Poetry

Home

Where is home?

 

Is it the place you’ve always resided,

storing memories as well as old clothes,

decorations, exercise equipment adorned with drying washing,

a teaspoon left on the draining board

after a hastily made cuppa?

 

Or is it the place where the people you love

greet you every time you appear,

whether it’s for an hour

or a week?

A place where you can be who you are,

no holding back,

and be totally, completely, accepted.

 

Where blood is not necessary to feel part of the family,

only warm smiles,

several helpings of tender sarcasm

and words that always bring

lightness of step

whenever they’ve been uttered.

Poetry

Your legs are crossed, a solid base

to ponder the long hours we spend apart,

seeking a way to change the shape

of what the timelines hold.

 

You watch the mountains change their caps,

the saplings grow wider,

see the decay of walls

and erection of new ones.

 

Eyes stare back at you,

weary, withered, hopeful.

They think you have the answer.

They think your shoulders are right to take the weight.

 

Inside, you are crumbling.

Inside, the water is building,

pushing ever against the dam.

The clock’s ticking is incessant.

 

One day you will break,

and they will accept how human you are.

Flooding everyone with the rawness.

By then, I will return,

and mend the hurts leaching you away.

Poetry

Blanket Trends

The patchwork quilt I show you,

each square lovingly sewn,

has input from all the family.

I’ve already seen yours,

and it has made me smile many times.

Now I’m showing you mine,

I catch the same twitch upwards to your lips

as plays on my own.

You finally know

how I’ve melted into your life

as if I’ve always been here.

Poetry

Grey Rainbows

Mountains rooted either side of my neck today,

watered by the grey clouds circling above.

The orange was mocking and overbearing,

a sour fruit

bereft of all zest.

It painted my mood with sepia,

and I worried it would stay that way,

conscious of what it may cause me to do.

But you were patient

and willing to overlook,

happy in the knowledge that I at least knew

what I was like

slumped against the day.

You brought rivers of music,

chestfuls of laughter

and an evening of family chatter and games.

The colours of myself returned

and wrapped me in a warm blanket

embroidered with pieces of your heart.

Poetry

Homely House

Strolling side by side, all together;

a family of yours

is a family of mine.

Laughing at jokes outsiders wouldn’t get

even if they spent an hour listening.

Because we are from the same pit of clay,

just a year apart and

different blood in our veins.

The path we’re on we will always walk,

speaking our minds

and always comfortable with each other’s thoughts.

Poetry

Home

Home is where we stand

facing the beams that hold us up.

We measure ourselves against walls and doors,

imprinting our personality

into dented paintwork and over-trafficked carpets.

We can inhabit alone,

or we can inhabit together.

Parents, siblings, friends, lovers

may move in or out,

furniture may dance together or shuffle apart,

but the foundations will always remain.

Poetry

Sand Castles

It’s the way you sit,

palms out with fingers stretching towards the horizon

and the crashing waves

dancing to the beat of your heart.

 

Your skin is weathered, cracked,

but every wrinkle holds

a lifetime of memories.

 

Flower picking at midnight under

a bright moon.

Breaths held as tales of ghostly galleons approaching the shore

are told.

Diving from the waterfall

into the lake below, ignoring mother’s warnings.

 

The clouds part at your exhale,

and you fold into the sand

as the tide pulls out.