As I often tend to do right before a column deadline approaches, I wander about my home office for an hour or six, glance occasionally at the blank page on my computer screen, then Google search random ideas. This month, I had an “Aha” moment as I typed in “poems about homes”. I’ve done a column or two about songs written on the themes of a house before, so it seemed like a sure bet.

However, it slowly dawned on me as I was cutting and pasting copy that you are, after all, dealing with someone’s creative efforts, likely protected by copyright. I had no prior permission to use any of their work, so I had to abandon what I had thought to be a lifesaver for this month’s column.

After another hour of pacing and avoiding my keyboard, I began to muse about how I was a writer myself after all, why couldn’t I write a poem or two about houses? How hard could that be?

Well, you’ll have to be the judge. I decided to take on a theme for the writings, so these are all odes to various rooms in houses. At least, odes from my perspective.

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The Kitchen

Fridge whirring gently against the wall in its nook,

At least today, yesterday’s racket was akin to a raging brook,

Keeping my food fresh and tasty,

Plus, a frozen turkey, for future baste-y.

(OK, that wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it might be – let’s move on to another room!)

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The Den

Oh, man cave, reprieve from the outside world,

Sports collectibles and beer fridge, my relaxation unfurled!

Big screen TV, recliner so comfy,

I could stay here long enough to become a mummy?

(Well, when you end a sentence with “comfy”, you paint yourself into a corner poetically, really… What room is next?)

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Laundry Room

Tiny room, with smells often rank and muggy,

I must cross through you to get to my garage’s motor buggy,

I hear the dryer spinning, going round and round,

Soon my pants will be back, and a t-shirt once left in a mound.

(Clearly I lean towards haiku versus epic iambic pentameter, but I have to say, these are really starting to take shape – a lead balloon is a shape, right?)

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Verandah

From my wicker chair I purvey,

A yard I just paid to survey,

Seems my back fence was built in error

I’m encroaching my neighbour, my brother – mon frère…

(I smell poetry gold! Or maybe those are just the sardines I left out on the counter after making lunch??)

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The Bedroom

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I think I just stole a verse, my peep,

That makes me restless, tossing and turning,

Another copyright infraction, in heck I will be burning!

(Great, now I’m lifting lines from far better poets than I…makes a person want to cry. Why oh why Delilah, why? What a minute – oh my!)

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The Bathroom

Here I sit, broken-hearted…

(Uhh, scratch that, I’m thinking I need to revisit some other home spaces before this column gets censored…)

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The Attic

I never get to ascend to my attic,

It’s pretty disgusting – dusty, webby and asthmatic,

However, I went to investigate a noise,

And found a box filled with my toys,

Hey, here’s my trombone and my bagpipes!

I think my wife accidentally stored my musical devices?

(Based on my failing rhymes, this seems as good a time as any to wrap things up – and I think it might be best to leave this train of thought wrapped up as well.)