Buildings ........ Double Blind poems

[UnderYourSpell]

Nothing to see here yet, move along

 

[Piscator]

moved to discussion page

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Belmont

The house was built back in the 1800s, it was a small but gracious farmhouse.
Either side of the front door it had etched colored glass. Adjoined, an elegant verandah.
It was graced with iron lace. The old front door led into the hallway with rooms either side.
The walls were covered with gold edged, floral paper and paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites.

It was a solitary home set in thousands of acres. A large holding of Merino sheep.
Valued for their wonderful crinkly fleece, a stroking hand would leave with the scent of lanolin.
A strong wire fence with picket gate setting a boundary from the feeding sheep.
Inside, the garden flourished. A small way from the house, a metal windmill turned.

Its sound adding a metal ringing as it moved, complimenting natures calls.
Crows, Magpies, Curruwongs and sweet Bell-Birds calling out their songs.
Flocks of fluffy white merino sheep, adding their chorus of baaahr-ing baaahs.
The wind would blow wild or gently making the swaying trees whisper their secrets.

Their lives moved on and year by year, the family slowly grew larger.
The time came when a new home was needed, the old home was left in place.
A large and dignified home grew out of the first, taking its original style.
Red iron roof. A fine iron laced veranda, graced two sides of the home.

The outside was weatherboard planks neatly laid in place, painted greenish beige
Three Large Bow Windows, almost to the floor, timber painted red, flooding in the light.
The garden had grown into a place of tranquil beauty, flowers always in bloom.
Wisteria threading its lazy way up verandah poles and through the iron lace.

Springtime brought forth color and perfume, the wisteria hanging in glorious display.
A new front door had been added to the home's extension, also with etched colored glass.
Through the front door, a fine entrance and waiting area, again walls lined with floral paper.
To the right a huge billiard room with large leather chairs surrounding the big fire place

Well framed photos of family members adorned the walls, along with still life paintings.
This was such a warm and pleasant place, next to the vast tempting kitchen.
Into the kitchen a huge fuel stove burned, a big black kettle always ready for the tea
On one side the kitchen dresser, displaying Blue Willow and Cornish striped china.

Back again through the billiard room and the entrance hall, we come to the dining room.
The light flooded in from one of the bow windows, an impressive room without a doubt.
It sported a magnificent marble fireplace and enormous sideboard, carved ornately.
A dining table seating twenty, extra room for the guests, as the family had grown to fourteen.

Beyond the dining room lay a hallway, leading back toward the original home.
A multitude of bedrooms opened either side, some seemed haunted others not at all.
The very last bedroom at the front of the old house was the original parents room.
Its furnishings now antique and lovely! A full length mirror adjoining a double dressing table.

There was a bathroom and outhouses, underground cellar, a hand water pump at a deep well.
Slowly the children left their home as they grew older they went to war or were married.
Some came home, some did not. At seventy four the father died, the farm then run by just one.
He had survived the war and never married. He was on his own now, his mother left to live in a home.

When the Mother died, the children and spouses pouncing, scooped up the home's treasures.
A few things remained so the last son left there could manage to survive with the basics.
He struggled and worked mostly on his own, to keep the farm running with the help of his dog.
Finally one day after a game of bowls, a beer in his hand, he gripped his chest and died.

Year after year the house slowly disintegrated. Some of the family would just stop in at times.
They would 'salvage' pieces of the house, like some of the iron lace or other things useful.
No one cared to hammer back the boards as they slowly broke away from their timbers.
The land was sold to a rich IT nerd who got wreckers to remove the derelict old heap.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Interior

It must have been impressive,
luxurious, before smoke and age
reduced it to its present state of
gloomy melancholia,

only at night by the light from
the bar, filtered through regiments
of amber bottles, does the memory revive.

Fresh smoke covers the stale
and ample bottoms cover the battered stools.
The center of attraction is solid mahogany,
burnished to a glow by a generation of
barkeepers’ cloths, eager elbows and
the occasional drink-flushed face.

The floor, seldom seen, is carpeted,
a pattern long gone and the weave
worn thin beneath the stools.
There’s a raised area, hardly a stage
but now, with live music a memory,
the only slow-dancers are tables and chairs.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Among The Living

Feeling cornered
the walls closing in
I remain imprisoned
in this house of death
another hostage in a bizarre
television reality show
where there is no ashes to ashes
we just gather dust

Here, every cast member is a celebrity
while those living in infamy
are celebrated as well

I would say, It is the damnedest thing!
but around here
we are the epitome of things damned

damned for all eternity

Curiosities too large
or too tall
to be displayed in a curio cabinet

So, come on in! Join the party!
The more the merrier!

