Unfamiliar anywhere

There's this road that I drive
everyday
Yet, sometimes, coming and going from home,
I wind around one particular bend, and have no idea where I am.
I wonder if I've missed my turn, and search for a familiar landmark.
Round the next bend, I see the familiar lights of a pizza joint, and the looming pie in the sky, and breathe in to find I am back in my world again.

Home alone

I wrote this about being in the house by myself. I actually had to work at it, unlike my usual poems, which just come out whole. Let me know what you think!


I sometimes see a little ghost
out the corner of my eye
When I try to take a peek at him
he does a duck and dive

My spooky-wooky blows on the curtains
as I try to fall asleep
I hear him fiddling with the window hinge
and stalking with stocking feet

He stole my baking paper
just after I got it from the store
To torment me, he hides the kitchen door keys
and moves them from the drawer

My uninvited houseguest
- a pain as he may be -
only shows when I'm home alone
to keep my company

I give him leave to stay in my house
until my spouse returns
then he leaves as quickly as he came
... until Grant has to go again ...

long-distance love

i love you
too
in warm floaty beams
that fly across the ocean
in wavy little lines

i hope they find your heart there, and you breath them in
and stop, in the hustle and bustle of london, and smile at the thought of me

Old carrots

Have you ever noticed the way carrots feel
when you leave them out of the fridge for too long?
Rubbery and kinda textured,
a lot like a freshly dismembered finger
before it starts to rot.

the hole in my heart

a little worm, inside my chest
gnaws away, after you say
i love you

he nibbles and nips,
and chips away
until i wonder if you really mean what you say
or if you won't change your mind in the next moment

so, i know you get tired of saying it
but please realise each time it gets eaten a bit
so i'm always low on i love you

Wallflower

I remember what it was like
to be the one that turned everyone's heads
To be watched, and have my hair stroked
and told how lovely and thick and golden it is.
Old men, with a sharp intake of breath, wished they were 20 or 30 years younger.

Now, I fade,
My black dress clings too tightly
My mousey brown locks are wound tightly onto my head, to keep the wind from blowing my hair into my lipgloss.

People notice I'm there when I add something to the conversation
and they look up, surprised that I've been there all along.

It used to be me that started conversations.

I know I'm not the same me that I was on the outside,
but where has the me on the inside gone?

This empty house remembers you

The heat is trapped inside here,
from before you left.
My tearstains scar your pillow still.
You are gone; though not for long,
but I am still here trying to make sense of my bubbling feelings
with words
While I picture you, flying away, and forgetting all about this.