The Old Flame
My old flame, my wife!
Remember our lists of birds?
One morning last summer, I drove
by our house in Maine. It was still
on top of its hill -
Now a red ear of Indian maize
was splashed on the door.
Old Glory with thirteen stripes
hung on a pole. The clapboard
was old-red schoolhouse red.
Inside, a new landlord,
a new wife, a new broom!
Atlantic seaboard antique shop
pewter and plunder
shone in each room.
A new frontier!
No running next door
now to phone the sheriff
for his taxi to Bath
and the State Liquor Store!
No one saw your ghostly
imaginary lover
stare through the window
and tighten
the scarf at his throat.
Health to the new people,
health to their flag, to their old
restored house on the hill!
Everything had been swept bare,
furnished, garnished and aired.
Everything's changed for the best -
how quivering and fierce we were,
there snowbound together,
simmering like wasps
in our tent of books!
Poor ghost, old love, speak
with your old voice
of flaming insight
that kept us awake all night.
In one bed and apart,
we heard the plow
groaning up hill -
a red light, then a blue,
as it tossed off the snow
to the side of the road.
poem by Robert Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Primrose Hill
A man opened his window and stared up primrose hill
Out there enjoying themselves Ive seen them from this sill
Green splashed with white and red going brown
Children baiting animals running up and down
I stare out of this window
See the world go past
Slipping from the newspapers stacked against the wall
Piles of colour supplements squeeze between his fall
For a fleeting second I was up that hill
Although Ive never been there I wish I was there still
I stare out of this window
See the world go past
Ive read and looked at everything
I know it off by heart
Deliveries every day newspapers and food
Never had to venture out the phone has been removed
Open up the window and stare up primrose hill
Sitting here its dark outside and everything is still
I stare out of this window
See the world go past
Ive read and looked at everything
I know it off by heart
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Little House
Our little house upon the hill
In winter time is strangely still;
The roof tree, bare of leaves, stands high,
A candelabrum for the sky,
And down below the lamplights glow,
And ours makes answer o'er the snow.
Our little house upon the hill
In summer time strange voices fill;
With ceaseless rustle of the leaves,
And birds that twitter in the eaves,
And all the vines entangled so
The village lights no longer show.
Our little house upon the hill
Is just the house of Jack and Jill,
And whether showing or unseen,
Hid behind its leafy screen;
There's a star that points it out
When the lamp lights are in doubt.
poem by Thomas Walsh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Running Up That Hill
( Kate Bush cover )
It doesn't hurt me.
You wanna feel how it feels?
You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
You wanna hear about the deal I'm making?
You *be running up that hill*
You and me *be running up that hill*
And if I only could,
Make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh...
You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder.
There is thunder in our hearts, baby.
So much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You, *be running up that hill*
You and me, *be running up that hill*
You and me won't be unhappy.
And if I only could,
Make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building,
If I only could, oh...
'C'mon, baby, c'mon, c'mon, darling,
Let me steal this moment from you now.
C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,
Let's exchange the experience, oh...'
And if I only could,
Make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems. x2
'If I only could, be running up that hill.' x7
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A little Ghost Story
As I was going to bed
I turned out my light
tucked myself in
on a long winter's night
All of a sudden
I heard a door squeak
I thought someone was in my house
so I decided to take a peak
I heard the wind blow hard
and started to shiver with fear
and heard some noises again
but this time I knew I was near
I went into the living room
and noticed my door was opened wide
squeaking back and forth
I laughed so hard I almost cried
So I decided to go back up to my room
When I heard some terrible cries
I rushed to my room real quick
but a ghost stopped me in surprise
I ran and yelled
and I ran outside my house right then
and decided I would never
go back to that house again
At my new house
I turned out the light
you can probably guess
what went on that night
poem by Shaina Lloyd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Indian Summer
The voices hanging in the air
The fingers running through my hair
You whisper in my ear, words Im afraid to hear
Youre sleeping on the wings of doves
Of melting in the heat of love
A voice that disappears, into the air
You said you found me, and never let me go, and until you do
No arms around me, to pull me away, away from you
Indian summer, I remember you
Indian summer, do you think of me too?
