Waiting, I'm patiently waiting for
your ship to sail on back to shore
Time standing still, does it even exist
It's been too long since we once kissed
Your scent on my pillow fading away
Wishing and hoping you were here this day
I lay in the darkness thinking of you
and of the day all of our dreams come true
Sounds of footsteps creaking on the pine floor
Gentle knocking upon my bedroom door
Visions of beauty, visions so clear
My meaning, my whole has finally appeared
Crawl into my arms, crawl into my heart
Our two lives together, no longer apart
You WILL be home for Christmas, this I know
Though far from me, you are in silent pledge
My love for you does linger, feign to grow
It reaches out to you beyond the hedge
A hedge you've built around your blessed heart
You've shut me out, and yet I linger still
For of your soul and life I must take part
For none but you these longings can fulfill
The tree and lights and all the Christmas cheer
Dim in these eyes that fill with tears unshed
And yet I smile, for to my heart you're near
You come to me when all your words are read
At Christmas time at home you're sure to be
My heart I've made your home, and you're with me
Dancing butterflies and laughter
without a care. A day full of sweet
smelling blossoms fill the air.
Sister's golden hair glistened in the
Summer sun's glow, as Mother blew
colorful bubbles that bounced off
her little nose.
Mother's heart was always full of
love to share and the day of blossoms,
and bubbles will forever in my memories
be kept with loving care.
Precious and few are moments shared
together. This wonderful day of blossoms
and bubbles, in my heart will last forever.
April 6, 2015
Home is not merely made of four walls
Home is not merely made of roof and room
Home is where the love and affection calls
And the home is where the heart can bloom.
What it needs is something to endear it
Where formally there's no one to welcome us
But where is only kind lips to cheer it
And where there is someone to love us.
Home can never be quiet, polished and neat
But where tiny smudges of fingers small on walls
Tell the stories of far more sweet
And strewn toys, tell of kids’ play and calls.
We may roam and roam places on the earth
But home, sweet home is the place of mirth.
January 29, 2015
Seven thousand islands grace the shore
where bamboo trees alight , sun -dressed
tanned guitars humming a native lore,
dainty the womenfolk, caressed
by Asian tides’ pristine ridges
while garlands spill from their baskets
crowning fiestas with beaded wares.
And trawlers halt to relish town’s zest
the nightfall sailing on lit prayers,
when movement of joy whirls, contented
along dewed coastlines… ancestry bares
a charm rippling on balmy shed,
my dawn and night broth, this daily gland
where birth mark dwells… sweet homeland!
A home is where I run to, after a roam
Under blue skies or starry ones
Made of majesty, as found in Rome
I become there, as calm as the white swans
A home made of love
Where are heard songs of comfort
Found over the bridge of pain and above
I find in it my own strong fort
A home ecologically clean
Showing no harm to Earth
Bearing no grudge to the mean
Living is simply a matter of pure breath!
My dreamhome, one in a million, without any fear
Shall I build, along with my chosen peer!
Preferred by those that know of nothing fair.
Destroyed by sand that blows through consciousness.
Existing in a vacuum of despair.
I left that world behind I must confess.
The wheels of hope extinguished memories.
With every mile clouds would drift away.
Until the devil's valley and disease.
Were lost in natures brilliant grand foyer.
Rejoice, the mountains, rivers of my home.
Forsaken once so young and long ago.
The years have swallowed up the urge to roam.
And age has brought the need to take it slow.
Thoughts now have left me of that evil land.
Here God and nature hold me in their hand.
I remember the days of emptiness
no one seemed to be anywhere around
Love and warmth became lesser than less
the killing silence the only ear deafening sound
I'm Cathryn(*) and you're Elly I presume
"feel and be your own you and it's totally okay with me"
my dearest second mom entered the room
she sat simply and silently right in front of me
I felt no longer like a worthless black swan
her tender love and care made me feel fine
suddenly there was that shoulder to cry on
and my mother who recognized me and what was mine
she shared her inner beauty now mirrored in me
she gave birth to the little girl I always wanted to be
Written for "Sonnet on a Intimate Relationship - Poetry Contest"
(c) Elly Wouterse
(*) in Dutch spelled "Cathrien'..
