Ode to dilapidated digs! The Hampton Roads Writers Association recently challenged readers to write from this house’s perspective. Here is a moving poem of persuasion highlighting why this would still make for a good home. Enjoy!
This Old House
My wood is rotting, and my metal is rusting. The
carpet is stained, but the sun still streams
through my dirty windows.
It’s quiet now; I’ve lost my family. Even Fluffy
the dog and Streamline the cat.
No echoes of laughter or wrestling throughout;
just stale and mildewed air.
I once held six humans and kept them safe. Now I’m
left to decay and listen to the wind blow through my cracks.
Buckets of paint and happy voices could make me
shine. Stand proud and relish in what life has to offer.
Look to the right, a tattered sign lying in the weeds;
for sale it says.
Won’t you buy me? I’ll love and protect you.
Jeanette Cheezum’s work has been published on several online writing sites and in print. She’s published in fifteen anthology books and four books of poetry. Three of these books have made the New York Times Best Sellers list. Recently, she published thirteen e-books available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble for children and general adult audiences. Jeanette is a 2014 Pushcart Prize nominee and was awarded the Helium Network’s Premium Writer’s Badge and a Marketplace Writers award.
Have you ever written a story using an inanimate object as the narrator? We challenged our readers to do just that. Below is one tale told from this house’s point-of-view.
The fire is getting closer. Sirens howl in the distance, but I doubt they will make it here in time. The flames creep across the woodland, devouring homes. Looks like I’m next. I’m having a hard time accepting that my family left.
I welcomed Tim and Katie when he carried her across my threshold for the first time. I was there for every moment. My floorboards supported the crib of their firstborn. I caught their tears and absorbed the blood of their scraped knees.
Their lives got busy with jobs and kids, so I was neglected. My woodwork got dirty. My floors creaked. My siding warped. However, I overhead their dreams to fix me up and make me the gem that I once was, so I waited patiently for them. I surrounded them with unconditional love as their children grew and their lives played on. I was there for every storm, holding strong against the rain and wind to protect them.
Now I stand alone. The backyard trees crepitate within the flames as the fire encroaches the deck. Nobody is here to protect me. My wooden beams screech as the heat expands them, and my shingles curl and melt, but the pain of abandonment burns far worse than any fire.
Leigh Anne Lagoe left her nine-to-five a few years ago to finally pursue one of her passions: writing. Her first project was a self-published children’s book Drips. Now she is taking time to explore a variety of genres through short stories,writing contests, and even a novel. There are many untold stories that she would love to tell, so each day she learns a little more and works on honing those skills.