Dear Messy House

Dear messy house

I wrap you around me –

my Hermit cave.

Dear messy home,

I spread you around me –

my overflowing writer’s desk.

Dear mess, 

I place you around me –

tools for my convenience.

Dear me –

I gaze around myself

and realise there’s a problem.

Dear merciful gods,

please gather around me

and explain how it is

that when everything’s tidy,

I can’t find anything I need –

yet at a certain point 

when the place

gets messier and messier – 

I can’t find anything I need!

Written in response to Friday Writings #57: Repeating Oneself, at Poets and Storytellers United.

Cosy – or Not?

Surely it’s a winter thing, cosiness –

a matter of blankets and log fires,

of curling up on a couch with a good book,

cuddling with a furry dog or cat,

or hugging your favourite person.

It’s hot scones fresh from the oven,

your grandmother’s well-padded lap

when you were small, or your Mum’s

comforting arms, your Dad’s firm chest

to lean into, safe and sound.

It can’t be a summer thing –

when instead of hunkering down

we open, spreading our arms

to the broad sky, the sunny air,

the call of forest or ocean.

Summers, we go out – bold 

for new adventure, eager to embrace

rather than be embraced by

life in its many joys. We leap, 

shed our clothes, dance, celebrate! 

Written for Friday Writings #56: Cozy at Poets and Storytellers United. (But I spell it Australian, i.e. UK English not USA.)

Point of View

‘Those bloody bleeding hearts,’ he said, and I thought, 

‘Of course. If they’re bleeding, they would be bloody.’

‘What can you expect,’ he said, ‘from such tree-huggers?

They’re so green!’ and I wondered, was it from the leaves? 

A bleeding heart, I suppose, must be one that’s dying. A tree-hugger, though, would be embracing life. It doesn’t add up.

‘They talk a lot of rot!’ he said. But when I listened, I found

their words were not of rotting, but for keeping the living alive.

Written for Friday Writings #55: Bleeding Hearts, at Poets and Storytellers United.