Empty House

I hate our house when there’s no one in

I miss my family and I miss the din.

The rooms and the hallway seem cold and bare

And the silence hangs like dust in the air.

What’s that sound upstairs that makes me start

Driving Fear like an icicle through my heart?

I’m imagining things, there’s nobody there –

But I have to make sure so I creep up the stair

I stand holding my breath by the bedroom door

And hear something rustling across the floor.

Then a scratching sound, a tiny cry!

I can’t seem to breathe, my throat is dry.

In the silence I hear my own heart beating

And the rumble of water in the central heating.

I should go in but I just don’t dare

So I call aloud, ‘Is anyone there?’

Nobody answers. I push open the door.

A fluttering shadow crosses the floor.

And now I see him, now understand

And I gather him gently in my hands.

‘I won’t hurt you, my friend. Don’t flutter, don’t start.’

But his body beats wild like a feathered heart.

Out through the window, watch him wheel and fly

Carrying my fear across the sky.

GARETH OWEN

Bedmobile

I hear my grandad on the stair

He’s counting, One Two Three

Bringing a rosy apple plucked

From my special climbing tree.

He brings the garden in with him

The flowers and the air

And there are twigs and petals

Tangled in his hair.

And as I eat my apple

He sits down next to me

Turning an imaginary wheel.

‘Where to today?’ says he.

And we drive our deluxe Bedmobile

To school along the heath

With the apple dribbling sweetness

Clenched between my teeth.

GARETH OWEN