Thursday, April 02, 2015

The House, my Home -- Day 2 of NaPoWriMo 2015

 
 
The house, my home
.
The house that raised me is no more
First it crashed and fell, none was hurt
Then it crashed and burned, insulted

The house where I was born, first drink
The house where I said my first word
That word was "Von", beloved dog

House of memories, house is gone
House of loving, house of terror
The house can't tell, neither will I

The house was made a home, my rock
Always there for me, family
_ _ _
 
Photo and Poem Copyright
© 2015 Jimmiehov
All Rights Reserved
 
- NaPoWriMo 2015 is a project to write a poem every day in April, National Poetry Month.  I am not sure that I will write one every day, we will see.
 - Today I'm linked with Mama Zen's piece, "The House That Built Youcontinuing with Day 2 of Poems in April at the
Imaginary Garden with Real Toads  and Week Two Countdown: Day 2 of NaPoWriMo 2015
 
Notes:
2.  The old home, moved to our farm in the 1910's, pictured above had my sleeping porch on the right,  facing you.  It was this porch upon which the tree fell. 
. . .By then the house was abandoned for the raccoons to play and was never restored to be a useable porch.  In the winter I would have frost on my blanket when I awoke in the mornings.  My sister and I sold it in 2007 and the new owners bulldozed and burned our old house.

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14 Comments:

At Thursday, April 02, 2015 9:07:00 AM, Blogger Kerry O'Connor said...

What a shame to destroy that old house - it is a slice of history.

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 9:16:00 AM, Blogger Debi Swim said...

The house keeps its secrets with you. Glad you shared the picture and memories.

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 10:45:00 AM, Blogger Marian said...

"The house can't tell, neither will I"
Really good, all of it.

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 11:09:00 AM, Blogger Mama Zen said...

"The house can't tell, neither will I"

I really like that.

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 12:42:00 PM, Blogger Sherry Blue Sky said...

I was thinking, as I read, how cold that sleeping porch must have been. I resonate with "house of love, house of terror".......all old houses house stories. Some of them incredible. Sad that all that history got bulldozed over and never will be known - a wealth of stories and poems!!!!

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 1:43:00 PM, Blogger Hannah said...

Love the idea of the firsts that were born there, Jim.

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 8:26:00 PM, Blogger Gillena Cox said...

sad that you can go back to it; but that what memories are about you can carry them as long as you like and revisit through them; have a creative month

much love...

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 9:42:00 PM, Blogger Ella said...

I love the ending and how you captured the feeling as a rock. I like that house-I am sad it is gone~ My childhood home is now a summer camp-it was originally that by the bay. It is sad, but we have our memories to keep us warm~

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 10:24:00 PM, Blogger Other Mary said...

That must be a melancholy feeling to out live your childhood home.

 
At Thursday, April 02, 2015 11:13:00 PM, Blogger Susie Clevenger said...

I think every house has its secrets. My childhood home still stands, but I don't want to go back to see it.

 
At Friday, April 03, 2015 12:23:00 AM, Blogger Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Sad when they are no longer there.

 
At Friday, April 03, 2015 2:18:00 AM, Blogger grapeling said...

they say home is where the heart is ~

 
At Friday, April 03, 2015 12:27:00 PM, Blogger Magaly Guerrero said...

Jim, this is one of my favorite of your poems. I love the doubling of the houses, of feelings, of memories, and of what was... How there is happiness and secrets (that might have been of a rather unhappy nature). The final stanza is perfect.

 
At Saturday, April 04, 2015 4:42:00 AM, Blogger kaykuala said...

A lot of goings-on for a house. They kept all the secrets to themselves. If only all of them could share them with us. One often wonders! A great twist to the prompt. Enjoyed it Dr Jim!

Hank

 

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