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The Fair Maid of Perth's House

All ye good people, afar and near,
To my request pray lend an ear;
I advise you all without delay to go
And see the Fair Maid's House - it is a rare show.

Some of the chairs there are very grand,
They have been cut and carved by a skilful hand;
And kings, perchance, if fhe truth were told,
Have sat on them in days of old.

King James the First of Scotland was murdered there,
And his cries for mercy rent the air.
But the Highland robbers only laughed at him,
And murdered him in the dungeon and thought if no sin.

Then there's an ancient shrine upstairs,
Where the Monks and Saints said their prayers,
To the Holy Virgin, be it told;
And the house, it is said, is six hundred years old.

The old cruisie lamps are there to be seen,
Which let the monks see to write from their sheen,
Arld if the walls could speak, they could tell a fearful tale,
Which would make the people's cheeks turn pale.

Then there's an old claymore dug up from Culloden Moor,
Which in its time shed innocent blood, I am sure,
If not at Culloden Moor, some other place,
Which no doubt the truth of it history might trace.

The interior of the house is magnificent to be seen,
And the wood panelling, I'm sure, would please the Queen;
And the old fire-place, with its big fire,
Is all that visitors could desire.

Then there's a ring in a big stone near by the door,
Where gentlemen tethered their horses in days of yore;
And on the staircase door there's a firling pin
For making a rattling noise when anyone wanted in.

The mistress of the house is very kind,
A more affable woman would be herd to find;
And to visitors she is very good,
And well versed in history, be it understood.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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House of fire (Lyrics)

House of fire
House of fire, yeah
Let's build a house of fire, baby
Not one of wood or stone
Walk thru my door of desire, baby
Come on in and make it your home
Don't need a window to watch you, baby
Don't need no roof overhead
Don't need no key to unlock ya, baby
I'll use my lovin'instead
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are buildin'a house of fire every time we touch
House of fire
House of fire
We ain't gotta pay rent now, baby
No landlord to throw us out
I want to play in your garden, baby
When you want it give me a shout
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Brick by brick the flames get higher
Build it strong with our desire
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch

poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stranger In My Own House

(a capella: she said: boy, your luck is running out...she make me feel like a stranger...in my own house)
I come stumbling in at a quarter to three
To the sound of my own dog growlin at me
Im scared to move or turn on a light
Youve got me creepin around in the dark
Like a thief in the night
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got no place to live
I never feel at home
I walk into the kitchen to see whats there
Im tired and Im hungry but the cupboards bare
Ive been working all day and all night too
I cant believe this is all I have to come back to
I guess Ill take a look upstairs, in the danger zone
I wonder what Im doing here
When I never feel at home
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im a stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
I see the do not disturb sign on my bedroom door
What is this sheet and pillow laying on the floor
I wore out my welcome
I hear you loud and clear
Its time to get a few things straight around here
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got a place to live but I never feel at home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
With a woman like you Im better off alone
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im just a stranger in my own house
Oh, honey Im home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
You got a lion on your hands girl, not a mouse!
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
Well, somebodys got to go...
Stranger
Stranger

song performed by by Foreigner
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Village of Tayport and Its Surroundings

All ye pleasure-seekers, where'er ye be,
I pray ye all be advised by me,
Go and visit Tayport on the banks o' the Tay,
And there ye can spend a pleasant holiday.

The village and its surroundings are magnificent to be seen,
And the shops on the High Street are tidy and clean,
And the goods, I'm sure, would please the Queen,
They cannot be surpassed in Edinburgh or Aberdeen.

And the villagers' gardens are lovely to be seen,
There sweet flowers grow and gooseberries green.
And the fragrant air will make you feel gay
While viewing the scenery there on the banks of the Tay.

Scotscraig is an ancient and a most charming spot,
And once seen by visitors will never be forgot.
'Twas there that Archbishop Sharp lived long ago,
And the flower-garden there is a very grand show.

The flower beds there are very beautiful to see,
They surpass the Baxter Park flower beds in Dundee,
And are all enclosed in a round ring,
And there the bee and the butterfly are often on the wing.

Scotscraig farm-house is magnificent to see
With its beautiful rich fields of wheat and barley,
And the farm-house steading is certainly very fine,
And the scenery is charming in the summer time.

