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Krimpley House

He is alone in Krimpley House

playing vampire beats on the piano

around the dark winged instrument

the walls recede…

Upon the decaying oriental rug

the shells of insects

turn to dust

the windows breathe heavily

beneath the drapes of time

and lean toward the tilt

of a groaning, crumbling foundation

Do not go gentle into ruin, dear house

it’s rather like the old man, aging and stoic

alive in the corners of time

with every creak of a chair-worn intrusion

Epochs come and go

amid piano strains

tempest winds beat the house

clutching to tear it apart

at the very seams

The music meanders, seduces

seeps into the patterns of the rug

pumps stale blood

through its corridor veins

in honest horror

Krimpley house breathes

for centuries more…

Published inpoetryPoetry

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    • Thank you so much! I find poetry a bit intimidating and difficult, but I keep practicing πŸ˜€ Krimpley House just came to me one day after I had listened to students practicing their piano lessons, ha ha. You just never know what an inspiration music can be. It would be nice to possibly generate a Krimpley House story, I may have to go back and hang out with the kids for awhile! Thanks again for your gracious comment πŸ˜€

  1. Excellent. This line is my favorite “The music meanders, seduces
    seeps into the patterns of the rug
    pumps stale blood
    through its corridor veins
    in honest horror”
    And making the house “like an old man, aging and stoic”

  2. Is Krimpley House real or made up? You do so well with these creepy other-worldly pieces that I wonder if you spend your nights prowling about these sites, hanging out with ghosts and vampires and all…. You really captured the old Gothic house feeling for me with this one.

    • Thanks Pauline! Krimpley House is fiction. It’s funny, I’ve always been fascinated with ghost stories, I like watching the Dead Files on Saturday nights; otherwise, I would have to credit my older sister for having dragged me to frightening movies that scared the life out of me when I was a child πŸ˜€

  3. Oh to be able to impersonate Vincent Price and read this out loud by candle light at Halloween and scare the living daylights out of probably me. I’m sorry to bang on about your brilliance, LT so to balance things a little… I wasn’t taken by the song.
    But the POEM!!!! Just transported me right there πŸ™‚

    • Thank you, Phil. Vincent Price was so spooky and thrilling for sure. You weren’t keen on the song? Did you see the movie Lost Boys? It was one of my 1980s favorites πŸ˜€

      • I haven’t seen it and the song probably just sat in the poem’s shadow. It’s probably a grower πŸ™‚

  4. I love this: “it’s rather like the old man, aging and stoic / alive in the corners of time” I like Time having corners, it’s almost always portrayed as linear or circular. I laughed at your comment about this being inspired by kids piano lessons… and wondered what they are learning… Minor chords? The funeral march? Nicely done. I felt surrounded by creepiness. πŸ™‚

    • Thanks so much, Joan! I believe they were learning Minor chords, but of course, I have a quite vivid imagination, ha ha. Originally I began writing about the weird dude playing the piano, but the house just took over. Glad you liked the creepiness πŸ˜€

  5. Oh Lana, this is terrific, you’ve created a wonderfully haunted spooky feel to this piece. Love this section:

    ‘The music meanders, seduces

    seeps into the patterns of the rug

    pumps stale blood

    through its corridor veins’

    I’m reading this at an apt time with the piano tuner working away next door, the tones left ringing, repeating! Not a house I’d enter!πŸ˜€

    • Thank you, Annika πŸ˜€ It rather started out with writing about the man playing the piano, but then the house just took over. Perfect piano timing for your reading it. Music is so inspirational, isn’t it?

      • Isn’t it wonderful when a piece of writing can surprisingly take you somewhere unexpected, even to yourself?!πŸ˜€

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