This Old House

A ceiling above my head
The floor beneath my feet
Four walls around me
This old house moans and squeaks

Shadows paint the walls
Summers and ice cream days
Autumn leaves and Christmas trees
And all love says and doesn’t say

Thanksgivings come and go
Like suns into the sunset
And Christmas Eves too
Pass me much too quick

Standing in this room of mine
A witness of a former self
A ghost who has memories
Of love that is love and so much else

These my memories run
Through my heart like a river
Laughing, dancing and singing
Carrying me into forever

micropoem for the day: calendars

We live by the calendar. We die by the calendar. Weekends are our days for free-for-all stuff. Sundays are the days we take time for God and go to church, figuring the Big Guy deserves one day a week. Or at least, an hour. February 14th gets our love. March 17th is a big green party day. Easter means Spring Break. Mom and Dad get their own special day. And hey, June’s the big month for weddings. Monday mornings we’re up and off for work. As I say, we live by the calendar and we die by the calendar. I personally think any day is a good day for Talk Like A Pirate Day. Arrrrh.

the wall calendar
declares today This
That or the Other Day.