,
our toy dog sleeps on the rug —
a hush falls over this small house inside the big house,
we sleep in it…
I sleep, you sleep, he sleeps, she sleeps…
it sleeps, the real,
a sleep so delicious, we can dream in it,
as in a delirium, without sound…
windows opening into windows,
shoes never walked in at the door
that we slip on.
poem by Ioanna Carlsen
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Wistfully Watching
They explore the world
through windows,
church windows,
school windows,
two up, two down windows,
castle windows,
large windows,
small windows.
They see it all,
from blameless to guilty,
from noble to treacherous,
through windows.
From skyscraper windows,
to basement flat windows,
from paupers windows,
and palace windows
they watch, absorb, suck it in.
Later when they have grown
they will remember,
try to empathise,
rationalise
decipher the coded metaphors,
but some day
they will be demoralised
by the windows of life.
There they sit __ wistfully watching __
the children
of our times.
poem by Ruth Walters
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for John on his first frustration
let me draw you a house
with an entrance gate
leading to an entrance
door and some windows
to let in air.
just that, there will be no
exit doors, no exit gate,
all the windows open,
not designed to close,
that precisely is success
and failure.
there is a sense of
entrance triumphant
ditto an exit for some
ordinary and even
inevitable failures of
our lives.
the windows are some
of our other options, we
let in air to breathe
for a while. we must.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In my house
You enter a room to see a park
You close a door only to be led to another stairway
Leading you to another room with nothing but windows
You close a window the rest remains open
You close the windows and another door
In that park in the room where you just entered
Opens
Then you are confused about the roof that opens
To a river to the rocks where another door opens
To a wall with trees and birds and butterflies
This is weird you say, this is really weird
Then from the garage comes a wind that blows
Its horn like a car
I have just arrived offering you an explanation
For all these mess, these uncertainties, these self-made
confusions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Step Out Of The Door
i step out of the door
from my dark room the windows are not opened
it is humid
it is cold
and i step out of the door the windows still closed
i lock the door and step upon a patch of green grass
the dews are hanging on the blades
and shaken
i look upon a sky
and there is this star still shining despite the opening of the
mouth of the morning
after a deep sleep
i see your face but i promise there shall be no tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Parade
As windows look out on windows here
They have to be kept closed often
Even if the sun and zephyr cannot enter,
When I'm tired of the walls
The television, the kitchen and the humdrum
I throw them open,
Catching eyes or movement,
On the other side
Now hurriedly shutting me out,
It's difficult to make friends -
No tenant stays for long
Next door or at the opposite window,
Perhaps driven to the suburbs
By the rent
Or opting for a city
With fewer desires -
I've seen a slow parade of faces
Like the infertile clouds
In the sky
Before they pass out of sight
Leaving no trace
Of their flight.
poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam
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The Teasing Moon....
sometimes to
complete the woodenness of the floor
you simply have to close the door
make the planks
exclusive to
its beams
with all the nails
sleeping
the windows with open eyes
beg to be exempted
from the hassle
of privacy
the view of the sea making love to the sky
is simply irresistible
the moon is teasing you to take the boat
but to do this you need to open the door of the house
where no one lives.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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House Without Windows
Pockris/tobias
Im gonna move into
A house without windows
So I wont see you walking by, walking by
With your new love
There in the darkness of
My house without windows
I will never see the stars that shine
Shine on you, and your new love
Id rather wonder through this endless night
Than to face the light of another lonely day
Knowing that you wont be there
There to share, these two arms ever again
Ill take all my broken dreams
And Ill take my broken heart
And from now on you will find me there
Crying there, trying to forget
In my house without windows
In my house without windows
And without love.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emptyness
I make my way to the house,
where you once existed,
windows are all moldy,
and the paint has diminished.
Without you there,
the house was forsaken,
no life, no soul
it just felt empty and distant.
Once upon a time,
this house held my memories,
now when I look at it,
it holds my sorrow and heartache.
I have to walk away now,
Can’t walk the path to the door,
Remembering you formerly lived here,
But you don’t no more
poem by Karissa Bristow
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Century After Century
Since your breathing, is it all that a space can fill?
So just by looking in, I'll be looking still
You find and follow stories well
You're naked except for a newspaper, the headline telling me
That fortune favours the brave
I've been known to be that brave
What I want is on it's way out
All I needed was an easier way to stay
Walking around the city as the light fades (is it all that you remain?)
I'm thinking about each promise that I have ever made
But I know what they will never say, I know what they will never say
Century after Century they remain
And if I read to remember that the entire Earth is outside this room
So close the windows, keep the curtains shut forever
And if I need to remember that the entire Earth is outside this room
So close the windows, close the windows
Isn't it romantic, to be romantic
When you don't understand what you love
Or if a word like that couls ever mean anything
When what you want is on it's way out
I didn't hear cheerleading for creative writers
And your cheekbones don't taste of anything at all
It's on it's way out, it's just an easier way to stay
Talking about a city that the light made (is it all that you remain?)
It's the same story that's been told
But it's been stories that don't fade
I know what they will never say, I know what they will never say
Century after Century they remain
Is it all that you remain?
