This house

never recovered from the storms of ’93
when lightning stroked shingles, shorted out circuits;
left one side wind blown and sagging.

Tufts of moss sprout from the bowed memory
of taut boards. A plague of crickets
lurk beneath stairs; creaking their arthritic chatter.

From a threadbare recliner in a ramshackle room
I gaze over fields at a familiar view,
distorted by windows now broken and rheumy.

Ryan Stone


18 thoughts on “This house

  1. A painful depiction of a stroke victim perhaps? An aging stroke victim’s view on life? Interpreting that from the damage to one side and the rheumy eyes… great word, by the way! The image is so hauntingly beautiful, I love it. For some reason I wasn’t following you – happened to others I follow as well, so I apologize for missing any posts. Always love your words and images! πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Stunning photo and haunting, post-apocalyptic images in the poem. The “rheumy” is perfect; personifies the deterioration, just as the plague of crickets makes it seem living in a kind of death. Great poem.


  3. I really like the versatility of this poem and how it can be interpreted in so many ways. The metaphor is superb and so vivid!! Loved the pictures that you chose too. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s