My secret space

 Commentary books of the old faith

Line my walls like regimented soldiers

Finding their way there by chaos and disorder

A tatty Latin school manuscript tells stories in prose

Lies splayed upside down on a shelf desk

Which if only could speak, and speak Latin

Would tell stories of empires lost and found.

This is my space below where I compose, I deliberate

I write. In comfortable surroundings, familiar light

Pours through the carbon fumed angular window.

Its peaceful here and the fan on my laptop

Sounds like the cool humming of the fridge

My cold cup of tea in my favorite, who’s the daddy

White mug, reminds me that I have to get the microwave fixed

So I can nuke the remains as tea bags are a luxury

And now days so is my health.

I’m felling especially confident today as I have a new cyber muse

Who freely bares her soul to me on the telephone

In 2 hour conversations since the day we cyber met.

she makes me see life in colours ive never seen.

Time to roll a cigarette; I buy the small packs as they convince me

I’m not a heavy smoker. Holborn light is what I like and the cute

Silhouetted elephant on the back of the packet

Suggest there’s something wise in what I am doing

When all said and done, I like it here…the obviousness of what I will find

The familiarity I don’t want to move, I don’t like change

Then the phone rings and spoils the tranquility

It’s the estate agent telling me my offer has been accepted

And I realize this space, this castle, my home will have my memories stamped

All over it but too soon will be someone else’s throne.