Wednesday, March 9, 2011

the old farmhouse

old farmhouse edward fahey


i knew its sad facade
the door flung open revealing an almost empty interior

the suddenness of the gate's desperate squeal
swinging on unoiled hinges -
one fastened only by a single screw to the gatepost
so much like
the tenuous hold
the slender bony grasp
the shrill and final whispers
of a man bent on letting go
while clinging with rusted threads
to the silvered wood of his life

20 comments:

Annie said...

Love your header image. The post photo is by an artist new to me, so he's someone I'll check out. Love your description of the gate barely holding on.

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

oh this one it's beautifull

steven said...

thankyou annie! the header image is of a sidewalk during a recent day of melting. steven

steven said...

hello nouvelles couleurs! i'm glad you enjoyed it. steven

Dan Gurney said...

Nice poem. Connecting the gate to a man on his deathbed surprised me. Wonderful!

Jo said...

I choked back tears as I read this one, Steven.

It describes my mother perfectly.

Helen said...

Annie is right ... the photo is most unique and very lovely. I've come back several times to look at it. Your poem matches the beauty of the melting snow image ....

acornmoon said...

This poem strikes a chord in my heart as I slowly empty the house which has been "home" for the last 55 years and tidy away the last remnants of my father and the life he shared with my mum.

alaine@éclectique said...

Love the art...at least a building can be brought back to life!

The Weaver of Grass said...

Most beautiful words Steven.

hope said...

I recently took a photo of an old farm house that they had started tearing down. What made me pause was that the front door was open and so was the back door, allowing you to see straight through.

And then the next day when I rode by, it was just a pile of rubble. Glad I got it when I did.

As usual, nicely done Sir!

steven said...

hey dan! gates, doorways, windows are surprising in their tenacious grasp on life - if life is defined as sustaining your purpose as long as is physically possible. then they open. steven

steven said...

jo you know i've thought about you and how you're caring for your mom. i supported my wife through the flying away of her mom and her dad - both were painful and unimaginably difficult for her. the process of arriving at the flying away was little preparation for the actuality. i wish you goodness jo. steven

steven said...

thankyou helen. steven

steven said...

valerie it's an astonishing and enriching and painful experience unpacking and separating the remains of a life. you're such a talented and good person i wish you well. steven

steven said...

alaine - true enough!!! steven

steven said...

weaver thankyou. i love old buildings . . . they carry a lot of presence in them even after the bearer of the presence has flown away. steven

steven said...

hope then you were meant to see that entire experience is what i would suggest!!! steven

Linda said...

Take a hint old man winter... let go and stop clinging to rusted threads already!!! The gates of spring are squealing desperately. Bring it on!!!!!!!

Rachel Fenton said...

Acornmoon's comment is so sad. The painting is so lovely in its understatedness and the sidewalk on its side is poetry, too.