Domestic Shades-21
Old House, Mango Trees, Carpenter Ants
What an odd life in an old house
With dimmed white-wash for years
All of hopeful ashes and holy fires,
By cracky, to end with blessed bows
But seemed not enough and healthy..
With its falling mortar scaly patchy
House was bending to touch me touchy
I was all in screams and unhealthy
Mango flowering too wasn't smelling
Though season was ready up for blooming
Three mango trees huge and hefty booming
Then in slow rest enough of dwelling
Some recommended more 'pooja' and 'homam'
For I was in grip of Saturn's momentum
Oh Shani, won't you rest me in peace's stratum'
'All till delicacies, accept from this home-mom'
So I pondered on as to what to do
House repairing earlier to go through
Garden repairing too through and through
So we all sat and discussed as to what to do
Then suddenly one reason found so radical
When I was stung by a black demon whimsical
And I shouted 'chee Shaniane' very allegorical
That my hubby mocked'ho worship is paradoxical'
Anyway, on hunting they swarmed from everywhere
Infesting to dig tunnels all there and there
Pinchable head and waist..they foraged, how dare
Ultimate battling, I picked up one and said 'beware'
That invasion on carpenter ants, hard too much
House maintenance is ever difficult very much
But never say'move on to a flat'that much
Jailed, will the oldies relish so much?
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
The Wrong House
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has big steps and a great big hall;
But it hasn't got a garden,
A garden,
A garden,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has a big garden and great high wall;
But it hasn't got a may-tree,
A may-tree,
A may-tree,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house -
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn't got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and I thought it was a house,
I could hear from the may-tree the blackbird call…
But nobody listened to it,
Nobody
Liked it,
Nobody wanted it at all.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Credit goes to…
Thousands of hands were involved
Some visible some unseen
From architect to painter
Plumber, carpenter and all the rest
Displayed their craftsmanship
Creating a comfortable, beautiful house
When the building finally stood ready
It was proudly pronounced
Mr. X had built a house
The man, who never had put his foot there
Till the house was all complete
House Of Jazz
Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin' and a fightin' on a TV show
Lightin' blindin' in the middle of the road
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap 'n' tickler
To make you growl
Spitin' and bitin' on a TV show
Tightenin' frightenin' givin' out a load
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Come on in
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
The house of jazz
song performed by by AC/DC from Stiff Upper Lip
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House Of Jazz
(young - young)
Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin and a fightin on a tv show
Lightin blindin in the middle of the road
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz, yes
Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap n tickler
To make you growl
A spitin and bitin on a tv show
Tightenin frightenin givin out a load
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin in
Come on in
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
The house of jazz
2000, j. albert & son, pty.
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Landlords
Bless is your house as you move in,
Bless is your house as you walk around,
Bless is your house as you cook and wash,
Bless is your house as you take a rest,
Bless is your house as visitors come and go,
Bless is your house as you switch off at night,
Bless is your house every day and night.
UK.
poem by Enitan Onikoyi
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Stranger In The House
We dont talk much
We dont make love like we used to
And I stay guarded
Ive got walls and triggers
I never thought I had
And so do you
But this is love
And thats the way we seem content to play it
I touch your clothes when youre gone
I let your scent wash over me
You cry at night and you wish just like a child
That we were how we used to be
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
And she looks like somebody from a lifetime ago
I stonewall you, you stonewall me
But we both know that
Hiding deep inside us
Lives the love that we try hard to lose
And never will
But this is war
And thats the way we seem content to fight it
I get so angry and confused cause
I want out but I want you
You cant decide between moving out or moving in
You dont know what to do
With a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
And she looks like you
And he looks like me
Is this the same girl that, I fought so hard to win
And now I fight to lose her
Now I feel that its just like skin to skin
And nerve to nerve
Strung out like wire
Is that the way we are content to live
We face off in anger
In rooms once filled with love
Looking for a chink in the armour
Where we can stab the blade
What are we thinking of
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
And she looks like somebody from a lifetime ago
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Astonishing Forest
Where the house filled with living
The house continuously giving
Where the house filled with nature
The house filled with adventure
Anything can survive
With the nature it provides
Where the house filled with grass
The house filled with hedges, bushes and plants
Canopy trees be it rain or shine
Will be there for you at any time
Where the green house filled with fresh air
Will shelter you in the heavy rain
O the house of beauty
O the house of sound
So much variety is yet to be found
poem by Sehar Zaman
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Socially An Accepted Activity
Does it really make a difference,
If carpenter ants or termites...