Brainwaves, restless energy, lighting up the stadium. Munching
pistachio nuts, hedging my bets on the home team. Cold skin,
transmitting neural code back to ground zero, to be filed under
January. The smallest planet in my galaxy, cold, dark and lifeless.
The quiet circle of eyes, dried out eyes. Pushed and pulled,
a circumference of asteroids, charged by the kinetic
energy of their own protons, neutrons, electrons. Randomly
pairing off and splitting up in slow, January winter night cold motion.
The music plays again, a familiar battle hymn. Like a stoked fire,
the asteroids perk up under orders from ground zero. Dancing,
shouting into space, an aching proxy for the human race. Degrading
sound waves and a return to the numbing stasis of cold faces.
The spectacle finally grinds to an end, the stadium lights power down,
the frozen galaxy deflates in another unpaid tribute to the home team.
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Two Sonnets for your enjoyment, joined by the same quatrain.
Come and join my fantasy
Anyone with a mind can be a part
You just have to listen to your heart
Music adds such harmony
All spirits have compatibility
You will be happy as a lark
You will feel the joy from the start
One cannot describe the joy inside
Join me in this peaceful place
See the eagles flying with such grace
This is the home of imagination
Here dreams do come true
In this place of our creation
Interruptions are very few
Love is found on every shore
Ever after comes every day
Happy is just another way
Life in forever is never a bore
Live the memories you have stored
Here fairies and butterflies play
Come in and with me stay
You will never want to leave
Come and share my fantasy
On the wings of love fly free
This is the home of imagination
Here dreams do come true
In this place of our creation
Interruptions are very few
bricks of the wall
thirty years ago
correctly produced too slow
at last preserving old norms
finally the call
house owners have their go
holding the key that transforms
the house into their home
enjoying again their very own dome
(c) Elly Wouterse
They’ve traveled from one house to another.
Some may say they’re strong enough to go on
Without a woman to call their mother.
Attachment is pointless, soon to be gone.
Another house that will never be home.
Little children crying themselves to sleep,
wondering where they will be next to roam.
All they can do is to hope and to weep.
Will they love me enough now, I wonder.
Shall I go away or shall I stay here?
At night, I can still hear the loud thunder
of his footsteps drawing so very near.
Though I may never find my one true home,
For love, I’ve found- I’m no longer alone.
I haven't seen your face for two long years
Your comfort and warmth
I can not replace
How I have missed you since I disappeared
I've come to visit for a couple of days
Some things are missing
Others have been changed
Darling I still long for your soothing ways
If I had a chance I would come right back
I would stay right here
No place else give me the feelings I lack
I came for a visit just to see you
When I have to leave I know I'll be blue
As I was checking out the cats on view,
I saw just one who even seemed to care.
She put white paws up to the glass, this Blue
Calico with long, gray orange hair.
Although her nature mattered most to me,
I liked that she was small, with eyes of green.
And nestling in my arms, she proved to be
both gentle and uncommonly serene!
Inside our house, she didn't run or hide
like other cats that we'd brought home before.
She jumped onto the bed and lay beside
us both, then later found things to explore.
Delightful like her name was our new cat,
I couldn't have been happier for that!
For Ryan Jackson's "Animals on your mind... Poetry Contest"
I leave my heart secreted far away,
In my home, my sanctum, my hidey-hole.
Each day I leave, but every night I stay.
My heart in it's home, always safe and whole.
Where ever I wander, my heart always
Calls me home, to my family and friends.
To a nice warm bed. To a fire ablaze:
We huddle close to chat and warm our hands.
My heart, my hope, my soul, all dwell right here.
The roots of my life, trapped in a building.
Within my reach is all that I hold dear.
Memories here, carved into the molding
Yet are not people more important than
The place? I will enjoy it while I can.
Dear Jake, I know you have never met me
I life in your homeland across the sea
Our priest gave us a list of men at war
He asked us to write; I couldn’t ignore
I can but dream of the horrors you see
Applauding the way you fight so bravely
You put your life on the line every day
And my gratitude I want to convey
Your days are filled with incredible strife
Do you have children at home and a wife?
