These Home Couplet poems are examples of Couplet poems about Home. These are the best examples of Home Couplet poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Nightmares, jungles, blood on hands
Unjust war in distant lands
Scars that no one else can see
Memories doing battle with his sanity
Off to war, a rich man’s fool
Rich man’s son was off to school
Some came home in boxes, statistics mount
Media smiles announcing body count
Working man’s sons without a voice
Off to war without a choice
Coming home to hate, the fire fanned
Misdirected Anger in his native land
Dismayed with the war, activists groups
Pointing blame at the drafted troops
So many dead through the bloody nights
Protecting rubber trees and oil rights
After the storm, there was no calm
Soldiers coming home from Vietnam.
Dedicate to Vietnam vets who served valiantly,
unappreciated at home
There is no love, without our God;
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
I cannot stay if He’s not there,
A sense of loss would fill the air.
Fill this house with truer faith
Let, our hearts hope in Him always --
He‘ll heal spiritual beggars,
His glory abounds forever…
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
There is no love without our God.
Enter, for the kingdom is nigh,
Reach in and ask He’ll not deny.
There are blessings awaiting you,
Hope in Him, and He’ll see you through…
Open your heart, for it is home
Remember God is on the throne ~
When despair strikes – Give it to God,
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
Adell Foster©2009 Adell1
Comments: Mid Swap: Created by Jenny Buzzard from England. This is a strict structure that
repeats the first and last line as a center couplet. A syllable count of eight per line with
rhyme scheme as follows:
A plucky fellow wakes us up each day at dawn
To the tune of cock-a-doodle-do we yawn
How grateful we've been that we need no alarm
His sunrise serenade has far more charm
EXCEPT on weekends when we are free to sleep in
Want to stuff a sock in his beak 'ere he begins
So we decided to put this loud one on loan
The stud-master rooster had a new weekend home
In a neighbor's yard where chickens needed a mate
He strutted his feathered tail, made many a date
So many, in fact, that the eggs did abound
Tributes to his manhood littered the ground
Our sweet neighbor lady has cried out, "No more!"
And we want to avoid a neighborhood war
Can you take him in, not just weekends of course
Our chicks and our neighbor's demand a divorce
This unfaithful fowl needs a new chicken coop
One that is filled with an "open-minded" group
I hope there's a taker, 'cause this much is true
He could be the entree for our next barbecue
NOT JUST ANY SUNSET
This lunar sunset was what he’d most miss -
They always said death was like this :
Slo-mo and black-and-white
Like an old movie trite.
It had happened to him twice before : then
At rush hour on the G15 highway outside Shenzhen (1)
In his new red car when he was twenty;
And again on the pad at Dongfeng launch facility - (2)
An accidental fire in the cabin and abort
When the oxygen supply fell short.
The sun had glared at him all day from the black night
Familiar stars visible, coloured bright.
He ran through his old lectures in his head
The cool ones - yellow orange, red,
The hot ones which stare and emblazon,
As everything slips slowly down to the western horizon.
No loss of heat from sun, but shadows lengthening now,
Black, black, lengthening inky shadow.
His pen wrote fast across his paper notepad deformed
But the inky marks now in Pudonghua formed (3)
As his English slipped away.
He’d been here so long . . . . a month? A day?
Day is 15 earth days, night is 15 nights
And sunset lasts a whole earth day bright
Moon was full, his earth was darkened, like night.
A blue watery ball with edges of light:
While the earth eclipsed the sun
A red halo around his spinning home was spun.
Sun’s entry on earth’s western limb made slow
Red flares - crowns - as the solar disk slid low,
And earth’s red light bathed itself on white rocks beside,
He felt a last touch of home inside.
So unlike his own sunsets of the past
In his home in Guangzhou, seen last (4)
Over the Pearl River delta with bent light (5)
At the heavy monsoon rains’ height.
