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Array ( [sid] => 185028 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The House my Father Built [time] => 2018-04-10 20:46:46 [hometext] => A great man, my dad [bodytext] => I was raised inside the house my father built;
Could he know with every nail he hammered in
And every door he hung in place,
How many years of love that sturdy house would hold?

Could he know how many little hands and knees
Would crawl from room to room,
Or how fast toddler feet could climb the stairs
As if, it was a carpet mountain waiting to ascend?

Could he know the flesh that sweat inside his flannel shirt
And callused hands that measured 2x4/'/s to cut,
Would build a house where morning smiles could shine
And evening eyes could rest beneath the moon lit roof?

Could he know how many memories would start in there;
From cradles, to bunk-beds used until they broke,
From homemade high-chairs and color crayon art upon the walls,
To cozy winter fires and bedtime stories read?

Does he know now, that the bench he built inside that house,
Where he sat to free his feet from well-worn boots,
Speaks just like the walls, windows and roof
Of all the hard work that it took
To create the house my father built?
[comments] => 4 [counter] => 111 [topic] => 23 [informant] => Durango [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => FamilyPoems )

The House my Father Built

Contributed by Durango on Tuesday, 10th April 2018 @ 08:46:46 PM in AEST
Topic: FamilyPoems

I was raised inside the house my father built;
Could he know with every nail he hammered in
And every door he hung in place,
How many years of love that sturdy house would hold?

Could he know how many little hands and knees
Would crawl from room to room,
Or how fast toddler feet could climb the stairs
As if, it was a carpet mountain waiting to ascend?

Could he know the flesh that sweat inside his flannel shirt
And callused hands that measured 2x4/'/s to cut,
Would build a house where morning smiles could shine
And evening eyes could rest beneath the moon lit roof?

Could he know how many memories would start in there;
From cradles, to bunk-beds used until they broke,
From homemade high-chairs and color crayon art upon the walls,
To cozy winter fires and bedtime stories read?

Does he know now, that the bench he built inside that house,
Where he sat to free his feet from well-worn boots,
Speaks just like the walls, windows and roof
Of all the hard work that it took
To create the house my father built?

Copyright © Durango ... [ 2018-04-10 20:46:46]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: The House my Father Built (User Rating: 1 )
by JamesStockdale on Wednesday, 11th April 2018 @ 01:34:29 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Beautiful poem, I fully understand. I/'/m sure he would be proud. I wrote something similar once here as well so we both seem to appreciate dear old dad! Great tribute!!!!!

http://www.your-poetry.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=183715

Re: The House my Father Built (User Rating: 1 )
by emystar on Thursday, 12th April 2018 @ 12:37:44 AM AEST
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very beautiful, tribute to your father.
emy

Re: The House my Father Built (User Rating: 1 )
by redwest802 on Saturday, 14th April 2018 @ 08:15:23 AM AEST
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A great piece dedicated to your Father. I used to do Renovations and I know those old houses, built by old hands do have stories and the will tell them if we take the time to listen. Well done on this piece

Re: The House my Father Built (User Rating: 1 )
by MoonlitAngel on Monday, 16th April 2018 @ 03:25:08 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

such lovely imagery throughout. I want to visit this house, to be one of the souls who grew up in it and raised their own children in it. this is the ultimate mundane fantasy. beautiful.

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