"Resist or Release?" (Entry 434)

Unlatch heavy brass lock

That shines in sun. 

Slide French doors,

Rattle in resistance,

Submit to new position,

Moan and groan,

Open wide,

How far you go. 

"House Unloved" (Entry 432)

Uninviting,

No welcome mat before

Great rusted iron doors. 

Decades decay,

Peeling pea green paint,

Sticky splintered structure,

ancient. 

Derelict dire darkness. 

Place for dead?

Not yet. 

Unloved. Unwanted. 

A house that forgot it was once a home.

"A Glimmer of First Memory" (Entry 363)

The white towel lies on tan mat

Before three cream tiles turning

Blushing red in the gas fire. 

Heat licks,

protected by shining silver grills,

Like strawberry stained teeth 

behind cheerleader's braces. 

The dulled-by-use to brown patterned sofa sits strangely empty,

Normally filled by soft smiles and warm hugs. 

There, the memory ends. 

"Journey to a New Life" (Entry 359)

Twice cars filled. Piled high. 

Including kittens times two. 

Off on our life's journey. 

To see the southern view. 

Moving forward to a new future, town and home.

Trepid explorers on

Towards the bright unknown.  

Onward we went travelling 

In the right direction. 

'Til drives end for 

We had reached our destination. 

"Returning Home" (Entry 352)

The body listless. 

Mind buzzing. 

Key in door. 

Unlocked. 

Swing open. 

I exhale. 

In that breath,

familiar scents. 

Warm, comforting, safe. 

We are home, 

at last!

"Houseplant Haiku" (Entry 323)

Houseplant enters home. 

Shiny tongues- deep green leaves lap. 

Welcome. You belong.

"Impress and Make the Grade" (Entry 303)

Before the guests arrived...
There were tears.
Lots of them.
First celebration.
With in-laws, no less!

Lists were made.
Crossed off
and rewritten.
Again and again and,
still he had strayed!

Yes, his fault!
He hadn't helped.
Wrong wine.
Went 'off-list'.
Only his 'rents, he said.
This is such a mess!

Just his parents?
Just his eagle-eyed mother.
Spotting dust at 90 paces,
and her pecky way of eating.
Less trouble if royalty stayed.

Cushions were plumped.
Table cloth et al, ready.
Prepared.
Glasses gleaming,
free from finger marks, no less!

Ruby and emerald baubles
hung balanced throughout
the real Christmas tree.
Then she noticed,
on the lights, just one,
its glow - gone out.
Right by where the table was laid.

Enough to cause panic,
a torrent of snot-ridden tears.
He held her, and calmed her.
Then shoved the offending bulb
behind glittering balls and
plenty of needles.
An action to deflect all of this stress.

Finally, everything perfect.
The aroma of the seasons lingered
in the air, as pots bubbled in the kitchen.
A moment of joy,
before the guests arrived.
As the anxiety began to fade.

The door bell rang,
soon the house was full.
Of noises, and presents,
boots, coats and old folk.
It seemed such a good start,
even a success.

All smiles and movement
into the lounge.
Where Queen-in-law devoured
the image in a single glance.
"You've got a bulb out, did you know?"
sniffed the old maid.

They'd tried to impress.
But with one line conveyed,
contained such negativity assess.
Caused celebration downgrade.
Depress and Dismayed!

"The Terror Terrace Sets Its Tone" (Entry 246)

Small two up - two down and made of brick.
Tiles on roof piled high and think.
Drive at front, fenced garden at back.
But it's more than it seems and that's a fact!

"Basement Dwells..?" (Entry 219)

If there'd been a ghost,
We'd have kept it in the basement.
In the cupboard in the corner,
Behind the padlocked paint-peeled door.
It would scratch and howl and rattle his chains,
Wanting to scare his only joy.
If there'd been a ghost,
We'd have kept it in the basement.
If there'd been a basement at all.

"Secrets Beneath The Bricks" (Entry 207)

Each owner buys this history of property.
Every word spent and action invented,
seeps deep into bricks and wood. .
Hatred ricocheting off ceilings,
tears drown floorboards,
and laughter ripples through stipples walls.
Every house has its secrets.
They never tell, only curate.

"At A Price" (Entry 133)

The Estate Agent chattered in the background,
Something about south-facing built-in cupboards.
They glided through the first floor,
Ooohing and Aaahing at fireplaces and Aga ranges.
Then tackled the stairs to the next floor of the spectacular five storey town house.
They couldn't believe the asking price, Georgian, in such good condition too!
That was until they struck the blind of the second bedroom window. Then they discovered... and knew.

"To Change A Home" (Entry 78)

Oh, if I could - move home.
It is something I would love.
Stayed too long, want to roam.
Maybe a flat high above?
Something modern beneath a dome?
Or painted white like pure dove?
A cryptic site as dark as tomb?
That fits me like a clichéd glove!
Grab the agent, it's time to comb!

"A Brave Face" (Entry 65)

The widow's weeds hung crisply on the wardrobe door.
Starched and upright, that's how she knew she must stay.
Dower in dress and demeanour.
It was what was expected of her.

Family spoke in hushed tones the floor below.
Arranging tomorrow, remembering him, organising her.
Waiting for her to fall apart.
When she walked into the room, she expected them to be ready,
hands out ready to catch.
It was what was expected of her.

She smoothed the jacket arm,
picking off minuscule fuzz.
She wouldn't fluff up tomorrow,
she would act with decorum and respect, but
withdrawn.
It was what was expected of her.

It was what she needed to do.
To get away with his murder.

"She Lives in Shade and Shadow Street" (Entry 64)

In the shades and shadows,
almost at the end of the empty lane,
there is a woman in a window
who watches.
Her stare glares,
"I don't know you. You have no right to be here!"

For a fleeting snap, our eyes meet.
I wonder about her life, her past,
her family or lovers, her friends...
but then, she peers and jeers.
She won't let you in.

Staying at her window
than to venture into the warmth
of hello.

"Go away!" she mouths.
And we do.

"That Sinking Feline" (Entry 56)

Feline filled the sink like a furry bean bag.
Curled up, visage veiled beneath the tail.
Shock of warm ginger stripe against ceramic bright tooth white.

Door opens, light pulls on.
Cat raises a sleepy head,
blinks olive marbled eyes
and jaws a yawn to show python fangs.

He stretches and ambles to perch on the edge,
ease of balance that would put a tight rope walker to shame.
He miaows in demanding tones,
and eyes the tap and empty sink.
"Fill it up. I want a drink!"