My home is not this building
With it’s antiquated beams
And spiders left in the loft
It is not the garden strewn
With fruit and edibles
Nor is it the burbling stream
Pouring over idyllic cotswold stone

My home is not the red doored
House where I grew up
It is not the cracked pavement beyond
It is not the dens we built
In splintered trees out of wardrobe doors
It is not fishing for golf balls
In the leech ridden river
Nor is it the games of hopscotch
Or the misty nights of bonfire parties

My home is not…
The Edwardian Town House
Brimming with students
Finding their way in the world
It is not the common room
With pool table and
Endless Simpsons Re-Runs
Nor is it eating Haargen Dazs ice cream
At three in the morning
Whilst discussing philosophy
And finding solutions to all the worlds woes

My home is my family
A place where friends come to chat
It is the feeling that envelopes the place
The tangle of memories shared
Without us – a house is just brick and mortar
We are the home
And as such
I can never be homeless
I am lucky

Posted: Tuesday, June 28th, 2022 @ 7:09 pm
Categories: Poems.
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