by

Poetry: House sitting

Unfamiliar bedsheets. Different 
light. Playing house. Here 
I can be anything. Time
traveler. Lover. Midnight poet
lost in fog. I collect pine cone
roses. Walk the gargoyle dog
under mocking magpies. Wooden
floors creak. Could be a ship. 
I’m the captain. Ocean calls
within pink coffee cups. Dance
darling. Spin me. Do you see
those lights? Pumpkin memories
flickering. Was it a crowded
nightclub? A woodland church?
It happens again. It happens
again. Pour me another glass—
sing. Your voice calls. Sounds
like together. Like us. Like me.
I can be anything. This time.

33 thoughts on “Poetry: House sitting”

  4. I think this is you particular skill and craft. Your poems at their very best have is “raw” quality that is not shy to directly express who you are. Not clever, not over-worked, edited to the point of mud – rather, you are genuine. So rare this self-expression it is a flag drawing me, drawing all of us into its charm. We are well served by what you write and share with us. We grow from reading you.

    “I can be anything. This time.”

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    • I second all of Mr Reid’s comments. In particular I like that he quoted the final words, which to me delivered a gut-punch of meaning. Up until then we’re being carried along on the narrative’s fantasy-voyage. It’s light, whimsical, indulging the edges of dark (gargoyle dog) and the light (pine cone roses, dancing). The final words drive us to re-read everything with a different eye.

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    • You are so kind and generous with this comment. Thank you. I tried very much to make this poem something else, but I eventually came back to a more familiar place. I suppose it’s like a river, my poems. I could dam them up or divert them, but it’s so much easier if I just let them flow as they like.

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      • Amusing. Smart man used to say, wanna know your purpose in life? Look to where your energy goes, either what you spend all your effort doing, OR what you spend all your effort resisting. They both point in the same direction. As you came back to your river here. ☆

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  5. Very interesting write up poetry! I can be anything. Time
    traveler. Lover. Midnight poet
    lost in fog. I collect pine cone
    roses.
    “It happens
    again. Pour me another glass—
    sing. Your voice calls. Sounds
    like together. Like us. Like me.
    I can be anything. This time.”
    Thanks Bridgette!

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