How Did I Get Here
You’re going through the motions,
The days pass in a blur.
Not sure you’re making progress
Though you’re not who you once were.
You then drift a little further
And the days turn into years
And slowly, you’re left wondering
How on earth did I get here?
How Did I Get Here is a short thoughtful poem by English poet, Ms Moem. ©
Doodle
I took my pen.
I drew you out.
I got you wrong.
I rubbed you out.
I honed my craft.
I tried again.
I failed with mice
And then with men
And then with landscapes
Laced with trees.
Where others seemed to draw with ease
My lines were sloppy,
Colours weak,
Your essence greyed,
Left incomplete.
Doodle is a short poem by English poet, Ms Moem. © All rights reserved.
Metamorphosis
I’m tired of waiting, being stuck on the verge.
Done being a caterpillar, I long to emerge
As a beautiful butterfly, flying free in the world;
It’s all that I’ve dreamt of since I was a girl.
Metamorphosis is a short poem by English poet, Ms Moem. © All rights reserved.
She Is Not Me
I can’t rationally compare myself
With any other girl I see
Because I am not her and
She is not me.
She Is Not Me is a short poem about comparing yourself by English poet, Ms Moem. ©
You can buy a copy of this poem on Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/979126859/she-is-not-me-by-ms-moem-comparison-gift
Mind Reader
Sometimes I like to assume that others can read minds
So when I’m standing there in front of them, saying that I’m fine
That they’d say to me, now really, you don’t have to pretend.
I can see something is bugging you. Come on, tell me, I’m your friend.
But of course they never say that as of course I never said
As I prefer to leave things simmering and multiplying in my head.
Mind Reader is a short poem by English poet, Ms Moem. © All rights reserved.
Home
This is our base, our favourite place
our beginning and end to each day.
It’s our triumph and glory, that these walls tell stories
as they soak up all we do and say.
This is our space. Each corner is laced
with items we’ve chosen with care.
From sweet scented candles, to fixtures & handles
the atmosphere’s just right to share.
So near or so far, wherever we are,
no matter where we choose to roam
we live and we learn, but we always return;
This is the place we call home.
Home is a short poem by English poet, Ms Moem. © All rights reserved.
What does home mean to you?
If you love this poem and would like a copy to print and display in your home, you can find it here: https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/597500565/home-poem-print-printable-poetic-best
Where Else You Can Find Ms Moem’s Poems
And if you do like this poem, please consider checking out my poetry on my youtube channel http://www.youtube.com/msmoem
Or come and find me on instagram!
http://www.instagram.com/msmoem
Alternatively, if you are looking to purchase a copy of one of my poems, you might find something you like in my etsy shop! http://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/msmoem
Family Matters
You could gather a million treasures.
You could search from coast to coast.
The most valuable thing you’ll find
Is that family matters most.
Family Matters is a short poem about family by English poet, Ms Moem.
We Begin
We begin not by wanting to exist,
but by chance.
A complex dance of nature.
Nurtured. Take your
talk of fate and seek to make
more of your turn.
Learn what makes you tick
because you don’t have to stick
with what is presented;
pretending it’s your thing when it’s not.
You’ve got the power and it’s within you.
So begin.
Win your own definition of success
and don’t settle for less, as giving up
only means you ensure that it will never happen.
Break the pattern.
If chance brought you here, you have nothing to fear
by beginning.
So take a chance, and never stop swimming.
By wanting not just to exist, we begin.
We Begin is a short poem about life by English poet, Ms Moem. ©
Misplaced Composition
You were the poem that got lost.
Lines crossed and meter not quite right.
You were a bright and bouncy piece
scribbled frantically, imperfectly,
impulsively.
Some lines were more memorable than others.
The opening verse rolled pleasingly
round the mouth.
Tentative dabbling with words formed
the ambling core. The closing
stanza was somehow sketchy.
Still, you never left me.
I couldn’t image trying to
re-write you. You didn’t need to be
finished or perfect, but you spilled
onto the paper,
begging to be read.
Comfort
I am every star and butterfly.
I’m rainbows painted in the sky.
I am every memory you recall.
I am comfort. That is all.
Comfort is a short poem by Ms Moem.
