House of Peace

[Yobousensou]

It's cold and
the snow is falling
on the old shingle roof

and in the house the
woodfire burns
with the proof

that the still cedars
of the Cascade hills are just as
comforting as the gentle mind

that visitors encounter in
the owner of this
house outside of time.

In poor repair and
old by local standards
the house is richly tiled

with the memories and
trinketry of three
generations of full lives.

Outside the walls
the locals change the old train town
to the demands of modern truths

but inside the world stays
serenely still in the house with
the shutters long blown loose.

A house of peace and
the simple blessing of
quiet unbroken rest;

the dirty, the poor,
the tired and scared find
the old white davenport best

for laying down or simply
thinking when all has fallen
to shambles in that outside

world of terrifying change
or beautiful dreams
that prematurely died.

For the man who finds
himself without a home or
the woman whose once this

was, the glass door is
never locked nor will they ever
find the table so full that they miss

the lost elbow room to just
one more returning soul
whose feet are worn and sore.

The old gray woman
whose house this is
still sits quiet by the door

and carries on the past
with her as the new folk
come on through

to find reprieve from worldly
scorn or judgmental words
that here do not ring as true.

And this house, broken down
and faded stands upright and strong as a refuge for the weak

and holds the love and peace
of the old gray woman
who is both kind and meek.

[QuietAstronomer]

A very sweet piece, Yo.
Enjoyed the flow and construct.
The tale was rewarding to read, in itself.


QA

[Chelle]

Indeed a tale of charity and love for one another. She comes to the end but gives all she can anyway. A good example.

[Yobousensou]

This poem is about my grandmother's house in Leavenworth, WA. Her house has always been a refuge for people in my family when life got hard or things fell apart. The door has never been locked once since she lived there. The winter time is the best when the smell of cedar wood fills the town and I would sleep there peacefully waiting for Christmas.

[QuietAstronomer]

Sounds grand.
Long for the days of being able to leave the door unlocked.



QA

[Rhonda]

What wonderful memories you have of this house. It is such a peaceful poem and makes you feel warm and cared for. You've definitely captured your grand mother's giving nature.

[Bishop]

This is such a striking sanctuary of a piece. I mean that quite literally; the work itself is as much of a sanctuary as the self-same one it describes. Herein we take solace that somewhere out there, there is a place to rest, to recuperate, to re-learn oneself, free from our many responsibilities. The descriptions are stunningly evocative, to the point where I could swear that I can smell the cedar and that musty-comfort scent of old house. It really enthralls the sensations. I love the comparisons between house, refugees and grandmother; here is a shelter for the desperate, no conditions, no questions asked, no reward wanted. Delightfully warm, tender and loving.

What a deeply marvelous woman your grandmother is and this tribute is astonishingly good. A really magical piece, you should be proud.

[Bishop]

Addendum: if the Poet Sanctuary were an actual building... I feel that this is precisely what it would look like. ^-^

[Josie]

There is always a time in life when one needs the comfort 'the House of Peace' offers and 'the old gray woman' who sits near her 'unlocked door' who is both' kind and meek' comforting others with her 'gentle mind'. This is really a very warm and welcoming reprieve from the 'outside world of terrifying change.' Congratulations!