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About This Poem
Our House
‘Our House
We bought our house in 1968, for eighteen hundred pounds.
A little terrace in a row, anything bigger was out of our bounds.
It had a loo in the garden, a bath downstairs, three bedrooms.
After a couple of years, we had a bedroom turned into a bathroom. All pale blue,
Although we still kept the outside loo.
The kitchen was extended, to incorporate the old bathroom.
For us that couldn’t be to soon.
This lasted us for many years.
Although the kitchen still drove me to tears.
Then a few years ago we had the kitchen, flattened to the ground.
It cost several times more, than the original, eighteen hundred pounds.
But up sprung, brand new kitchen fittings and all.
Also a new washroom and loo, but guess what has happened to the walls.
I started writing, a little, bit by bit, now there are no walls to be seen.
They are all covered in cuttings, of stories, poems, articles, etc, photos,
or of places Ive been.
When people go to our loo, they disappear for ages,
Stuck in there reading pages after pages.
Our kitchen cupboard fronts are all covered as well.
There certainly has been a story to tell.
Life has certainly changed, beyond my wildest dreams.
Life is reflected, upon the walls, reams by reams.
‘Our House
We bought our house in 1968, for eighteen hundred pounds.
A little terrace in a row, anything bigger was out of our bounds.
It had a loo in the garden, a bath downstairs, three bedrooms.
After a couple of years, we had a bedroom turned into a bathroom. All pale blue,
Although we still kept the outside loo.
The kitchen was extended, to incorporate the old bathroom.
For us that couldn’t be to soon.
This lasted us for many years.
Although the kitchen still drove me to tears.
Then a few years ago we had the kitchen, flattened to the ground.
It cost several times more, than the original, eighteen hundred pounds.
But up sprung, brand new kitchen fittings and all.
Also a new washroom and loo, but guess what has happened to the walls.
I started writing, a little, bit by bit, now there are no walls to be seen.
They are all covered in cuttings, of stories, poems, articles, etc, photos,
or of places Ive been.
When people go to our loo, they disappear for ages,
Stuck in there reading pages after pages.
Our kitchen cupboard fronts are all covered as well.
There certainly has been a story to tell.
Life has certainly changed, beyond my wildest dreams.
Life is reflected, upon the walls, reams by reams.
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