And perhaps when no one is looking
I will throttle one of you meat sacks
drag you by the neck across the room
kicking and gurgling into the broom closet
where we will swap duds
before I walk right out the front door
with the other Lookie Lous!

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Mobile Home

Like a hermit crab, he finds the one
that seems to fit;
(he's sampled many, and to him,
the Target® ones are best,
the reddest and most sturdy.)
Then carefully he adds each precious thing,
the bags and boxes, random scraps
he needs from day to day,
or vestiges of memories he can't explain.
Might there be family photos or a purple heart?
He couldn't tell you.
He drags his shell along with him,
bulky like a freighter
that navigates the narrow channel of the sidewalk.
He envies folks whose colored tents
form colonies beneath the bridges
but erecting those requires a science
that now is closed to him.

Across the street in a Prius
a veteran of the Summer of Love
casts frog's eyes at him and sees nothing.
She wonders if she can get
an appointment at the spa,
and whether they will legalize pot.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Exodus

He remembers those looming walls,
the barred windows where pale faces
pressed for freedom, howling soundlessly
behind the glass high above
the beautiful grounds. Manicured lawns,
scarlet flowers like blood on soil
lost to the impatient patients inside
looking out for another world.

Now the windows are empty eyes,
the gardens overgrown,
the blood lost to fallen leaves and weeds.
He can hear the howling now
on the streets muted by the medicine
of the world-weary who look out
of their own barred windows
and pretend it is all right.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Wrap Around Porches

Bobby Hamilton was as black as
Bunne's Lane public housing was
whose halogen street lamps shattered the street
where he delivered The Evening News
to ripped screen doors dogs could walk through
if ever dogs were allowed.

On Saturdays after he paid his bill
Bobby gave his profit to Momma
for suppers of Hamburger Helper
because she got her cigarettes from
his older brother, Bobby said,
with the better half of the paper routes.

Bobby knew how to fold each paper
twice as fast as I ever could,
and none of them ever fell apart
that Bobby threw for Mugs to fetch
the way he did on Sycamore Street
for stay at home Moms who gave him a treat,

and Bobby always laughed at the jokes
I told him Dad told at dinnertime
with Sunday's pot roast and chocolate ice cream
I promised he could come to some day

and wouldn't have to tell his Mom
when we made money mowing lawns
where houses had the finest porches
that wrapped around Sycamore Street.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Is that the sound of tinkling childish laughter,
or just a forgotten wind chime
finding a passing breeze?
Are fluttering curtains drawn aside
by a ghostly wraith peering out from a sepia past?
In the moonless night peeling fascias hidden,
and loose floorboards creak under unseen feet
passing through the years.
Among encroaching undergrowth, she settles
like the old lady she is.
Slowly rocking on a forgotten porch.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

My fascias are peeling,
my faucets are dry,
but I've got great mem'rys
and I'll tell you for why.

I've seen kings, crowns and princes
in states of undress,
my walls could tell stories
if they thought to confess.

Whips accepted with passion
across buttocks once white,
pink globes of perfection
lashed, a wonderful sight!

Our girls oft declared
the best in the land,
were sure to perform
both by body or hand.

But alas now they've closed us,
who's there left now to care
'bout that nefarious night
and outrageous affair?!

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I'm guessing GW for "Wrap Around Porches," for the simple reason that there is a character named "Bobby Hamilton."

 

[Magnetron]

I'm guessing GW for "Wrap Around Porches," for the simple reason that there is a character named "Bobby Hamilton."

I concur that it is GMer.

I think Bobby's name is used way too often that the entire poem is weakened.

I was almost expecting him to be pronounced dead at the end as if the name dropping was a set up for the rug being pulled out from our feet. This is not meant as a negative criticism. It just means that the constant use of a name does work in certain situations.

So I say have Bobby run over at the end by a truck delivering computers that have replaced newspapers.

Also, it would be easier to say Bobby was blacker than Bunne's because it is easier to digest.

 

[Magnetron]

Is that the sound of tinkling childish laughter,
or just a forgotten wind chime
finding a passing breeze?
Are fluttering curtains drawn aside
by a ghostly wraith peering out from a sepia past?
in the moonless night. <--- consider reversing these ---> Peeling fascias hidden
and <- delete this Loose floorboards creak under unseen feet
passing through the years.
Among encroaching undergrowth, she settles
like the old lady she is;
slowly rocking on a forgotten porch.

Self explanatory.

 

[Magnetron]

My fascias are peeling,
my faucets are dry,
but I've got great mem'rys
and I'll tell you for why.

I've seen kings, crowns and princes
in states of undress,
my walls could tell stories
if they thought to confess.

Whips accepted with passion
across buttocks once white,
pink globes of perfection
lashed, a wonderful sight!

Our girls oft declared
the best in the land,
were sure to perform
both by body or hand.

But alas now they've closed us,
who's there left now to care
'bout that nefarious night
and outrageous affair?!

I think you should replace "globes" with "mam'rys.

 

[Magnetron]

Exodus

He remembers those looming walls,
the barred windows where pale faces
pressed for freedom, howling soundlessly
behind the glass high above
the beautiful grounds. Manicured lawns,
scarlet flowers like blood on soil
lost to the impatient patients inside
looking out for another world.

Now the windows are empty eyes,
the gardens overgrown,
the blood lost to fallen leaves and weeds.
He can hear the howling now
on the streets muted by the medicine
of the world-weary who look out
of their own barred windows
and pretend it is all right.

Because of the title ands lines 1 thru 6, I get a sense of a school year ending and children fleeing the building.

Which makes me want to replace "impatient patients" with "imp-atients".

 

[Magnetron]

Mobile Home

Like a hermit crab, he finds the one
that seems to fit;
(he's sampled many, and to him,
the Target® ones are best,
the reddest and most sturdy.)
Then carefully he adds each precious thing,
the bags and boxes, random scraps
he needs from day to day,
or vestiges of memories he can't explain.
Might there be family photos or a purple heart?
He couldn't tell you.
He drags his shell along with him,
bulky like a freighter
that navigates the narrow channel of the sidewalk.
He envies folks whose colored tents
form colonies beneath the bridges
but erecting those requires a science
that now is closed to him.

Across the street in a Prius
a veteran of the Summer of Love
casts frog's eyes at him and sees nothing.
She wonders if she can get
an appointment at the spa,
and whether they will legalize pot.

I would jettison the entire 2nd stanza. It adds nothing, while the pot reference becomes a distraction.

Stanza 1 is perfect as is.

 

[Magnetron]

Among The Living

Feeling cornered
the walls closing in
I remain imprisoned
in this house of death
another hostage in a bizarre
television reality show
where there is no ashes to ashes
we just gather dust

Here, every cast member is a celebrity
while those living in infamy
are celebrated as well

I would say, It is the damnedest thing!
but around here
we are the epitome of things damned

damned for all eternity

Curiosities too large
or too tall <--- delete this
to be displayed in a curio cabinet

So, come on in! Join the party!
The more the merrier!

And perhaps when no one is looking
I will throttle one of you meat sacks
drag you by the neck across the room
kicking and gurgling into the broom closet
where we will swap duds
before I walk right out the front door
with the other Lookie Lous!

This one spends more focus on people than buildings. If I was a teacher, I would give you a D grade for not paying attention to the assignment.

 

[Magnetron]

Belmont

The house was built back in the 1800s, it was a small but gracious farmhouse.
Either side of the front door it had etched colored glass. Adjoined, an elegant verandah.
It was graced with iron lace. The old front door led into the hallway with rooms either side.
The walls were covered with gold edged, floral paper and paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites.

It was a solitary home set in thousands of acres. A large holding of Merino sheep.
Valued for their wonderful crinkly fleece, a stroking hand would leave with the scent of lanolin.
A strong wire fence with picket gate setting a boundary from the feeding sheep.
Inside, the garden flourished. A small way from the house, a metal windmill turned.

Its sound adding a metal ringing as it moved, complimenting natures calls.
Crows, Magpies, Curruwongs and sweet Bell-Birds calling out their songs.
Flocks of fluffy white merino sheep, adding their chorus of baaahr-ing baaahs.
The wind would blow wild or gently making the swaying trees whisper their secrets.

Their lives moved on and year by year, the family slowly grew larger.
The time came when a new home was needed, the old home was left in place.
A large and dignified home grew out of the first, taking its original style.
Red iron roof. A fine iron laced veranda, graced two sides of the home.

