#newhome
Only now
that I look out the window
and see no canal
with swans, paddlers
and people on the terrace
do I feel it is real
and I am not a guest
in this house with a staircase
and a strange toilet
Zoe thinks about friends
at the other school
after the holidays
Coco sets urine-marks around the garden
Slipsy is not allowed to go outside yet
and we see ourselves
in Nina - She is away more and more often
Out and about, on her way to see others
and briefly home in between
We toast to it
with old and new neighbours
We toast to our happiness
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 2:34 AM UTC
i wonder if I’ll ever fall as hard and fast as I did when I was 14.
i’m in a new house, now.
a new room.
it’s gentle here.
safer than anywhere I’ve ever been.
it’s missing a few touches still, perhaps a poster or two.
perhaps it’s missing you.
you always seemed to make a space feel more like home to me.
with careful hands
you tinkered with my own vision of where I was,
who I was,
Who I am.
in my childhood bedroom you pressed me against the window, kissed me
whirled me around, treading on soft carpets
curled locks of hair around your fingers,
cradled me to sleep.
we broke a bed, bought a new one.
we played house like we were old and married.
teasing each other, loving each other.
You taught me how to be.
you took a simple pillow, or a blanket,
flicked on the switch of a warm lamp light
put your hand in the back pocket of my jeans
and made me feel grown up.
so now I sit in my new room,
in my new house,
with my new friends,
drinking pints in the pub, cooking in the kitchen,
playing house.
making a home.
you’re not here, but I see you in the plants on the windowsill.
the candles beside my bed.
the way I can fall asleep a little faster, a little easier.
Maybe I’ve just grown up.
or maybe it will always be you,
and the memory of a life I pretended to have with you
playing out in front of me.
I think all along it was you that was home to me.
you’re everywhere in my room still, in my happiness, in my adulthood.
you showed me what it meant to be safe.
you built me a house in my head that I’ve finally let myself into.
A home.
blue shutters and a door open
for the next time I fall, however hard, however fast.
I hope you’ll come and visit, sometime.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 7:55 PM UTC
Pitter patter raindrops gently sprinkle my windows,
Thunder rumbles again.
Sky’s are dark, darker, glooming happily,
The day meanders, hiding and seeking,
and the sky starts pouring its heart out .
Pale silver threads, navigating their way down against a backdrop of green-black trees.
It is June.
And my day of revival, birth and reckoning.
Only a day away from the solstice.
Here in leafy, caressing, sleepy Goa,
the dusk will soon begin its slow, steady, inevitable drawing in.
In my secluded, fragrant, verdant labyrinth,
I sip coffee,
I notice the lone squirrel scurrying away to find shelter,
and listen to birds chirping, bees buzzing, the gurgle of water,
and to an insistent song in my head that just doesn’t stop playing but too spellbound to put pen to paper right now.
And now, as I go for a drive on this quiet, directionless, mellow afternoon,
I cannot remember the word I want to write,
I think I have no words.
The thunder is closer now.
It sounds like drumbeats , the rearranging of celestial furniture, like our transit to this beautiful abode we call home now.
Unexpectedly a bird is singing in the midst of it all unabashedly.
I think about the past.
Not in any structured way. Just people who have come and gone, who linger, who stay and who have left their indelible fragrance around me.
For a few moments, my mind wanders down the past and I sigh at my own predictability.
The thunder is passing. Grumbling and groaning in the distant now.
Each leaf looks freshly washed, scrubbed sparkling clean and shades of green hold my gaze.
The paddy fields look abundant and satiated.
The single bird has become a small chorus, a full roaring celebration on.
I stare at my page. I have still written nothing.
But, sweetness,
I just experienced divinity,
I feel blessed and just absorb the present.
I am the road and the paddy field,
I am the bird, the squirrel and the bee,
I am the thunder, and the rain,
I am the song and the quiet,
In the abundance ,
I am me, what I want to be❤️
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 10:54 AM UTC
get lost with me
disappear with me
run far from home with me
stray so far that you and me is all we'll see
forget how to go home
be free
ill get lost in your eyes
you can get lost in mine
give yourself to the earth
give yourself to me
for this moment, nothing else exists
for this moment the future doesnt matter
live in this moment
live for the touch of our hands
live by the gentle breeze
let it carry us away
get lost with me
<3
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 12:11 PM UTC
When I first met you
I didn't know for sure but
I felt that your lips were the door
to a new home.
I loved the way you said hey,
There was something so comforting
about how you said it.
The way I immediately felt at ease.
My feet planted towards yours.
My knocks on the door waiting to be
answered.
My eyes neighboring yours
through the window of your eyes.
I didn't know for sure but I felt that you
were home.
Home in the sense of being close to
you.
Home in the sense of your lips
being the welcome mat
that introduces me to your smile.
home in the sense of being close
to you.
home in the sense of where ever I go you are there.
My eyes no longer neighboring yours.
But instead learning to see the world
through your eyes
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 12:31 PM UTC
A little jay bird
Whistling through the scene
Attached to the branch
Of an birch tree.
Hopping and tweeting
Its lovely bird song
Longing and yearning
For something strange.
On wards it went to
A different place
Where stamps and
Notes thrive in any way.
Amidst the musical
Pleasures of this sort.
It misses the soul
Of the old birch tree.
However it will not
Give up
The pleasures of
The new singing jay bird.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC