Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “home”

10 Jul 2016

Oh, To Be

2016-07-10_Oh To Be_Thomas_Corsan_Morton_-_The_gypsy_caravan

Oh, to be a nomad and walk away
without a backward glance
knowing home is not a place on a map
but a tent I pitch over my heart, wherever I roam.

Oh, to be a gypsy and ride away,
heart dancing ahead, beckoning me onward.
All that I need I carry with me,
it is a peace desire could never bring.

Oh, to be a traveller and drive away
with a soul big enough to encompass all.
Why scrabble for a scrap of soil freehold
when I can hold the world for free.

Oh, to be a wanderer and drift away,
footsteps light and eager on countless pathways.
To leave behind the heartache of change
and our inability to accept the pain of it.

Oh, to be
just to be.

 

(painting -Thomas Corsan Morton “The Gypsy Caravan”)

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23 Jan 2016

Homecoming

Our tea ritual.
Bed ruts that fit our bodies.
Floors squeak ‘welcome home.’

#193

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07 Nov 2015
2 Comments

Rings

When I sleep I dream of things
I’ll get done today, brass rings
I’ll grasp, grand schemes come true,
the looking glass I’ll sally through.

But now I find, once I’m awake,
my plans are slightly more prosaic.
Like tiling walls, then, if I choose,
installing a new low flush loo.

I’ll do the things within my grasp
Though my brass ring be made of wax.

#116

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning #2, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , ,
12 Oct 2015

Painting a New Home With an Old Life

A new home is like an empty canvas.
Aside from the obvious fresh paint
on the walls,
there is a sense of potential,
a re-evaluation of the corporeal things
that populate our lives, shape
our routines, and represent us
to the world.

We hang a painting on the pristine wall,
place prisms in the windows to spark rainbows,
throw down a hand made rug,
and suddenly the canvas is not so empty anymore.

Some things make the cut,
others languish in liquor boxes
until the next garage sale or are abandoned
on the back doorstep of the nearest
thrift shop.
Only to be discovered by another soul
looking for new colours to splash
upon their own
empty canvas.

#90

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03 Oct 2015
4 Comments

Between Two Clouds

Above hang clouds, flat bottomed and heavy,
the propellers absentmindedly snick, snicking at
their bellies.
Below, clouds breathe and shift like a living thing.
I am in an airplane sandwich,
suspended in a pocket of clarity,
cloud above, cloud below with the sunset
spilling in from the side, trickling,
staining the slices of cloud
like the pink juice from a ripe tomato.
the bottom slice tears, the way
bread does when you try to spread
hard butter.
Lights appear in the darkness.
I am home.
#81

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning #2, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , ,
16 Apr 2013

Now That I am Home… a haiku

Now that I am home
laughter lines are deepening,
frown line fade away.

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30 Jul 2012

Greenhouse Glow

So there I was, just me and the mad dogs,
my English roots glinting in the mid day sun,
cleaning out the greenhouse.
Telling over old pots, faded seed packets, and leaky watering cans
and why do I have three of those little fork type hand tools
and only one trowel? Taking everything outside and scrubbing
off the neglect, resigning myself to consigning
the worst to the rubbish tip.

Yes there I was, the sun spinning around me
when you found me and shaking
your head said “look at your shoulders, they’re bright red”
and I looked although I knew you wouldn’t lie about
pain; current or impending
“Oh my, this is going to hurt” I thought.
I really ought to know better, and I put on
a shirt like closing the barn door and later that day,
aloe anointed, fiery red shoulders
banked to a dull glow, I sigh
“Oh well, at least I got the greenhouse cleaned out.”

#219

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25 Jul 2012
3 Comments

Brain Crumbs

When my mind goes wandering
and my thoughts begin to roam
I leave a trail of brain crumbs
to find my way back home.

But sometimes they get picked up
and carefully tucked away
by those who have no crumbs
of their own with which to play.

So if you see some brain crumbs
on some existential plane
let them lie, or I might not
find my way home again.

 

#213

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , , ,
22 Jul 2012
2 Comments

We Dream

Slugs dream of leaves.
Bats dream of bugs.
Bugs dream of sleeping
All snug in a rug.
Birds dream of worms.
Worms dream of loam.
Rabbits dream of carrots
and I dream of home

Foxes dream of mice
Mice dream of cheese.
Deer dream of nibbling
my apple trees.
Cats dream of fish.
Dogs dream of bones.
Horses dream of apples
and I dream of home.

Pigs dream of mud.
Cows dream of barns.
Frogs dream of flies
and kittens dream of yarn.
Fish dream of streams.
Bees dream of combs.
Bears dream of honey
but I dream of home.

Home with my honey
yes I dream of home.

#210

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , , ,
16 Jun 2012
2 Comments

The Long Journey Home Begins

I had almost forgotten
the song of rain on my roof
just a few yards from my face,
the coolness of grass under foot
just a few feet outside my door,
the sense of you, the only soul within miles,
just a few inches from my side.

 

#175

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , ,

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