This taikonaut’s last sunset . . . . . his radio dead, (6)
His pen drops, and he slowly nods his head,
As sun’s warm arms envelope his earth fond,
And he slips his surly bonds. (7)
(1) A well-known dangerous highway in southern China
(2) Chinese equivalent to Kennedy Space Centre
(3) Pudonghua (=Chinese) is the language spoken in southern China
(4) Major mega-city in southern China, near Hong Kong
(5) Pearl River is the river on which Guangzhou stands
(6) Astronaut = cosmonaut = taikonaut
(7) This line is closely modeled on a line in “HIGH FLIGHT” by John Magee
Entered in Nancy Jones's Contest "LOSERS"
His life proceeded as before
even though she left his door
he still got up at half past seven
ate his gruel and prayed to heaven
he still went out to plow the fields
and calculated all the yields
from cows and chicks and eggs that hatched
he mended fences,wove the thatch
that roofed his hut in from the cold
but subtle changes could be told
he used to sing the cows back home
and whistle when he was alone
he brought her daisies every night
but now they wilted in his sight
his hair turned ashen and his eyes
paled their blue to winter skies
a tremor started in his hands
he wrote her name out in the sands
out beside the garden gate
and on that night
she chanced to wait
deciding love beneath the pines
and there behold she saw these lines...
"she left because I would not say
the words I'm writing here today,
I love you
seems so very small,
for when she left
she took my all."
'neath my family tree I found
something green and blue and brown
hatching out beneath my touch
that I love so very much
can you take it home tonight?
feed it soup and hold it tight?
I can't have it ,Heaven knows,
it wants to wear my sister's clothes
and dance around in town all day
and make confections out of clay
put it in a sachel bag
make it march and wave a flag
until it learns it must conform
it's just too different from the norm
and when you make it tow the line,
I'll take it home and make it mine.
I flat out nailed my first interview
Young and dumb without a clue
Then hired on the spot, no lying
Nervousness was my only crime
When suddenly his questions stopped
Damn it man, our eyes locked
I stood up in fear, my hand out
Ready to go home and just pout
His words were "your hired"
"I like the way your wired"
He shook my hand withe ease
Then we talked about the leads
I then asked him for an advance
Five hundred bucks, a slim chance
So when I left that interview
Holding five hundred buckaroo
I felt I had conquered the world
I drove home to kiss my girl
Caught every single green light
First time for everything, right?
With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent
The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath
As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store
If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display
I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed
I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve
I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate
My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near
On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue
I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December
Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught
In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime
To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host
Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing
Once there was a mouse that envied the castle on the hill.
It looked way more glorious than the hovel he lived in.
Every day he dreamed of what life there could truly be.
Dreams of wondrous food, plus beautiful rooms only his mind could see.
Sights from the windows each day, would deeply stir his very soul.
There would be glorious kingly meals, only a great chef could bestow.
There would be a fancy, cozy bed in a room with beauty all around.
But venturing up the hill… that is not even remotely what he found.
All the windows were too high with nothing near to climb upon.
And clouds were always obscuring any view that might be found.
The family was too old with no children to drop crumbs upon the ground.
The furniture was ancient wood with nowhere comfy to hide from their hound.
The spaces were damp and drafty wherein he found to make his bed.
Nothing was anything like what he always dreamed it would be, in his head.
So he finally scurried back to the cottage, that home he’d always deplored.
Strange, the little cottage seemed to shine, and wasn’t a hovel any more.
While he’d been gone it seemed they had missed… giving him his nightly desire.
And they had got together to build a little castle just for him, set by the fire.
Then each night they had left a beloved, yummy piece of popcorn, solely for his lair.
He had been a loved little pampered pet, nothing better could be found elsewhere.
The moral to this story is dreams are only dreams that may not come true.
No matter how green somewhere else seems, always give a warm comfy home it’s due.
Remember it’s a home filled with loving hearts… and not other things…
That will make it… The Perfect Fit for you.
Bestiary: Type of Medieval poetry
What would we do without technology?
I think we would all fall into lethargy.
I am upset because the computer is down
It's got me running all over town.
Trying to get a new modem is rough
When the provider gives you nothing but guff.
So you say to yourself "Myself I say...
Go get your writing fix in some other way!"
So over to the local library I trot
Where I can hit a keyboard and keep it hot.
Yet, I dread to go home to that box I have there
Because all I can do is sit and stare.
I could pick up a pen 'n paper I suppose
To try and write some witty prose.
But that makes my hands ache these days
Since I learned the keyboard and its simpler ways.
So I am just writing this ditty about technology lost
Because when it's down...my keaster gets frost.
And if any of you have been looking for me
My e-mails won't open so I just can't see.
Here in the library you can't speak very loud
Not the way to handle a furrowed brow.
Because I can't speak, hear, see, or write
I guess I'll just go home and call it a night.