FRIDAY: The New House

by Christopher Woods

Copyright is held by the author. First published in FRANK (Paris) 1987.

Now, all geometric dreams complete,
Blueprints rolled and put away,
Other themes can dominate our sleep.
From cellar to attic there is room
For every whim, each current
And where it leads.
Days become adornments
Framed by windows,
Railed like a widow’s walk.
Dreams will come tapping on doors,
Peer like voyeurs through keyholes.

There is no rationality for a house.
It is up to us, what it can mean.
Remember how it is we stand here,
At what angles paintings hang,
Chairs are turned, how hope is poised.
It is from this moment on
That the changing begins again.

One night, one of us might not return.
Or come home, not wanting to.
The language of footsteps speaks truths
We cannot always relate in laced words.
More than a way to break the wind
And divert the storm, this new house
Is a testament, an open ended dream.

  1. Really a pleasure to read. I loved the cadence and the voice. Maybe lose the bit about breaking wind? Made me snigger, sorry!

  2. Thank you. This poem illicited all kinds of different emotions especially the last few lines. Well done. I loved it.

  3. Thoughtful and tender piece.
    I particularly liked “open ended dream.”

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