You know that your family prays for you
I want you to know that I’m praying too
If you write back, I’ll return each letter
But when you’re home safely, I’ll feel better
Written July 28, 2012
*Entry for Gail’s “Write a Heartfelt Poem to a Soldier” contest
selling a half double never easy
guess they want a whole house and nothing else
and selling our house is a bit crazy
at this house I’ve had my share of some belts
my wife is sick and tired of the people
she is from Jamaica and misses home
we have worked many jobs as a couple
and my life with her is always awesome
I’ve been here for a large part of my life
I have no clue what the future will bring
maybe soon we’ll be gone me and the wife
maybe we’ll be somewhere else by next spring
I always hated moving but I will
for this life of mine is always a thrill
While dreaming of my childhood ocean ties,
mem'ry's chandelier sheds light, somewhat eclipsed.
The essence of the salt still stings my eyes;
the rusty taste of iron hangs on my lips.
The ocean’s fragrant spray not quite so fair
as I recall; it makes me think of death.
Many a moon has set since I was there;
destiny speaks to me - my own last breath.
The ocean’s soft waves bring dulcet mem’ries,
my mama’s silk scarf brushing ‘gainst my face.
Turbulent storms always left me on my knees
under safe precipice back of our place.
It is there my dreams rest as I stand by;
it’s there I shall be buried when I die.
inspired by nette onclaud's poem from 6/12/11, Even After Twilight Loves
We miss you, nette, and long for inspirations from your pen as you have time and
energy. Meanwhile we read your poetry and pray for whatever keeps you away from us to end.
After attending a "Welcome home Viet Nam Vets" parade, seven years after the war ended.
The welcome home parade.
Old soldiers wearing pieces of their past,
ill fitting memories brought home from a war,
the pride was absent when they wore them last;
a thing they never had, they can't restore.
Expressions from the sidewalk are solemn
as marchers on the street recall a year
of fighting men; rank file and column;
of sacrifice and ridicule, and fear.
Echo's of the bugle are a memory;
the blood of fallen warriors gone to dust;
final chapters in this plotless story,
lost with precious life and a soldier's trust
The polititions listened to the street,
unbending warriors tasted the defeat.
Forming up to once more beside a brother,
step out in time and hear the cadence call
behind a flag that lay upon a soldier,
and flies behind a long black marble wall.
Conflicted thoughts masked by nervous laughter
or drowned with bottled courage by a few,
Men with matching patches on their shoulder
are asking after someone they once knew.
Up ahead the rain has soaked the bunting,
and legless men in wheelchairs side by side;
loved ones holding pictures of the missing,
and clinging still to hope that has not died.
For Vets of Viet Nam one thing is sure,
the rains that fell on this parade endure.
THE POOR MAN'S HOME
In a Poor Man's home
There is no wish
Not even on your dish;
No choice, but not boresome.
In a Poor Man's home,
Nothing is found on a silver platter;
Not even on a clay platter;
No rejoice, but not toilsome.
In a Poor Man's home
You can't pay your fees
Not even on your knees;
No voice, but in all, its awesome.
But tho' it seems today bitter
It'll be tomorrow sweeter.
Reaching, crawling, from deep within my dark,
Emerging from an almost endless night.
So thirsty in a land so dry and stark,
But I see the waves, I can see the light.
As I taste the salty blue, my soul stirs.
Reflections of a peace that I once knew,
A calling I can't deny, it allures,
For through these blue skies, I once freely flew.
Cool water awakens my sleeping soul,
Soothing my burns from a journey of pain.
Living so alone, has taken its toll,
Where love is only for personal gain.
A world without air, a world without breathe,
Will be forever home until my death.
"Home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes"
Whenever see them, my thoughts turn to you
Home grown potatoes, home grown potatoes
Whenever peel them, my thoughts turn so blue
"That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday"
Where freedom from mundane chores fade, fade
Like washing human made clothes come wash day
No more will life be feelings masquerade
"Where sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy"
Sunny day that I could just spend with you
Both free from pain we're no longer snappy
In the warm sunshine we our love renew
"In rocky catheral that reach to the sky"
"Let me kiss you,""Then close your eyes".
Stanza 1:"Home Grown Tomatoes"
Stanza 2: "Take Me Home, Country Roads"
Stanza 3: "Sunshine On My Shoulders"
Stanza 4: Line 1, "The Eagle And The Hawk"
Line 2, Two lines from:"Leaving, On A Jet Plane"
Inspired by Tracie's contest
"Sing A Song For Me"
In flooding storm canals across the way
Street racing popsicle sticks end to end...