Like a moth to a flame, youre drawn to me with tender chains
You wrap me up so tight, and hold me all the night
Whos the stranger come and gone, statues crying in the lawn
The fountains frozen tears, bring back those years
Did you think you loved me, and do you want me now like you did back then
No moon above me, could make me feel this way, feel this way again
Indian summer, I remember you
Indian summer, do you think of me too?
Where do the seasons go when you let them slip away
Now the winds have changed from hot to cold today
Indian summer, indian summer, I remember you, where are you now
Ohhh, indian summer, I remember you
Indian summer, do you think of me, do you think of me too
Cause I remember you, indian summer
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surprise Before Christmas
was a couple of days before Christmas
And all through our house
Wrapping supplies were still scattered
When my wife first saw the mouse
I was dozing watching TV
When I hear her query
'What's that running across the floor? '
Her eyes showing signs of fear and fury
Then I saw it too and hoped it was
Heading out on his way back
It was a mouse for sure
Fury light brown with eyes coal black
I jumped to my feet
To see what to do
Could I be fast enough to catch him
Or just hit him with my shoe
I scared him all right
He again ran across the floor
Hid behind our presents
Instead of going out the door
Help was on the way
My son handed my a broom
My wife standing in her chair
Watching from the other room
Our daughter on her cell phone
Also seemed full of fright
I heard her asking a friend
If she could go there to spend the night
Then the mouse was gone
Fast as a shot
At least that's what I told my wife
I showed her the spot
'See the bottom of the new door
where the the rug used to be
That's where he went out.'
Sounded convincing to me
She made me check all the rooms
Even close up the chimney flue blockikng any crack
I thought better and didn't ask
How Santa was going to get in with his sack
Finally she went to bed
I was soon to follow
I'm sure she knew my promise of
'No mouse for Christmas.' was hollow
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Goat Hill
Goat Hill
Walking out the door that man told me to go to hell
My son asked mommy where’s Goat Hill
I said I don’t know son it must be through the valley
My son said mommy lets go there
Up to goat hill
I bet it’s on top of the mountain
I bet there is waterfalls, birds, trees, pretty flowers for all the butterflies and honey bees
I said son if we could I’m sure we would
Most definitely go up to goat hill
I’m not ever going to take you where that man said to go
That place is an internal melting pot
And its way to hot
There’s no mountains with snow on top
No waterfalls trees birds butterflies or honey bees in the place that man said to go
Son I know you are good
Some day together I believe we will find the place called Goat Hill
You found somewhere in your mind
Where life is gentle and Kind
Everyday and every night all the time
Son I bet up on Goat Hill we will only see Gods will being done by the Father and the Son
poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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I Hung My Head
Early one morning with time to kill
I borrowed jebs rifle and sat on the hill
I saw a lone rider crossing the plain
I drew a bread on him to practice my aim
My brothers rifle went off in my hand
A shot rang out across the land
The horse he kept running, the rider was dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
I set off running to wake from the dream
And my brothers rifle went into the stream
I kept on running into the salt lands
And thats where they found me, my head in my hands
The sheriff he asked me "why had I run"
Then it came to me just what I had done
And all for no reason, just one piece of lead
I hung my head, I hung my head
Here in the courthouse, the whole town is there
I see the judge high up in his chair
"explain to the courtroom what went through your mind
And well ask the jury what verdict they find"
I said "i felt the power of death over life
I orphaned his children, I widowed his wife
I beg their forgiveness, I wish I was dead"
I hung my head, I hung my head
Early one morning with time to kill
I see the gallows up on the hill
And out in the distance a trick of the brain
I see a lone rider crossing the plain
Hes come to fetch me to see what they done
Well ride together til kingdom come
I pray for gods mercy for soon Ill be dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hung My Head
Early one morning with time to kill
I borrowed jebs rifle and sat on the hill
I saw a lone rider crossing the plain
I drew a bread on him to practice my aim
My brothers rifle went off in my hand
A shot rang out across the land
The horse he kept running, the rider was dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
I set off running to wake from the dream
And my brothers rifle went into the stream
I kept on running into the salt lands
And thats where they found me, my head in my hands
The sheriff he asked me why had I run
Then it came to me just what I had done
And all for no reason, just one piece of lead
I hung my head, I hung my head
Here in the courthouse, the whole town is there
I see the judge high up in his chair
Explain to the courtroom what went through your mind
And well ask the jury what verdict they find
I said I felt the power of death over life
I orphaned his children, I widowed his wife
I beg their forgiveness, I wish I was dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
Early one morning with time to kill
I see the gallows up on the hill
And out in the distance a trick of the brain
I see a lone rider crossing the plain
Hes come to fetch me to see what they done
Well ride together til kingdom come
I pray for gods mercy for soon Ill be dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Running Up That Hill
If I only could, Id be running up that hill.
