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Sonnet Home Poems | Sonnet Poems About Home

These Sonnet Home poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Home. These are the best examples of Sonnet Home poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Home Sweet Home

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

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

Blossoms And Bubbles

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

Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

Welcome Home

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




Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2014

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You'll Be Home for Christmas

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

Eileen Manassian

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet | |

If I Were Rich


If I Were Rich


If I were rich, where would I live and why?
Perhaps that would depend on what is rich.
Is rich a state of mind that we apply
to wants, compared to what we have, to which

we wish for more?  Suppose new wealth for me
would fill a greater want to move somewhere
away from home?  Perhaps live happily
aboard a yacht to languish in the air

of sea with endless waves that splash the shore?
Just sunny skies and cotton clouds to see?
Unwise to change my life for want of more,
when more might lead to lone tranquility.
 
If I were rich I would not change my ways.
With family close by, live out my days.


Sandra M. Haight

~NA~
Contest: If You Were Rich, Where Would You Live and Why?
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Judged: 11/15/2015


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

THE WAY HOME

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.

Copyright © Robert Nehls | Year Posted 2014

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ASIAN TIDES




Seven thousand islands grace the shore where bamboo trees alight , sun -dressed tanned ripples humming a native lore, dainty the womenfolk, caressed by Asian sea's pristine ridges while garlands spill from their baskets crowning fiestas with beaded wares. And trawlers halt to relish town’s zest the canoes sailing on lit prayers, when wavelets of joy twirls, contented along dewed coastlines… ancestry bares the streams winding on balmy shed, my dawn and night broth, this daily gland where birthmark dwells… sweet homeland! SKAT's Sea Contest (Old/New)

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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My Dream Home

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!

Copyright © Anoucheka Gangabissoon | Year Posted 2013

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You'll be Home for Christmas

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

Eileen Manassian

A repost....

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Temporary Home

 
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.

Copyright © Lilith Rodriguez | Year Posted 2014

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Megan's Hit

        MEGAN'S HIT
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!

                    II.

"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!
   
                   III.

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!

                   IV.

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!

                V.

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

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013

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The Home Team

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.

Copyright © James Fredholm | Year Posted 2013

Details | Italian Sonnet | |

Come and Join My Fantasy

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

Copyright © Linda Barr | Year Posted 2012

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Bringing Home Delilah

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"

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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The Home

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.

Copyright © Del Phil | Year Posted 2012

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An Expression of Gratitude

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

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2012

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Home, Sweet home

Home Sweet Home

Going off on a holiday
This always makes me feel okay
To sit by river or a lake 
Oh, how happy this does me make

Just chilling out, and drinking wine
Together with that wife of mine
Watching the birds and kangaroos
There’s many lovely things to do

But when we’ve finished, had our roam
It is so nice to go back home
To all the comforts that I love
There’s naught that I could place above

My home, sweet home, I love it there
Where so much love, we two do share

Sonnet 
Fourteen lines with eight syllables

Copyright © peter duggan | Year Posted 2016

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This Old House Comforts Me

This Old House Comforts Me 

This old house, box where I rest my weary head,
my soul sleeps here, with uneasy comfort -
these four walls, they hold my precious sanity,
a SMALL service that matters not when I am dead.
Glorious roof, keeps the rain from waking me,
blocks the beautiful night sky, a small price-
to pay for secure and very dry retreat,
yet sacrifice, sacrifice always seems the key.
Solid floors, still they creak when I pace,
familiar noise like the bark of a friendly dog-
so unlike a cat's meow that says, you serve me,
this is my sweet abode, you are easy to replace.
This old house, box where I rest my weary head,
family lives here, dog lays at foot of the bed.

Robert J. Lindley

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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Home to the Ocean

sonnet

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, 
gran-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. 



written January 29, 2013

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013

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Moving On

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



Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013

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IN A POOR MAN'S HOME

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.

Copyright © Kessie Justice Amenyo | Year Posted 2014

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SARAJEVO - Home Again

    SARAJEVO - HOME AGAIN
Don't worry little girl, you need not cry,
we know your tears, and feel them every one
and all too well, though many more must die,
you will go home again, it is not gone,

but merely re-arranged, or burned at most,
the place called home still thrives for you one day
to dream and build again, a fence, a post,
four walls to keep you safe where you can stay,

and never see again man's evil eye
nor feel the pain of hate that brought this on,
and though for now you sit alone and cry,
the bombers and the butchers will be gone.

Your home is safe, and waits for your return,
Though nothing's left, except what will not burn.
© Ron Arbuthnot

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

Home

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.

Copyright © Emily Schaffer | Year Posted 2013

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Sweet William (for Brian's "Bloom" contest)

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.

Copyright © Frances King | Year Posted 2009

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Capstone

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.

Copyright © Morgan Sully | Year Posted 2013

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A Day To Be With You

"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".

John Denver's 
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"

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sonnet | |

The Home and family

The family is the microcosm of the society
The home is the residence of the family
The home is the representation of the country
The family is the breeding ground for the nation
The family is the representation of a nation’s people
The family determines the state of the nation
The structure of a country depends on the foundation of the home
The sovereignty of a country lies on the independence of the home-front
The family determines the collective position of people in society
The health of the family is the health of the people
The state of the home is the state of the nation
The nucleus of the home is a sub-set of the nation’s pivot
The future of the children is the future of the nation
The roles of mother and father in the home is a microcosm as to how leaders run their nations.

Copyright © Chimezie Ihekuna | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

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.

Copyright © Wayne Sapp | Year Posted 2010

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Valiantly Their Souls March on Home

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. 

Copyright © Jacob Frey | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet | |

The Train That Took Them Home

Written by:  D. Collins 12/19/14

Being that it is now Christmas time.
Two influential people come to mind.
Although, they’re not here, I won't shed tears.
The world hasn’t a clue of what they did over the years.

From their stem you get a person like me.
Born to help others, but not instinctively.
I went through training on being good to the core.
Because, the way I was, caused many to quit before.

My Grandmother and her son never gave up on me.
Whatever they were seeing, I just could not see.
Their repeated repetition and expression of love.
Finally seeped in , and eventually woke me up.

So, like them, I pass along what I have learned.
Hoping to get through, before a life gets burned.
By putting in work, I hope that when I am gone.
I’ll be on that train that took them home.

Copyright © Darrell Collins | Year Posted 2014