A House Is Not A Home


Buckets of slag have ceased to fly …

Don doesn’t whistle as he passes
Old TY Pennar at night –
His signal that all was well.
He’s a richer man with money,
But poorer for the loss of his Alice
Who lays old in an early grave.

Aunt Jess, too, no longer there,
Where, at a few months age,
Mother displayed me with pride
Atop a blanket on the front lawn
Twixt grandma, great and greater –
Five generations shuttered still.

Dear Miss Colebrook doesn’t smile
Nor give me a kiss from her bed.
Her windows have been changed,
Her roof renewed in slate,
Mod cons installed a’plenty,
But only now she’s gone!

Dear Aunt Marge doesn’t sit
On the wall out front, where
Gran and Grandad stood proud –
With a ginger Cat about their feet.

When all was well in their world.
When Grandma’s arms could
Make me feel at home.

It’s all changed.
They’re all entombed.


Save for mum,
Who is Ninety-Five,
Marooned in a ground-floor flat
At nearby Pontllanfraith.

… but the green, green grass remains.


© griffonner 2023
Views: 1751
critique and comments welcome.
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I like reflective poetry, and I like this one. The sadness runs through every verse. On the critique side, for me there are too many unnecessary words, a prune perhaps, to add gravity? This is just me, and others may think otherwise. In the end it’s your poem, and a good one.
In friendship


Hello dear Allen:
Oh how well you’ve presented us with a reflective and poignant piece of poetry here. I found this very well laid out. I thought each verse described the people in it well and the whole thing is tied together very nicely. Not too much information, but enough to see the people in your life who are now gone, how they impacted your life to varying degrees and then in the conclusion, which is very strong, how in the end, while nearly everyone is gone, you remain, as does hope. I liked this very much.

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