The Serpentine Walk is a secluded spot in Scotscraig wood,
And to be walking there 'twould do one's heart good.
There the lovers can enjoy themselves in its shady bowers
By telling tales of love to wile away the tedious hours.

There innocent rabbits do sport and play
During the livelong summer day
Amongst the ivy and shrubberies green,
And screened all day from the sun's sheen.

Then, lovers of the picturesque, off and away
To the village of Tayport on the banks o' the Tay,
And ramble through Scotscraig wood,
It will, I'm sure, do your bodies good.

And, as ye walk along the Serpentine Walk,
With each other ye can have a social talk,
And ye will hear the birds singing away,
Which will make your hearts feel light and gay.

And while walking underneath the branches of the trees,
Ye will hear the humming of the bees.
Therefore, pleasure-seekers, make no delay,
But visit Scotscraig wood on a fine summer day.

There visitors can be shaded from the sun in the summer time,
While walking along the secluded Serpentine,
By the spreading branches of the big trees,
Or from the undergrowth ivy, if they please.

Do not forget to visit the old Tower,
Where Archbishop Sharp spent many an hour,
Viewing the beautiful scenery for miles away
Along the bonnie banks o' the silvery Tay.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Brothers Stuart

In the year 1843 we were, though but a boy, at a fair at
Cawdor Castle. Readers of Shakespeare's Macbeth will
have often found Cawdor mentioned therein; the village
of Cawdor is but a few miles from Culloden Moor While
we were there the old Highland people, in their broken
English, were declaring that the Stuarts were collecting
arms, and that the Clans were going to join them ; those
gentlemen wore the Highland garb, and were highly re-
spected. They had lived in Cawdor for some years ; one
of them built a Hermitage of wicker-work on high bank
of river, which remains entire and in good repair to the
present day.

Long 'ere Her Majesty the Queen
Had visited of Aberdeen,
'Ere she in castle did abide
'Mong glorious hills on the Dee side,
Or visited each Highland glen
Or won the hearts of Highlandmen,
There oft was seen in Highland dress
Two Stuarts brave in Inverness ;
Well worthy of the poet's lyre,
They claimed Prince Charlie as Grandsire,
And that they also did combine
Stuart with Royal Polish line ;
Their names, Sobieskie Stuart,
They won many a Highland heart.

But Royal order did go forth,
To build Balmoral Castle North,
Then woundrous change was quickly seen-
All hearts were captured by the Queen.

poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Upstairs In My House

No one knows what I can see and and what I see it pleases me on my roof
South pacific hot sea pool, coney island amusement school for mispent youth
Its all in my own front yard, seagulls grazing in the park and foreshore
South-east wind pins back my ears, luna park lights up the years of painless days
I like it, upstairs in my house
Dealers selling junk and trash, people spend their hard earned cash on sundays
Its quiet when they fade away, westgate bridge breakes up the day, into red sky
I like it, upstairs in my house, upstairs in my house
No one knows what I can see and what I see it pleases me on my roof
I like it, upstairs in my house, upstairs in my house

song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Make This House A Home

Well theres something in us living
Theres something you should know
There was a time for us to fall
Now its time to grow
But you know its not the way
That I intended it to be
Crossing hearts and killing souls
And trying to get down to whats real
All I ever wanted was to make this house a home
I let go of sinking sand wont you help me find a stone
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was to make this house a home
All I needed was your hand to hold
I spent so much time alone
I needed your direction
But we re-aligned my broken bones
Well theyre running from a lifeless state
Somehow we lost our hold
All we have with us is change
Left over from what started out as gold
All I ever wanted was to make this house a home
I let go of sinking sand - wont you help me find a stone
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was to make this house a home
This is what I give to you
Its flesh and blood
Its body and soul
Wont you take whats left of who I am
And try to see it whole
Im holding you responsible for every word I say
If you feel the brokenness
Wont you try and look the other way
I never meant to be so low
I only wanted you to see
That time was healing someone else
But its tearing apart the very heart of me
This is what I give to you
Its flesh and blood
Its body and soul
Wont you take whats left of who I am
And try to see it whole
All I ever wanted was to make this house a home
I let go of sinking sand - wont you help me find a stone
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was to make this house a home
So make this house a home
Make this house a home
Make this house a home

song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Building A House Of Prayer (1)