And later crawl under the house to play
Till a spider or Jack Spania did descend.
What folly with Gabriel, Rochfords, and Clark,
In the backyard or swinging up a tree
Till Monica called us in from the dark -
And in the morrow more tomfoolery!
A boy was I - a lost age it does seem,
On the Oval steps standing ten feet tall
Cheering my heroes in white - my dream team -
Watching Carew, Hunte, Sobers, Lloyd, and Hall.
But my greatest heroes who I champion
Gave me dear Life and Love, and called me Son.
Growing up in Trinidad in the 1960s.
The "Oval" is Queens Park Oval - a cricket ground.
Jack Spania is a wasp.
The lips that kissed these tiled floors
now split to cough out damp clay dust.
Gathered in excited lungs, to build and mold forever more
under thatched roof of ripped canvas. Must
the strings that hold your heart in tune
be plucked free to dance upon the unknown noise.
That rings from peach sky mornings to hushed afternoon
in the sparrows song. Like the toys
that teach creation, Paintbrush’s whispering tongue
kisses white with every stroke. Scream
forth in colorful kindling that rung
your secrets in the wind, leaving dry lungs to dream
for knowledge as it seeps from tree rings,
the life sap frozen in amber wings.
When I pick up Sweet Williams
And inhale their spiced perfume,
I see them on the windowsill
Of our tiny old back room.
Their sweet indented petals,
Coloured every shade of pink,
Glowed so bright in that urban gloom
They almost made me blink.
They’d grown on Dad’s allotment –
An expanse of air and sun –
Along with fruits and vegetables
He brought home for my Mum.
Sweet Williams bring it home to me
I’m still the child I used to be.
Fight to the death
From sword to fiery ash, from honor to tale engraved stone
That they did until their final breath
Oh, the places that they'd roam
From soul to eternity in the abyss, from the crack of every bone to the life they had always known
And the tasks they'd undergo
To finally find that place called home
Listen, to the tale that their loss would bestow
From glory to the shadows, from the bash of every shield
To the meaning that they yield
From victory to loss, from their deaths to the banner waving in the breeze
To their burning corpses consecrating this bloody battlefield
Still to this day if you listen to the wind you can hear them cry in agony as the drum roll beats echoing beyond the trees.
I will be with you tonight,
Fondly sharing the love of your beholding sight,
Embraced meanwhile by the warmth of your absence,
Blazing passion causes me to be happy,
Distance displays disputes readily promoting a fight.
Thus conflict arouses beeping conscience,
Challenges cautiously undergone spark up our zeal,
Scattered arrangement declares the shyness of my heart,
Always adjudged is I as evidently scrappy,
True to it is our love as the mild touch of a moonlight folk tale,
My Angel; certainly our love is measurable on no earthly scale,
Fortunately I gained the love others resolved to steal,
You remain the key to unlock my passion in the illuminating darkness of a night,
Softly my heart craves for your deserved presence.
My house is leaking; doors and walls are pale
With faded paint. The floor is full of stains
I asked the owner, “Mend the problems pal
I can’t live here in this dirty dungeon
He snubbed me cool, “It’s all at your expense
You do yourself or just vacate at once
I cobbled here and there and daubed some paint
Yet looks the old abode stupid and faint
Elapsed years this way and my relic
Is crumbling now beyond any repair
It’s time I look for some new hiding niche
In my locale here or someplace somewhere
Ready I’m now to move to my new home
A kind and beautiful mother’s snug womb
There are a thousand
vines amongst mine home
An hundred wonders
burnt to knead this
The darkest skins
embrace this tender land
For when the Heavens
fall, Her praises stand.
I know a haven, soft as
soft can art
Uphill the warmest farms,
and zephyr's swell
Evergreen shrubs do
spread where does her
That place where love is
sown, and sown so well.
Oh! Bless mine heart for
breath embraced me here
A million of good hours
must dwell therein
If 'tis as sin to praise Her,
I should sin
For ne'er was laid a land
more blest, most fair.
And now I know upon
what beaux was laid
Was it not fair fortune of