Are responsbile for the effects,
Of a crumbling structure known?
Both can gnaw galleries,
In dead or decayed wood.
Termites are often pale colored,
And live in colonies.
Maybe because they are called white ants...
And the carpenter ones are black.
Perhaps that is the reason,
When they destroy with ultimate devastation...
It is socially an accepted activity,
Than 'if' their presence had been of color.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Every House
Every house has a sun and moon,
And a little porcelain cup,
And a little silver spoon;
Every house has laughter and pain,
And feels the kiss of a needed rain.
Every house has a pet or two,
A cat in the tree,
A dove that coo;
Every house has a little mouse,
Lives in a hole he never comes out.
Every house has a window or two,
And some grass and trees,
And a sky that's blue;
Every house has a child that dreams,
As he plucks at raw reality's seams.
poem by Patti Masterman
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Wisdom From Life
I can't forget the mango-tree that grew
So well, and gave us luscious fruits umptine
In mother's rented house garden we left,
When mother left the world to be with God!
I want to kill the squirrels, birds that steal
The ripened guava, custard fruits atop
Their trees, I eagerly await to pluck,
But cannot do for they much faster!
I wish to curse the children who come stealth,
And climb the trees to steal the fruits unripe,
Like cats that love to drink the milk when spilled,
And not from bowl that house-lady offers!
Charity has more value when you're poor!
Love is better given when you need it;
Sharing what you need is of greater worth;
Advice others what you didn't get in life!
poem by John Celes
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A cripple ant near a Mango tree
I have heard about the tasty fruit when it ripens
and the legend says lightning won't peep to your premises
if you grow a mango tree in your yard,
But I am very unhappy as I cannot climb on my neighbour's tree.
* I humbly dedicate this poem to the authoress of the novel 'The House on Mango street' written by Sandra.Cisneros.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Ruben's Mansion
it is not a house
in fact, it is a white mansion
placed on a one-hectare lot
surrounded by a well-manicured
garden and flowering shrubs
and fruit trees
one that everyone cannot but
always admire
when they come
and watch
Ruben's mansion
taking 2 years to finish
and 12 million pesos
in expenditures
as you go inside
the glass door opens
leading you
to a living room
twice as large
as my own house
in a remote barrio
the furniture are carved
from molave trees
shining with shellac
and glistening
with opulence
the motif of this
house
the kitchen is huge
four times as wide
as my garage
accommodating only
my second hand car
and the garage
is one that can handle
a party for the night
of ten tables and
fifty chairs and
a hundred people
one wonders
why Ruben has to make
a mansion like this
sheer taste perhaps
or his money
simply searching for something
to buy and spend
looking for some
vents
did he remember
how as a child
the family was shamed
because visitors
from Bohol
in 1970 could not
be accommodated
and they all murmured
how poor they were?
it must be traumatic
for Ruben
as a child
and it must be some
trauma
that molded his dream
to build a mansion
like this?
(or am i just
jealous
of his ambition)
i need not ask some
more
his lips are sealed
he is dead
and he has no way
explaining
a sensitive matter as building
a mansion
while the rest still
thrives on
mediocre houses and
unfinished makeshifts
and no one lives
in this house anymore
perhaps some dreams
still live here
dreams unfulfilled
and once fulfilled
these dreams now
refuse to die
a mansion is still a house
and when no one lives there
need i say
that it is never a home
and after this party
tendered in the name of Ruben
we all go home
and then think for once
i must build a home
and for the meantime forget about a mansion
or just a house.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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House Carpenter
Well met, well met, my own true love
Well met, well met, cried she
Ive just returned from the salt, salt sea
And its all for the love of thee
I could have married a kings daughter there
She would have married me
But I have forsaken my kings daughter there
Its all for the love of thee
Well, if you could have married a kings daughter there
Im sure youre the one to blame
For I am married to a house carpenter
And Im sure hes a fine young man
Forsake, forsake your house carpenter
And come away with me
Ill take you where the green grass grows
On the shores of sunny italy
So up she picked her babies three
And gave them kisses, one, two, three
Saying take good care of your daddy while Im gone
And keep him good company.
