General Poetry posted February 2, 2018


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A story in a poem

This House

by Janet Foor


There’s a house that is grand at the end of my street.
It has gingerbread trim and a wrought iron gate.
I just love to walk by in the hopes I might meet
the good people who live in this house so ornate.
 
I am sure that this home was once filled to the brim
with a dog and a cat and a fun family.
Now it sits all forlorn and the shrubs need a trim --
and the weeds seem to grow everywhere shamelessly.
 
The old house looks so lonely and not at all grand.
It’s unnerving and eerie as I walk about.
My sweet town has proclaimed that this place should be banned
as it scares everyone and for that, there’s no doubt.
 
So, I’m rubbing my eyes and I’m looking around
as I brazenly peer past the wall made of stone --
when this little old man made a flamboyant sound,
I am sure that he must be a Santa Claus clone.
 
And then what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but some big brawny men who were dressed in bright blue.
I ran home when I saw them my heart filled with fear,
then I woke with a start -- glad I’m safe home with you.
 

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The first line of this poem came to me one night and I thought, I will write a scary poem like Dean Kuch writes. Well, that didn't happen as you can see. I think Dean is safe with a corner on the creepy, scary, horror genre. Hard as I tried, I don't think this old house would scare anyone.

Also, stanza 5, line one is quoted from Clement Clarke Moore's 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.
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