If I only could, Id be running up that hill.
It doesnt hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesnt hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that Im making?
You, its you and me.
And if I only could,
Id make a deal with god,
And Id get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh...
You dont want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware Im tearing you asunder.
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.
Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, dont we?
You, its you and me.
Its you and me wont be unhappy.
And if I only could,
Id make a deal with god,
And Id get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building,
Say, if I only could, oh...
You,
Its you and me,
Its you and me wont be unhappy.
Cmon, baby, cmon darling,
Let me steal this moment from you now.
Cmon, angel, cmon, cmon, darling,
Lets exchange the experience, oh...
And if I only could,
Id make a deal with god,
And Id get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems.
And if I only could,
Id make a deal with god,
And Id get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems.
And if I only could,
Id make a deal with god,
And Id get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems.
If I only could
Be running up that hill
With no problems...
If I only could, Id be running up that hill.
If I only could, Id be running up that hill.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Mansion On The Hill
Theres a place out on the edge of town, sir,
Risin above the factories and the fields
Now, ever since I was a child, I can remember
That mansion on the hill
In the day you can see the children playing
On the road that leads to those gates of hardened steel
Steel gates that completely surround, sir,
The mansion on the hill
At night my daddyd take me and wed ride
Through the streets of a town so silent and still
Park on a back road along the highway side
Look up at that mansion on the hill
In the summer all the lights would shine
Thered be music playin, people laughin all the time
Me and my sister, wed hide out in the tall cornfields
Sit and listen to the mansion on the hill
Tonight down here in linden town
I watch the cars rushin by, home from the mill
Theres a beautiful full moon rising
Above the mansion on the hill
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Home-Coming
This was our house. To this we came
Lighted by love with torch aflame,
And in this chamber, door locked fast,
I held you to my heart at last.
This was our house. In this we knew
The worst that Time and Fate can do.
You left the room bare, wide the door;
You did not love me any more.
Where once the kind warm curtain hung
The spider's ghostly cloth is flung;
The beetle and the woodlouse creep
Where once I loved your lovely sleep.
Yet so the vanished spell endures,
That this, our house, still, still is yours.
Here, spite of all these years apart,
I still can hold you to my heart!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Soledad
in true faith to her name
she lives alone in a small house
on the side of a hill
the trees are cut and the grasses
have grown taller
the house sheds of window panes
pillars recede their heights
soledad in true faith to her name
continues to live alone in that small house
on the side of the dead hill
she waits for her beloved
who long died in the war.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Climb That Hill
Something threw me in the dirt
Kinda got my feelings hurt
We was burnin somewhere down the wind
I had to get up and climb that hill again
Little lucys such a doll
Like to climb her garden wall
But she only sees me as a friend
I got to get up and climb that hill again
I gotta bury my pride, drag this line
Over that hill one more time
Gotta get up in the morning, make my way
Over that hill again
I gotta bury my pride, drag this line
Over that hill one more time
Gotta get up in the morning, make my way
Over that hill again
Tempers flare and the words are spoken
You close one door and another opens
You hear the music and youre wondering
You got to get up and climb that hill
Get up and climb that hill
You got to get up and climb that hill again
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our House With The Rotary Phone
I sit in a room that no longer exists
On a chair long since splintered and gone
While I pick at a meal I once would devour
in our house with the rotary phone.
I sit in the room that doesn’t exist
Enjoying my choice of ice creams
Recalling the window in Tiffany glass
Forgive an old man his daydreams
A simple “A” frame with three beds and a bath,
obsolete, yes, but our home.
It stood with its’ sisters on Queens borough Hill,
where the L.I.E. jams are well known.