The outside was weatherboard planks neatly laid in place, painted greenish beige
Three Large Bow Windows, almost to the floor, timber painted red, flooding in the light.
The garden had grown into a place of tranquil beauty, flowers always in bloom.
Wisteria threading its lazy way up verandah poles and through the iron lace.

Springtime brought forth color and perfume, the wisteria hanging in glorious display.
A new front door had been added to the home's extension, also with etched colored glass.
Through the front door, a fine entrance and waiting area, again walls lined with floral paper.
To the right a huge billiard room with large leather chairs surrounding the big fire place

Well framed photos of family members adorned the walls, along with still life paintings.
This was such a warm and pleasant place, next to the vast tempting kitchen.
Into the kitchen a huge fuel stove burned, a big black kettle always ready for the tea
On one side the kitchen dresser, displaying Blue Willow and Cornish striped china.

Back again through the billiard room and the entrance hall, we come to the dining room.
The light flooded in from one of the bow windows, an impressive room without a doubt.
It sported a magnificent marble fireplace and enormous sideboard, carved ornately.
A dining table seating twenty, extra room for the guests, as the family had grown to fourteen.

Beyond the dining room lay a hallway, leading back toward the original home.
A multitude of bedrooms opened either side, some seemed haunted others not at all.
The very last bedroom at the front of the old house was the original parents room.
Its furnishings now antique and lovely! A full length mirror adjoining a double dressing table.

There was a bathroom and outhouses, underground cellar, a hand water pump at a deep well.
Slowly the children left their home as they grew older they went to war or were married.
Some came home, some did not. At seventy four the father died, the farm then run by just one.
He had survived the war and never married. He was on his own now, his mother left to live in a home.

When the Mother died, the children and spouses pouncing, scooped up the home's treasures.
A few things remained so the last son left there could manage to survive with the basics.
He struggled and worked mostly on his own, to keep the farm running with the help of his dog.
Finally one day after a game of bowls, a beer in his hand, he gripped his chest and died.

Year after year the house slowly disintegrated. Some of the family would just stop in at times.
They would 'salvage' pieces of the house, like some of the iron lace or other things useful.
No one cared to hammer back the boards as they slowly broke away from their timbers.
The land was sold to a rich IT nerd who got wreckers to remove the derelict old heap.

Sentences in bold need revision.

For example,

It was a small but gracious farmhouse built back in the 1800s
with etched colored glass on either side of the front door.

Now, that's the extent of my desire to point out every aspect that I think should be rewritten, because I think the whole thing it too darn long to begin with. By Stanza 6, my attention began wandering and I was wondering when something other than a history tour was going to happen.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

In 'Wrap Around Porches' stanza 3 is Mugs a dog?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I think you should replace "globes" with "mam'rys.

Aren't mam'rys boobs? I don't think they are what are being whipped!

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Sentences in bold need revision.

For example,

It was a small but gracious farmhouse built back in the 1800s
with etched colored glass on either side of the front door.

Now, that's the extent of my desire to point out every aspect that I think should be rewritten, because I think the whole thing it too darn long to begin with. By Stanza 6, my attention began wandering and I was wondering when something other than a history tour was going to happen.

Agreed a LOT of editing needed so it doesn't read like a short story with line breaks.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Interior

It must have been impressive,
luxurious, before smoke and age
reduced it to its present state of
gloomy melancholia,

only at night by the light from
the bar, filtered through regiments
of amber bottles, does the memory revive.

Fresh smoke covers the stale
and ample bottoms cover the battered stools.
The center of attraction is solid mahogany,
burnished to a glow by a generation of
barkeepers’ cloths, eager elbows and
the occasional drink-flushed face.

The floor, seldom seen, is carpeted,
a pattern long gone and the weave
worn thin beneath the stools.
There’s a raised area, hardly a stage
but now, with live music a memory,
the only slow-dancers are tables and chairs.

Punctuation is everything ............... stale and ample bottoms?

 

[Magnetron]

Aren't mam'rys boobs? I don't think they are what are being whipped!

The language suggests an alternative conclusion

"Whips accepted with passion
across buttocks once white,
pink globes of perfection
lashed, a wonderful sight!"

 

[Magnetron]

Punctuation is everything ............... stale and ample bottoms?

LOL

 

[UnderYourSpell]

The language suggests an alternative conclusion

"Whips accepted with passion
across buttocks once white,
pink globes of perfection
lashed, a wonderful sight!"

Ohhhhh! Umm well lol I suppose it depends where your mind is coming from, I never even thought of THAT sort of lashed!