The House with the Straightened Wall

Today is Poetry Friday, and it's being hosted by Linda at TeacherDance.  Pop on over and read some great poetry and check out links to poetry related blogs by some pretty great teachers, poetry lovers and poets! 

The house with the straightened wall
Stands proudly
And tall
By the sea

The house with the straightened wall
Contentedly
Waits
For me

The house with the straightened wall
Sees its time
Is soon to
Come

The house with the straightened wall
Joins my whispery
Joyful
Hum

© Donna J.T. Smith, Feb.14, 2013

It's Poetry Friday and this is my poem about the house we are renovating, Gull Haven.  It sat quite sadly for a number of years, but is now getting new walls, floors, windows, plumbing, electrical, insulation and love.  It's been a long process, but it is getting close to the time when we'll be able to stay there at least for a few days at a time.  And we'll be there full time when we are both retired.
I posted the first poem here: The House with the Wrinkled Wall.  So this one is like a followup poem to the first poem that I wrote in October of 2011 when we first purchased the house.  By this October we should be finally finished with all the work there...maybe for this summer even.

The House with the Wrinkled Wall

Posted also on Poetry Friday RoundUp hosted by Random Noodling,
and on Gull Haven, where I put updates on this house.

The house with the wrinkled wall

Stands firmly

And squat

By the sea

The house with the wrinkled wall

Waits quietly

And longs

For me

The house with the wrinkled wall

Wants warmth

And life

To tend

The house with the wrinkled wall

Sleeps still

And gray

Till then

The house with the wrinkled wall

Knows the time

Is soon

To come

The house with the wrinkled wall

Starts a low

But joyful

Hum

Waiting for Someone

The house sits alone

Waiting for someone

Who will not come;

A sealed box.

Open it tenderly.

Step quietly

Inside this

Glimpse of

Someone's life:

Clothing missing touches,

Photographs with muted voices,

Chairs dusty and cold,

Books closed and stiff,

Walls with faded, flowered curls.

Each room holding memories

Of someone.

The house sits alone

Waiting for someone

To come

To warm its core

To rekindle life

And love.

We will be

That someone now.