The Moirai
- the taxi will ask again - the answer will be the same
there is not destination -
- the drawing lots is done
all left is the manner of cutting -
the implements wrap neatly
in butcher paper
and polished so tightly
Showing posts with label Hill House. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hill House. Show all posts
18 September 2016
Poem-A-Day #202 : The Moirai
Labels:
2016,
cutting,
death,
destinations,
destiny,
fate,
ghosts,
hauntings,
Hill House,
moirai,
poem,
poem-a-day 2.0,
poetry,
september,
shears,
shirley jackson,
summer,
taxi,
The Haunting,
The Hill House Poems
Poem-A-Day #201 : Eleanor
Eleanor
At 32 who could see the shower of stones
the calcification of small guilts
The universe inside becoming one millimeter smaller
I have been spending my life waiting for a house
to open its doors and eat me until my molecules separate
The fantastic reproaches both small and gigantic
What if you flip cards over and I guess them all right
the windows wouldn't shatter - that will come later
Or not at all
At 32 the hall of portraits of faces that are known
becomes a hall of empty frames
It constricts like an eye in the bright light of day
Youth is binge and age is purge
it is the sound of air sucking into long locked rooms
At 32 who could see the shower of stones
the calcification of small guilts
The universe inside becoming one millimeter smaller
I have been spending my life waiting for a house
to open its doors and eat me until my molecules separate
The fantastic reproaches both small and gigantic
What if you flip cards over and I guess them all right
the windows wouldn't shatter - that will come later
Or not at all
At 32 the hall of portraits of faces that are known
becomes a hall of empty frames
It constricts like an eye in the bright light of day
Youth is binge and age is purge
it is the sound of air sucking into long locked rooms
Labels:
2016,
aging,
friends,
ghosts,
halloween,
haunted,
Hill House,
houses,
loneliness,
persona,
poem,
poem-a-day 2.0,
poetry,
september,
shirley jackson,
summer,
The Haunting,
The Hill House Poems
16 September 2016
Poem-A-Day #200: House
This is a new experiment. I don't know how long it will go. These poems will be about Hill House and what occurred there.
House
Our eyes speak to the air - whisper about the world - they collude
to fuzz the surroundings - to tell a sort of truth where there is none
At rest they speak in tongues - both the air and our eyes
the air resting becomes a mist or fog that rolls and obscures
makes the going rough over the fields
Houses conspire in other ways - places become steadfast - safe
until they are places all the lines cross - they are fact and sanity
But the ways the outer walls lean in to each other - they give away
they crutch of reality - that is bends itself over the lenses of air and eye
that these permanences are only one kick to the knee away from collapse
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely
under conditions both absolute and real - eyes and air and houses
Our eyes convince us we can be safe as houses - sane as them
but these safe houses have never rested - they are not sane
House
Our eyes speak to the air - whisper about the world - they collude
to fuzz the surroundings - to tell a sort of truth where there is none
At rest they speak in tongues - both the air and our eyes
the air resting becomes a mist or fog that rolls and obscures
makes the going rough over the fields
Houses conspire in other ways - places become steadfast - safe
until they are places all the lines cross - they are fact and sanity
But the ways the outer walls lean in to each other - they give away
they crutch of reality - that is bends itself over the lenses of air and eye
that these permanences are only one kick to the knee away from collapse
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely
under conditions both absolute and real - eyes and air and houses
Our eyes convince us we can be safe as houses - sane as them
but these safe houses have never rested - they are not sane
![]() |
Ettington Park, Warwickshire, England The "Hill House" of 1963's The Haunting |
Labels:
2016,
ghosts,
halloween,
hauntings,
Hill House,
paranormal,
poem,
poem-a-day 2.0,
poetry,
september,
shirley jackson,
summer,
The Haunting,
The Hill House Poems,
vision
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