We need a house God’s praise to sing
A house in which to pray
A house to glorify our King
And serve in truth each day

Before our house we start to build
We must provide for man
Forms and documents must be filled
Consent and building plan

So much red tape must first be cut
Obstructions here and there
The lion’s mouth we need to shut
And God is everywhere

The world machine has need of oil
This truth we all must learn
Before we put a spade to soil
Money’s a grave concern

Lets give to God a willing heart
Not just with praise and prayer
From earthly wealth lets give a part
And show how much we care

Lets lend the plough a willing hand
Lets make His Son our choice
Through bricks, mortar, timber and sand
Lets raise in joy our voice

For Satan hates a house of prayer
Detests a house of praise
He’ll try to hinder everywhere
And stop each wall we raise

But God gives things that cannot fade
In hands of flesh and bone
When foundations in truth are laid
With Christ as Corner Stone…P.T.O

poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come Into My House

Welcome into my queendom (my queendom), come one come all
When it comes to lyrics I bring them (I bring them)
In spring I sing, in fall I call out to
All the ones who had a hard day
I prepared a place on my dance floor
The time is now for you to par-tay
I thought it would be a good chance for you to move
(one nation under a groove) house music always soothes
So get with the flow, lets go, yo
Can you rock to a house groove tempo?
If so, then shall we let the games begin?
What better off position can you be in?
Im on fire, the flames too hot to douse
The pool is over, come into my house
Dont make me wait, come into my house
Give me body (repeat 2x)
Heres a dance step, from now Ill kick a
Bass and treble flow through the speakers
Ride the rhythm, I know its gonna reach ya
Im the queen, latifah
Now its time to run through it
45 king? (yeah, baby? ) cue it
Yeah, there you go, I told you you could do it
Now did you enjoy it? (that was cool) I knew it
Dance to the beat of the drum, give me some
With the flavor unit Ive come to say ride the grooveline
Dont swing the pipeline, listen to the smooth line
Throw away the white line
Its a house party Im hosting (what? )
Come and rock with the one thats chosen
It cant turn me inside out (uh uh)
For those that dare, come into my house
Dont make me wait, come into my house
Give me body (repeat 2x)
Its a new fusion Im using
You ask what is it Im doing?
Hip-hop house, hip-hop jazz, with a little pizzazz
]from the queen, the queen of royal badness
Remember me from wrath of my madness?
Its my rap that rocks this party
Im a hijack and jack your body
This is not an erotic interlude
Keep in mind I move multitudes
The asiatic black woman, hardcore beat drumming
Its hard to keep a good woman down, so I keep coming
Blow for blow, I take and I get some
Still I rise in a civilized wisdom
I hope the lyrical display has you around
Its an open invitation, come into my house
Dont make me wait, come into my house
Give me body (repeat 4x)

song performed by by Queen Latifah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The house she refers to

She first told me of this house when I was a child
She wrote it in her documents and filed
A house so wild
Where the people are very cold
A house like a wrestling hold
Everyone scrambling for gold
There are murmurs and calls for hate
Which spreads amongst the offspring they procreate
To go and lie in wait
Until they receive orders to fire
At anyone who aims higher
So that they get what they require
She documents a house of takers
Wanting to acquire acres
Which they are not the makers
She documents a house of doom
Where deception is a costume
And aversion is spread from a control room
She documents a house of pain
Where there is nothing to gain
And says to me again and again
Beware and tread with care
For there are fumes of hate in the air
This she makes me aware
She tells me of this house each day
So I would not be lead astray
What then can I say
Before the bee stings
I would pray for certain things
One is for God to carry me on a pair of wings
To fly me on a fast pace
To a new place
Where He would put a smile on my face
A place of joy and peace

poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Walls

If these walls could talk,
I wonder what what would they say
Would they thank me for being painted
Or will they ask me, to wash the paint away.
Would they tell me of the pictures
That once hung upon them their
Pictures that once adorn those walls
Or I wonder would they even care.
Would they speak upon the stories
That was heard within these walls
That no one else even knows about,
That is if the stories these walls could recall.
Was there children laughter all about
Or any secrets heard and being told
I wonder what have they listened to
And I wonder if anyone will ever know.
These walls inside this house
That for years have stood alone
With the stories that was told and heard
While this house had became a home.
The Sadness that they might had seen
And the worries and sorrow that they felt
Maybe they don't want to remember it at all
And maybe they too keep it bottled upon their self.
Were they painted to cover up secrets
Was they battered as to protect someone's lies
Or were they wallpapered to cover up the truth
And did they hear the whispers and the cries.
These walls they are still standing
Through the years of the days and nights
While listening and knowing all done and said
In the darkness and also in the light.
I look at these walls just one last time
As I head home from my walk,
How I wish I knew what they heard and know,
But that is, if these walls could only talk.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House of Peers

When Britain really ruled the waves -
(In good Queen Bess's time)
The House of Peers made no pretence
To intellectual eminence,
Or scholarship sublime;
Yet Britain won her proudest bays
In good Queen Bess's glorious days!

When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,
As every child can tell,
The House of Peers, throughout the war,
Did nothing in particular,
And did it very well;
Yet Britain set the world ablaze
In good King George's glorious days!

And while the House of Peers withholds
Its legislative hand,
And noble statesmen do not itch
To interfere with matters which
They do not understand,
As bright will shine Great Britain's rays,
As in King George's glorious days!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House In The Middle Of A War Field

There was a house in the middle of a war field,
A conspicuous little dot on the vast patch of land.
And many beasts fought bloody wars around it,
Yet the house unperturbed, remained rooted to the sand.

All doors and windows of this house had been shut for aeons,
Some people lived inside away from the truth, so abominable.
They lived there guarded, sometimes pretended to not hear the cries,
Ignorance being the prime weapon in their arsenal.

One day a curious young girl in the house said something rather strange,
She wanted to see the world outside, she wanted to be freed.
Everyone disagreed, they said its too dangerous and she will perish.
But she didn't fear death, she despised the creed.

It took her decades to convince the others, and after a lot of coaxing they agreed.
Their hollowed souls were tired of simply existing, to them even death seemed like an adventure.
And so for the first time, the rusty doors of the house had opened,
The sun rays heralded a moment of enlightenment.

As the girl with the others took their first step outside,
The grains under their feet felt like acupuncture.
The armed men outside stood transfixed,
Seeing a sight they'd never witnessed before.

As for years they had brooded over the question,
That what lay behind that door.

With a heavenly voice said the girl to the soldiers,
Inside the house you will find the greatest treasures this world has seen.
The men at once dropped their weapons and ran inside the house,
The house now seemed to have lost its sheen.

As the last greedy soldier made his way inside,
The door closed behind him to never open again.
The entire house crumpled beneath its own weight,
Killing each one who entered in vain.

The people were saved all because of the girl,
Her legacy continued and they gave her a name.
Because since that day the dogmatic principles of faith,
Had been definitely put to shame.

poem by SaviorsLavish Human
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home For Love

Because the earth is vast and dark
And wet and cold;
Because man's heart wants warmth and light
Lest it grow old;

Therefore the house was built--wall, roof
And brick and beam,
By a lost hand following the lost
Delight of a dream,

And room and stair show how that hand
Groped in eager doubt,
With needless weight of teasing timber
Matching his thought--

Such fond superfluousness of strength
In wall and wood
As his half-wise, half-fearful eye
Deemed only good.

His brain he built into the house,
Laboured his bones;
He burnt his heart into the brick
And red hearth-stones.

It is his blood that makes the house
Still warm, safe, bright,
Honest as aim and eye and hand,
As clean, as light.

Because the earth is vast and dark
The house was built--
Now with another heart and fire
To be fulfilled.

poem by John Freeman
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Defeated Story poem for M lady Ernestine

A yellowed skull, still on display
above the oaken fire place
A relic from a by gone day.
Which it is possible to trace

back for five hundred years or more.
I hate the thing my host explains
grotesque against modern décor.
It can’t be moved or it complains.

The house re- echoes to its screams.
Until its back in place once more.
It’s been a fixture now it seems
Since fifteen hundred sixty four

Although it has been exorcised
and given Christian burial.
It’s very quickly recognised
there’ll be no peace until the skull

Is returned to its proper place
upon the panelled chimney breast
. A fact all owners have to face.
Though some have put it to the test.