I had known for some time that her best days were gone
A plywood fence circled our home
Title had passed to a contractor’s hands
Neglected, our house looked forlorn
My past like a picture ripped from its frame
They left not a stone on a stone
Not even the numbers on wood painted green
of our house with the rotary phone.
Our house and its twin have been wrecked and removed
And replaced with a modern brick “home”
So pardon my tear as I stand at the bier
Of our house with the rotary phone
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Starkville
if you were here in starkville
townie boys would love the way you stare
if you were here in starkville
well the local girls they wouldn't have a prayer
well i've spent a reckless night inside the wonder
of your everlasting charm
now i'm haunted by geography and the flora
and the fauna of your heart
at the dawning of some road worn day
i call you on a whim just to say
the morning birds are singing
but i could not do them justice
so i hung up and i fell back to sleep
but i'm in love with my mobility
sometimes this life can be a drag
like when i noticed your nobility
and how my leaving
it only held you back
but i remember one occassion
when you were drinking
and you asked me to the coast
but i was hell bent on agony back then
and so i missed the boat
at the dawning of some road worn day
i call you on a whim just to say
my regrets become distractions
when i can not do them justice
then i hung up and i fell back to sleep
when i was down in starkville
i was hiding out inside some comfort inn
from a local gang of troubadours
when the homecoming queen
she come ridin in
(oooh)
yeah
yeah but i slipped out of my room into the rain
(oooh)
and i went running for my health
(oooh)
i watched those headlights turn to moonlight
and finally i was running by myself
now its the dawning of some road worn day
and i call you on a whim just to say
the morning birds are singing
words and music by amy ray
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Abbey Assaroe
Gray, gray is Abbey Assaroe, by Belashanny town,
It has neither door nor window, the walls are broken down;
The carven-stones lie scatter'd in briar and nettle-bed!
The only feet are those that come at burial of the dead.
A little rocky rivulet runs murmuring to the tide,
Singing a song of ancient days, in sorrow, not in pride;
The boortree and the lightsome ash across the portal grow,
And heaven itself is now the roof of Abbey Assaroe.
It looks beyond the harbour-stream to Gulban mountain blue;
It hears the voice of Erna's fall - Atlantic breakers too;
High ships go sailing past it; the sturdy clank of oars
Brings in the salmon-boat to haul a net upon the shores;
And this way to his home-creek, when the summer day is done,
Slow sculls the weary fisherman across the setting sun;
While green with corn is Sheegus Hill, his cottage white below;
But gray at every season is Abbey Assaroe.
There stood one day a poor old man above its broken bridge;
He heard no running rivulet, he saw no mountain-ridge;
He turn'd his back on Sheegus Hill, and view'd with misty sight
The Abbey walls, the burial-ground with crosses ghostly white;
Under a weary weight of years he bow'd upon his staff,
Perusing in the present time the former's epitaph;
For, gray and wasted like the walls, a figure full of woe,
This man was of the blood of them who founded Assaroe.
From Derry to Bundrowas Tower, Tirconnell broad was theirs;
Spearmen and plunder, bards and wine, and holy Abbot's prayers;
With chanting always in the house which they had builded high
To God and to Saint Bernard - where at last they came to die.
At worst, no workhouse grave for him! the ruins of his race
Shall rest among the ruin'd stones of this their saintly place.
The fond old man was weeping; and tremulous and slow
Along the rough and crooked lane he crept from Assaroe.
poem by William Allingham
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No house should ever be on a hill or on anything. It should be of the hill. Belonging to it. Hill and house should live together each the happier for the other.
quote by Frank Lloyd Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old House Of My Grandfather
sometimes as i walk early morning
when the suns starts to climb up on the hill
i think of grandfather's house
old, and spacious on top of a hill
overlooking his farm where his carabaos graze
his goat and cows and ducks teem,
oh, those were the years of bounty
and there was no worry,
about what to eat what to do
where to go,
times changed, and now we are always on a race
taking much work, and buying lots of things
sometimes we regret, taking and throwing
going and then returning
apparently, for no purpose and without meaning,
we live in a new house now with glass windows
and iron grill and high and thick walls and fences
we speak less, we move more,
we laugh less, we discuss more,
the old house of grandfather was burned in 1968.
this new house burns all day, and there is no fireman coming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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