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The House on the Hill

Post No. 894

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The House on the Hill

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It stared sightlessly at the valley below.

Blinds closed to the sun, the wind, the rain.

Frozen in pain, it stood silently waiting

While the wild flowers wilted, choked by weeds,

And the cobbled path limped to the door.

Home, I thought, and felt an answering echo

From the house on the hill.

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©Denise G Allen, 06 November 2015 09:14


3 Comments

Alone

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Some upright
Others lolling
On their sides
A few slid down
Sitting on their spines
Some with open eyes
Others closed
But most unseeing
In their world
Of imagining
Of remembering
In their minds
Like moving pictures
Behind the blinds
I quashed my guilt
For failing them
Not paying them
The kindness of a call
Not popping in
However briefly
Assuring them
They are not forgotten
Not alone

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©Denise G Allen, 25 January 2014 07:26


25 Comments

Another Day

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Another day in the ‘home’

Sandwiched ‘tween two people needing care:

Insulting, abusive, offensive –

If only they were aware…

But those in charge don’t give a damn,

Cover-up, to a man,

Reporting, informing –

Considered complaining.

Let it go, maintaining the status quo.

Exposure is needed

For ‘complaints’ to be heeded;

Income outweighs all

And if you won’t play ball,

Let things be for the sake of peace,

Then you should leave.

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©Denise G Allen, 30 March 2013 04:39


24 Comments

Busy Hands

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Back in the room we were before

Where the sun remained outside the door

Eight or nine old souls are there

Each ensconced in his own chair

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Eyes cast down towards the ground

Silence reigns. The only sound

The clickety clack that needles make

Soft and rhythmic, quite hypnotic

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In, round, through, off

In, round, through, off

Her neighbour busy too folding a tissue fanned

And ironing it smooth with the other hand

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It’s quite easy to understand

The comfort gleaned from busy hands

Years of repetition ingrained

Rituals of the past retained

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With the rest of the people it’s hard to tell

Just which of them are alive and well

There’s only one who meets your eyes

Before they slide away surprised

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‘Cos no one cares if they’re alive or dead

Or fast asleep, though not in bed

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©DGA 15 January 2012 08:39


8 Comments

Where the Heart is


Where the Heart is

To me a home is a welcoming place
Where I can relax and be myself,
Shrug off all my worldly cares
And be at one with the universe.

While I take pleasure in family and friends,
I find it wonderful to return,
Welcomed back by my pets with joy,
And shut the door on the rest of the world.

Co-exist with mutual respect,
Peace at last; they understand
Love and affection with no demands,
Conflict avoided at any cost.

This is heaven on earth for me,
My sheltered harbour in the storm,
My hideaway and my sanctuary,
My haven, my refuge, my retreat.

Photo: Flickr

©DGA