Lumsden Poem
The smell of cooking fills the clean air and somewhere far
off a cow bell rings.
Bubbles fill the sink as the dishes splash into it.
Tiny ornaments twinkle in the swirly, coloured windows
and the taste of dinner fills your mouth.
Warm soapy water rests on your hands.
My place is like that.
Outside, the bushes are a maze.
Twisting turning shrubs blend with the brightly coloured flowers
and some old rusty chairs perch on the grass.
A badminton net rises tall in a clearing,
with racquets carelessly scattered beneath.
An old stone wall separates the garden
from black and white cows that roam up a grassy hill.
My place is like that
Clean, fresh air surges around you like a swarm of bees
and cows moo somewhere in the distance.
The old house stands tall and proud behind you,
your bare feet sink into the lush grass.
A sense of excitement fills your body like adrenaline,
pushing you to explore.
My place is like that
The taste of bubblegum hangs around
the pink and blue bedrooms.
The steep stairs creak with the weight of plant pots
and old CDs fill the cupboards on the indoor balcony.
Music faintly plays in living room below.
Fluffy teddy bears dot the rooms,
like sheep in a field.
A sensation of home.
And Lumsden is like that.
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| This is my eye art for Lumsden |
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