House & Home
- Creative  Mood Writing to Inspire -

Homes as well loved

In this home of cherished walls, walls that hug in their all-squared way, we flow in the pulse of daily living. More than clay, these bricks are made of laughter. More than mortar, they are held together with love. For if you take away those things, if they are not steady and free, a house falls, does it not? This season we recoat its doorways and sills, repoint and push erosion back. For a house such as this is worth every effort, to keep it standing when we have passed.

 

Homes as strength 

It was a home of arm-deep walls, the stones of yesteryear hewn and stacked. Its door and shutters were well kempt oak; how they sang of their forest days. Within the floors were a yawn of warm and sunny squares, heat radiating from below. And into it the sunlit shone through windows two-men tall. Doorways led left and right, stone steps rose up and up. Such places are made for family and more, for a happy crowd of hearts.

 

Abandoned Home As Worthy of Rescue

A smack of shutters rents the air, scattering shrapnel as mouldy seeds. The space where a door should be is three sides of blistered paint to frame the dank and rotting dark. Another season and all that’ll remain is an obstinance of once loved walls. As my hand makes contact with the bricks, a warmth sings loud and clear. For this place has taken in the summer sun as if it were one last prayer. Who will come? Will they come? For winter’s hand is near.

Attacked, Vandalized or Damaged Home

Amid a fleet of steel gated homes, upon a jaguar street, there was one ‘gap-tooth’ dark. From smashed panes had billowed the soot of dragon’s breath, to scorch and stain the well mortared brick. Its front door, though double layered, was a smash of craters; steel toed boots no doubt. Then to cap it all was the graffiti conjured in chaotic swirls. And so though it should have been the twin of all the rest, no fires warmed it, no lights came on at twilight’s whisper, no soles beat its floors.

Nostalgia in a Home
By the door was a woven mat, fashioned from rustic strings, enriched with the mud of thousands of boots - a testimony to the life that dwelled in the house. Natalie smiled as if she could hear the laughter of the children as they returned with new memories of the woodland, infused with the sound of the streams so full after rain. The door mat could have been replaced years ago, its edges were frayed and curled, but it was still here. Sebastian had had the floor polished, the curtains made anew and the walls painted... yet still it remained, giving treasured mind-photographs, the best kind of life-nostalgia.

Helter-Skelter Hat Stand

Merriment’s helter-skelter hat stand charms,
With helix of cupcake-DNA arms,
Crooner trilbys mute wind-blown soul-alarms,
Boater straw soothes as sun-sautéed soul-balms,
Berets chic in ‘pain au chocolat’ hues,
Flat caps tailored poetry of dale-days,
Aviator sheepskins dream jazzy blues,
Tight-knit head-huggers relax in dove-greys,
Each lightly hooked on caramel twigs soft-curl,
As sprinkle swirls in a slinky slip-stream,
Around a dark-chocolate butterscotch whorl,
This hallway grand-dame sweet-sentinel cream,
So, Amelia Earhart, relax, rest-smart,
Cupcake DNA standin’ ‘til restart.
*****

May 14, 2026.

Found in Sweet 'n' Salty Poems, Collection One

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Descriptions written 2024-2026