Douglas Gillert

This Settling House

Douglas Gillert is a retired journalist and editor. He writes poetry as part of his spiritual path.

This is the journey of my soul.
Random recordings fill me
With memories and sorrows
And yes, joys.

A woman’s loving voice
Pleads with me, Listen!
Strings thrummed lightly
Fill the void.

Eighteen again, it sometimes
Seems to creep up like an unwanted
Dream that reoccurs too often
And you want to hide the sound of it.

You want to hear instead the rolling
Of the waves and the hiss of wind

Allured by the seductive tide, slowly,
Inexorably grasping and leading us back
Into the ancient and daunting sea where
Darkness hesitantly admits narrow shafts of light.

So what that the sand and grit of life
Blast through the open window and
Frayed rusted screen? So what the roar of
Late night drivers and sea lions barking?

And of sleep when it does not come
The color of the hour means little.
Reading takes light from whatever source
Determines my angle of repose;

Slipping through the cracks and crevices
Of this settling house.