Gale force winds shoot past my Tin box.
Alone, I bolt for its solace.
The faint smell of damp, it’s seeping power stronger than my store bought fan.
A lean to the right, it never seems to level.
Small chores niggle incessantly and rob me of my rest.
Cold, damp, loud.
Comfort is constant work.
The small suffering of it, the middle distance tension, keeps me alive.
The pain is the thrill.
This is life.
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Author:
Dirtman (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 2nd, 2020 17:49
- Comment from author about the poem: A love letter to my caravan.
- Category: Love
- Views: 24
- User favorite of this poem: Nicholas Browning.
Offline)
Comments2
GOOD EVENING DM ~ Welcome to MPS it is an empathetic site and functions by reading & commenting on each others poems ~ OK ! We love CARAVANS & CAMPERS and our most memorable trip last YEAR was two weeks exploring S Island ~ New Zealand in a VW Camper Van ~ awesome ! WE are getting married in APRIL but we have to BUY a HOUSE before we get a CAMPER ! WE find that Caravaning gives us much more freedom (and closeness !) than any other type of Holidaying and if you dont empathise with your surroundings (or the People) you just move on ! Cruises are the worst ! Its like being in a Caravan with 500+ other people ! Jumping overboard is frowned on by the Organisers ! Im 36 & My Fiancee Angela is 31 so we are just about old enough to go on CRUISES ~ but Caravanning is much more FUN !
Blessings & Peace & Joy
Yours B & A 💙🧡💙
Please check our site ~ Thanks !
This is good poetry. Looking forward to more posts.
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