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After Hours
(reed)
One, two, three
If you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the sunshine out
And say hello to never
All the people are dancing
And theyre having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
But if you close the door
Id never have to see the day again
If you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the wine-glass out
And drink a toast to never
Oh, someday I know
Someone will look into my eyes
And say hello
Youre my very special one
But if you close the door
Id never have to see the day again
Dark party bars, shiny cadillac cars
And the people on subways and trains
Looking gray in the rain, as they stand disarrayed
Oh, but people look well in the dark
And if you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the sunshine out
And say hello to never
All the people are dancing
And theyre having such fun
I wish it could happen to me
Cause if you close the door
Id never have to see the day again
Id never have to see the day again, once more
Id never have to see the day again
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Tired To Notice The Storm Of The Earth...
i wake up early today
i open the windows and the door
the ground is flooded
the trees shed more leaves
the chickens' feathers are
thoroughly wet
some branches are cut-off
from those old tall trees
our dog is not wagging its tail
the lights at the kitchen are not turned off
by the looks of it
there was a big storm last night
i did not notice it
i was dead asleep
too tired of my own inner storms
my door is closed,
all my windows are shut.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life and Nature
I passed through the gates of the city,
The streets were strange and still,
Through the doors of the open churches
The organs were moaning shrill.
Through the doors and the great high windows
I heard the murmur of prayer,
And the sound of their solemn singing
Streamed out on the sunlit air;
A sound of some great burden
That lay on the world's dark breast,
Of the old, and the sick, and the lonely,
And the weary that cried for rest.
I strayed through the midst of the city
Like one distracted or mad.
'Oh, Life! Oh, Life!' I kept saying,
And the very word seemed sad.
I passed through the gates of the city,
And I heard the small birds sing,
I laid me down in the meadows
Afar from the bell-ringing.
In the depth and the bloom of the meadows
I lay on the earth's quiet breast,
The poplar fanned me with shadows,
And the veery sang me to rest.
Blue, blue was the heaven above me,
And the earth green at my feet;
'Oh, Life! Oh, Life!' I kept saying,
And the very word seemed sweet.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Waiting For The Light
time is running wild
and fast
my heart is beating like
a drum of
the natives
the sands are consuming
their own
grains
i do not know where is the
door
all windows are closed and it is very dark
it is a night without stars
it is a roof without a leak for rain
time is jumping to another
side
light is coming and
i have a hint where i must go
for now
i am in complete
ignorance
about what happens next
and this is
the happiest part of my life
uncertainty in the darkness of my night
waiting for the light.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Desolate City
DARK to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens.
Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?
Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city.
A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.
Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters,
Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen'd to their chaunting;
Each one sang to his love; only I was alone.
This, I said in my heart, is the hour of life and of pleasure.
Now each creature on earth has his joy, and lives in the sun,
Each in another's eyes finds light, the light of compassion,
This is the moment of pity, this is the moment of love.
Speak, O desolate city! Speak, O silence in sadness!
Where is she that I loved in my strength, that spoke to my soul?
Where are those passionate eyes that appeal'd to my eyes in passion?
Where is the mouth that kiss'd me, the breast I laid to my own?
Speak, thou soul of my soul, for rage in my heart is kindled.
Tell me, where didst thou flee in the day of destruction and fear?
See, my arms still enfold thee, enfolding thus all heaven,
See, my desire is fulfill'd in thee, for it fills the earth.
Thus in my grief I lamented. Then turn'd I from the window,
Turn'd to the stair, and the open door, and the empty street,
Crying aloud in my grief, for there was none to chide me,
None to mock my weakness, none to behold my tears.
Groping I went, as blind. I sought her house, my beloved's.
There I stopp'd at the silent door, and listen'd and tried the
latch.
Love, I cried, dost thou slumber? This is no hour for slumber,
This is the hour of love, and love I bring in my hand.
I knew the house, with its windows barr'd, and its leafless fig-tree,
Climbing round by the doorstep, the only one in the street;
I knew where my hope had climb'd to its goal and there encircled
All that those desolate walls once held, my beloved's heart.
There in my grief she consoled me. She loved me when I loved not.
She put her hand in my hand, and set her lips to my lips.
She told me all her pain and show'd me all her trouble.
I, like a fool, scarce heard, hardly return'd her kiss.
Love, thy eyes were like torches. They changed as I beheld them.
Love, thy lips were like gems, the seal thou settest on my life.
Love, if I loved not then, behold this hour thy vengeance;
This is the fruit of thy love and thee, the unwise grown wise.
Weeping strangled my voice. I call'd out, but none answer'd;
Blindly the windows gazed back at me, dumbly the door;
See whom I love, who loved me, look'd not on my yearning,
Gave me no more her hands to kiss, show'd me no more her soul.
Therefore the earth is dark to me, the sunlight blackness,
Therefore I go in tears and alone, by night and day;
Therefore I find no love in heaven, no light, no beauty,
A heaven taken by storm, where none are left but the slain!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Old House in the Glen
Winter has come and the wind and the rain
Wash over the house in the glen.
It cradles itself as if it were cold
For no one still lives within.
The years have passed over it, leaving it aged
And empty, and lost, without heart,
With no one to live there, no one to care
And the leaves are piled up on the hearth.
If you stand in the doorway, you can feel
Soft music that hangs in the air,
Like the soul of the house that ever lives on
Though there’s no longer any to hear.
The door is now gone, the windows un-paned,
The wood on the roof has gone slack.
But it still lingers on, as if waiting for
The people it loved to come back.
The old house listens, and waits, and sings
As the wind blows in through the door
And the beat of the heart of the house still sounds
Like the tread of their feet on the floor.
poem by Kate Wiley
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