Well, they were sailin about two weeks
Im sure it was not three
When the younger of the girls, she came on deck
Sayin she wants company
Well, are you weepin for your house and home?
Or are you weepin for your babies three?
Well, Im not weepin for my house carpenter
Im weepin for my babies three.
Oh what are those hills yonder, my love
They look as white as snow
Those are the hill of heaven, my love
You and Ill never know
Oh what are those hills yonder, my love
They look as dark as night
Those are the hills of hell-fire my love
Where you and I will unite
Oh twice around went the gallant ship
Im sure it was not three
When the ship all of a sudden, it sprung a leak
And it drifted to the bottom of the sea
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Hate Relationship
i see you, seated on the staircase, the old one
left by your parents long dead, and
you are crying there, some tears falling on the
carpeted floors, so your sorrow is invisible
to his eyes, when he comes home, you put on a smile,
like a light that you switch on when it is dark,
it has always been that everyday with you,
and him, and he tells you every instruction to keep that love
burning, you listen, but as soon as he goes
to another place, far, and you sit again on that old staircase
counting the rails and the chairs of the house
you begin to think honestly, that this affair is nothing but a
fraud. It is only him. But to him that should not be, as you he goes
away for days, and you keep on staying put
with all his instructions. You worry about the electricity of the house.
and the gas that keeps the oven hot for the bread
and the muffins
but for how long. The tank of gas will be empty soon.
and what he will find in this house, when you decide to end it all
is just the muffin that the ants of the house
are still eating. There is always a season to end what was started.
soon. It will be. You sit on the stair, looking out the door.
You will know how to make the dust. Soon, It will be.
He will never know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Home
So many people
Do not have a home
Sure they have a house
But not each house is home
They say home
Is where the heart is
Not cushions and a rug
But smiles and a kiss
They look hard for love
The house walls them in
They embrace the streets
Trying to ignore the din
Where can my soul rest
From the nagging pain
Where can I go to escape
From feeling the loss again?
poem by Samuel Nze
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174
Now I like to return
To my home
I left years ago
To see the mango trees
Flowering again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Returning Home
Now I like to return
To my home
I left years ago
To see the mango trees
Flowering again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A House for Four
A house for four
What is it? a house for four
A dingy looking thing
Are there windows? none
What is it? a house for four
Such a palace
Are there greetings? none
What is it? a house for four
Why the space is so small
Is there privacy? none
What is it? a house for four
A dozen creeps could be creeping there
Is there any trust? none
Don't judge me for mine
Poor fool i wont
Even give you the time
Are you judging me?
Your quite the choir
With a cracking voice
And
A tall house that falls
To scrutiny
A house for four and
A house for four
A people of choir and
A people of poor
Do you not recognize
The stains are yours?
A house is not a house
Unless there is more
More and more
Sometimes less is more
poem by Deci Hernandez
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The House That Built Jack
Scorched white by the lowly hung sun,
Crouched underneath the low ceiling sky.
Could burn his fingerprints right off,
Could be his last underground loft.
There's trick draws and the walls are too dry,
The stairs don't go up, the roof doesn't tilt,
In the house that Jack built.
An architect of soil and ash,
He buried and burned what wouldn't build.
The house strong with mortar and bricks,
The home strong, strong as straw and sticks.
Warm if he's willing, weak as he's willed,
The bell can't ring and the flowers won't wilt,
In the house that Jack built.
There's phantoms in the furniture,
In the company of his own ghost.
Trade family for plastic house plants,
Trade your heart if the clock enchants.
Never the neighbour, nobody's host,
Watch your head, mind your step, beware the guilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The labyrinth, he burnt it down,
There's a well but he can't choose a wish.
Etched the blueprints onto his skin,
From his own flaws; thereof; therein.
Unsmash the mirrors, face the blemish,
All work and no play, Jack can't find the hilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The house speaks to Jack and moves him.
Along the floorboards beneath the dust.
He's the shadow the bulbs can't touch.
He's the loft filled with far too much.
His house a temple; In jack we trust.
Home is where the heart, like cement, is spilt,
In the house that Jack built.
Home is where your soul must fill in each crack;
Home is what makes up for what you lack;
Home is what's bringing this flashback;
The house that built Jack.
poem by Ella Veyes
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