Fireplace Poems: 59 / 500

0029 Poet In A Wendy House

Rating: 2.5

After death visited,
they opened the house
as a museum

it was easier than clearing it
but as
Health and Safety officials
were not happy, only one
at a time, perhaps two together,
were admitted
by appointment only

there were photos of course
and framed copies
of the better-known poems
some ageing better than others
a scratchy recording
a rather musty smell

a few years after I died
I went back to look
but the house and
its predominantly green writing room
and blue glass which
the sun peered dustily through
with the hideous 1930s fireplace
painted crudely over in 1960s taste in white
looked nothing to do with me
nor the photos
nor the poems

so I abandoned what I'd thought
a rather cute idea of
being a friendly ghost
in my own museum

it just hadn't come together
as a poem should
or a life

but I left the laughter and the joy
for those who could hear it

(For Wendy, a concrete image)

fanniesson - 17 September 2006

liked enjoyed the read wish it was mine

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Scarlett Treat 07 September 2006

I wrote a poem once that I could hear my Poppy's fiddle through the old house, but it was only the wind, and I know that I shall hear your laughter, too, my dear friend. Thank you for leaving it behind - for those who can hear it.

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Lori Boulard 07 September 2006

Darn you, how do you come up with such great stuff so quickly? I'm jealous. Yes, this is wonderful. Into the favorites it goes (but should that be 'aging'?) .

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Geoff Warden 07 September 2006

well done Mike.....sorry I kinda caught a piece of yours and Wendys convers.... couldn' help me self a 10 for you.....

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