Little Greek Houses

Two small white houses are perched on a hilltop
A Greek Sistine chapel of painted windows
Huddled together like safety in harness
Look out oe’r the white onyx snow
No one has seen a priest coming or going
Nor small congregation to kneel down and pray
No one has told them about the great furnace
While they sit in their houses alone

Across the red cauldron with beads of desire
A vista of tranquility
Wiping the dust from their doorsteps of fire
Trying so hard to be clean…

Mudded and lonesome and sat upon haunches
A small squatting hippo of black pumice stone
Posing forever as snapped on safari
Sinks in to the white onyx snow
No one has seen him roll over or wallow
Nor stand and be counted, no tear in his eye
No one has told him about Serengeti
As he lies upon haunches alone

Surrounded by candles of fine jasmine scent
An odour of tranquility
Wiping his eyes with the flames of torment
Trying so hard to be seen…

Perched on the clifftop live three little puffins
Nurturing eggshells while one stands on stone
Watching and waiting the clowns of their faces
Look out oe’r the vista below
No one has seen them fly out from their eerie
Nor dive in the water, no fish to bring home
No one has told them of Atlantic places
As they perch on the clifftop alone

Little Greek houses and hippos of stone
Majestic birds of the seas
Serenely with beauty I look at them now
The objects, on my mantlepiece.

© Gaia_Lorraine 2006