It’s not a conversation piece.
Although subject of fierce debate.
If it is moved its screams won’t cease
until it hangs above the grate

The legend says he was betrayed
and murdered by an enemy.
Who had seduced a serving maid
who had allowed him free entry.

This story can’t be verified
No written records still remain
But I for one am terrified
and will not try to move again.

This yellowed skull from long ago,
which hangs above the fireplace.
That’s why it is there still on show
The passing years can not erase.

The skulls determination
to rest in peace just where it is
on open exhibition.
No power on earth can alter this.

The skull remains though owners change.
This ugly object quietly
defies attempts to re-arrange
ideas of where it ought to be.

In time it will disintegrate
into a pile of brownish dust
But until the we have to wait
It is quite obvious we must.

Although you think to humour me
by listening to this eerie tale.
I will admit quite openly
That’s why this house is up for sale.

I can no longer stand the skull
which grins above the mantel piece.
Although the house is beautiful
I never have a moment’s peace.

Because I’m not the master here
It seems the skull has laid its claim
allows no one to interfere.
The previous owners felt the same.

I bought it a discount price
Although I knew its history
I thought my knowledge would suffice
to solve the mystery easily..

I’ve had enough I must confess
The screaming skull has won again.
Now I would sell the house for less
than what I paid: I would regain

the peace of mind I used to know.
Before I bought this residence
that housed a skull from long ago.
I should have used my common sense.

I dismissed as an old wives tale
The legend of the screaming skull.
I little thought my dream would fail.
I thought the house was wonderful.

I’ll have to leave I cannot bear
to stay another single day
I fear the yellowed skulls cold stare
Has driven many men away.

The house has stood for centuries
Had many owners in its time.
The house itself is sure to please
but for the skull would be sublime..

This grinning relic from the past
Is the real ruler of this place.
His reign it seems is sure to last
A fact I can no longer face.

11-Mar-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inscriptions for a Friend's House

THE HOUSE

The cornerstone in Truth is laid,
The guardian walls of Honour made,
The roof of Faith is built above,
The fire upon the hearth is Love:
Though rains descend and loud winds call,
This happy house shall never fall.

THE DOORSTEAD

The lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride:
The threshold high enough to turn deceit aside:
The doorband strong enough from robbers to defend:
This door will open at a touch to welcome every friend.

THE HEARTHSTONE

When the logs are burning free,
Then the fire is full of glee:
When each heart gives out its best,
Then the talk is full of zest:
Light your fire and never fear,
Life was made for love and cheer.

THE SUN-DIAL

Time can never take
What Time did not give;
When my shadows have all passed,
You shall live.

poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The House On Centerville Road

We stopped beside the highway
And gazed at the old house
I told my wife, “That’s where I lived”
When I was just a little sprout
It looked smaller than it once did
Back so many years ago
Even then it was old and creaky
But, as a kid, I didn’t know
Weathered boards were loose and falling
Saplings grew up through the porch
The old tin roof was rusted orange
And the yard looked like a forest
Here dwells my oldest memories
From so many years ago
When our young family lived here
In the house on Centerville road

Those walls once rang with laughter
And the energy of two young lads
Riding stick horses all around the place
Trying to “herd” our collie, Pat
But, Pat knew more than we did
When she’d hear Mama shout
She’d turn us back from the road
And herd two boys toward the house
Dad got a job and we moved to town
Well before I started school
So, my memories are short and sketchy
But, I’ve found there are quite a few
My wife retrieved her camera
And as I turned the key to go
Snapped a picture from her window
Of the house on Centerville road

10/07/07

poem by C.R. Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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River

Here is the river
And I am searching it
In the map that is
On the wall of my house
That is not there.

I do not know
The mountain is in between
The river and my house
That dressedup geography
And taking me from
Place to place.

I am on my own journey
While the sky is breaking
And I with the night dream
Passing passing and passing
The hard days with
Fire of the mountain
And water of the river.

Where is the river
That I am searching
To driveout troubles
Where I am
Here is the river
Wash your face eyes
Somebody is kind enough
To tell in my house.

I am not in my house
See.
And Where am I
And the sea is here
No river no mountain
Here is the river
If you find again
Inform me please
I am grateful then.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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