In my aging Victorian era home
The drafty sashed windows breathe
In the breezes from across the streets.
Floral patterns of parched wallpapers
Skid about the thickened plaster walls;
Bound by an earthen gypsum of ages ago.
Dust-laden tapestries of someone else’s;
Sewn with grand fringes and lace
Bared within spindles of frayed threads.
These garmented sashes attempt to apply both style and shade
Eyebrowing the acute angles of wintertime’s sunbeams;
Pierce the transient dappled patterns of the leaden glass windows.
Patterned with etched imprints of bas-relief.
Spit valved and painted radiators;
Maintain their foothold at the sills of each frame-glazed opening.
If it were not for the pipe-looped radiance of emissive vapors
Scalding hot waters sent into infinite tunnel and tubes;
To circulate amongst the plank boards as plunged within the mice-trekked framework plenums.
Encrusted chrome nipple-tipped dischargers
Shout out hisses of quieting pleadings;
Relieving spontaneous spews of steam.
These moments are beyond the realm of synchronicity: abrupt impulsive discharge.
On and into the winter’s challenge
Frigid winds splay vectors of air bursts;
Alluding the flecking brittle-framed panes.
Blistering heat of the iron-worked boilers
Veiling heat ripples ever up to the ceiling crowned;
Ruffled curtain’s sway animate the inhaled drafts drawn inward from outside.
This dang old place.
~ an EWK Poe’em ©2016 EWK
(inspired by vivid dreams & a love of nostalgia)