As Proust said, the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.

3My hope died in my mind while I late read
At night while tears dried on my pallid face.
Did excessive thoughts of  Plath focus my dread?

My mother used to say that her heart bled
But never did we share a warm embrace
A mouse died to Cain’s rue the Bible said.

We mourn the loss of  those weighed down by lead
The  heart has rooms which accidents deface
Did the flight of   Sylvia Plath focus my dread?

My mother and my father shared a bed
I  rocked in cradle wild as outer space
A mouse lived in Dad’s  shoe, that’s why he’s dead.

My mother turned from father’s lost dear head
I  had come between them, blocked the joining place
As Ariel  tempted Plath, she willed her dread

Look again, oh mother, know my face.
Respond to my new being, give me place.
As she puts on her shoe,  she says I’m dead
Did thoughts disowned by  God desire her dread?

By

Worship now my gas-on-glass new hob
To clean and gracious looks my friends aspire
I am so kitsch, so stuck up I’m a snob
Though to be frank, I love an open fire.

Or wait, it’s  ceramic halogen I want
I’ll have to buy a  full set of new pans
Regardless of the  creditors who pant
I need magnetic bases, not tin cans.

How about the old gas cooker cleaned
And ceremonially baptised till it gleams
After all, on gas, I’ve entertained
Till nothing of the meals ever remained

I think I’ll go to cafes for my meals
And after that I’ll take the ones on wheels!