Sydney Poetry

A social site for poets in Sydney.

Boarded House

This house is clad with boards; its knotted and splintered
shelter has become my prison it seems – deserted,
except for the windows. The windows...they vanished
in harmonious fracture as the one who loved me departed,

leaving a view of things, not yet beheld by her progeny.
Where is the rest of the world? Lost in infinity?
Beyond the fields of bladed grass and golden barley,
and above the cloud mountains that appear unearthly?

The vanished glass panes create illusions of escaping
from this abandoned dwelling in places outlying.
This boarded house resists the spring winds so soothing,
insistently creaking and groaning; like crying.

Like crying; the house itself cannot condone the things it harbor’s
as the chimney bricks glow red in degraded observance of what should not be.
Within the swaying fields, beyond the galactic storm clouds, underneath the transparent moon,
my eyes peer longingly out the pane less windows to a place I hope a traveling stranger will pass
the windmill to find me.