Inspiration Shared

As promised, today’s post is a poem written by Eileen Peterson, entered in our recent “Favorite Poet / Poem / and Why?” contest.

My Dream House

(after the style of Don Blanding

By Eileen Dawson Peterson

 

Word pictures draw the shape before my eyes
of  a “Vagabond’s House” in some far paradise.

And wistfully I see that dream take shape
with every beam, and chair and drape.

My dream house could not be as bold
though just as dear as Drifter’s Gold.

Mine would instead be clean and low and bright,
a cottage built of clapboard boards of white.

With a roof  that’s neither flat nor peaked high,
of rough-hewn wooden shakes to signify

the country, cottage-look that I hold dear,
with a broad front porch, and another in the rear.

Columns wound with roses red as wine
and vibrant as rubies on a valentine.

A porch swing swaying in the breeze
invites my weary body take its ease.

All round the cottage, growing lushly there
clematis vines and roses everywhere

and peonies, iris and rhododendrons bloom,
that in the sun will execute perfume

as sweet and heady as any tropic flower
you’ll find in any south seas bower.

Just room enough for me and for
occasionally a warmly welcomed visitor.

I’ll have a bit of grass, just big enough
for Grandkids to play, though not too rough,

perhaps to kick a soccer ball or roll and play
or simply laze a whole sweet day away.

In my backyard I’ll have a special place,
a little corner just for my embrace.

There I’ll place a chair that’s comfortable and low,
where only ferns and shade flowers grow.

Oh, yes!  A gazing ball, right there, within my view
where lilacs, lilies and Shasta daisies, too

embower my special spot of privacy
There I’ll sit and sip a steaming cup of tea

and fall in love each day once more
with this house of my dreams that I adore

In my living room, open and bright,
with a large bay window to let in the light

I’ll have a fireplace of old red brick,
and carpets soft, and warm, and thick.

On the hearth there’ll be a spot I’ll save
for the cat my precious Grandsons gave.

Mico Cara, “monkey face”, a silly name
which, beautiful thing, he overcame.

And a room prepared so guests can come
where they will always feel at home.

So come, dear friends, sit on my porch with me
and share my lovely sun-filled reverie.

My favorite poem is “Vagabond’s House” by Don Blanding.  I was introduced to Blanding’s work by my High School Creative Writing teacher, Juliette Gibson, in 1952. His work is lyrical and so descriptive that I feel transported to his settings. “Vagabond’s House” particularly grabs me for it’s rhythm and it’s marvelous detail. It makes me want to live in that house. I can smell it’s exotic scents, feel it’s power, see the crowded fullness of it’s rooms, sense the sensuality of Blanding. So, when I bought my first very own house after my divorce, I wrote a poem about it after the style of “Vagabond’s House.” Thanks for this contest! Eileen Dawson Peterson