Lonely House

The collected stones of a house
its damp dry-stone walls holding
onto the mountainside, shining
where the sun touches. Green
in the gaps and cracks, slates
scattered, abandoned.

A single room open to the sky
white frost in old corners.
Empty folds, sheep aren’t
called here any more.
Falling stones, a farm
slipping under grass.
A view for strangers.

Second draft. Comments, ideas, all welcome. Let me know what you think.


4 thoughts on “Lonely House

    1. I’m playing with line breaks at the moment. But my punctuation is subject to change on rewrites anyway. I’m prone to not punctuating when I write in my notebook, then when I type up I read out loud to see how it sounds. I try to get someone else to read it back to me as well, because what I know about how I want it to sound may be different to other peoples interpretation.

      It’s a difficult subject to remain passive about. So I do play around with it alot.

      Thanks for the comment.



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