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
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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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!



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