Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Home Poems

Below are the all-time best Home poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of home poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Home poems, articles about Home poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Home poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

New Home Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Home poems are below this new poems list.

NEEDING A HOME by onclaud, nette
A Cold Home On A Bright And Snowy Street by Crisci, Andrew
Come home baby by Hamilton, John
Back Home To You by Gulley, Sharon
Tonight I came home by Davies, Jeff
Hexagon Of Home by Henderson, Steven
Home-less For Sale by Warrior, Winged
EARTH is everyone's HOME by Woo, San
Without A Home by Vossa, Della
A man goes home by Motaung, Pheko

View all new Home Poems

The Best Home Poems

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

That Potent Urge -Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right NOW

I think no stimulus could be
as potent as the one to pee.
A feeling frequent and innate
is this - the urge to urinate.
It comes each day to everyone
at work, at play, or on the run.

It comes sometimes as home you drive,
and soon you're hoping to survive
the bursting of your inner dam
while sitting in a traffic jam.
Then down the street you drive distressed
with thighs together tightly pressed.
You wish so badly it would cease
and then you pray for sweet release.
And as you drive, you ache and ache
and curse that drink you had to take.
You want to speed, but big surprise -
a cop's behind you. Squeeze those thighs
to keep inside what wants to flow!
You do not dare to let it go.
Few impulses can so compare.
Oh, how you'd love a diaper there!

Then home at last, you do a dance.
You run while pulling down your pants.
And horror, if when once inside,
you find the bathroom occupied!
WEll, just be glad it's mountain dew
you're holding in, not number two!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
when I get old? "

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Devils Riddle

The Devils Riddle

Dark is the night
Dark is the soul
Dark is the heart that used to glow

Empty are the rainbows falling from the skies
Empty of the spirits when the darkness flies by
Empty is the treasure chest of dreams long gone

Tombs hold secrets of mysteries past
Tombs hold the dark to ensure it will endure
Tombs full of treasures are barren at last

Stones are grey in silence they sit
Stones are markers of the dark run amiss
Stones look up to overcast skies

   death looks down, the final curtain call
   smirks and winks, I will soon have you all
   dark and empty you shall soon be enslaved
   to the mysteries of dark empty ways
   there is no final place that you shall rest

emoH the angel of death has declared
“oN graves the trumpets play as I shall sing”

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Home Sweet Home

At long day’s end, our thoughts may stray to where we long to wend our way- a peaceful place where we dismiss all things in life that are amiss, and none are wont to cause dismay. Our footsteps hasten us to this: the warmth of hearth, the welcome kiss. For those less fortunate I pray a home sweet home they'll find one day.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Have a Blessed 4th of July-

As today.. tis 4th of July
May Blessings come 
before Your eyes
All Praise and Glory
be to God Almighty

As You watch and see 
Beyond and within Fireworks
Sparkling lights glares
Beholding Lights of Beauty
Love of God everywhere

when You see Fire-lights
Sparkling within the night
Tis just like
God Beauty is given Inside
Behold beautiful Souls 
Whom within hearts
Fire-lights are Lit-Glow

In hopes that others
Shall see.. come to Believe
God's Radiant Light
Given His Gift of Love
Only Through Our Savior
Jesus Christ...

Then whomsoever
Comes to Jesus
Fire-Lights of Love lit-within
Born-again.. Free from their sin
God's Glorious Light
Shall Always Shine
Within Our Hearts.. Souls.. Minds

Awaiting for the Precious time
When Our Savior.. Our Messiah
Comes to take Us home 
up High.. within the Sky..

Behold.. All Born-again Souls
Hearts on Fire-Lights Glow
As Radiant.. Beautiful Love
Sparkling Star-bursts Lights

Showers of Glorious Love 
Radiant and Bright
As Jesus comes from Heavens 
Lights Bursting in Air
Souls together everywhere
Gether High in Sky.. 
Meeting Our Glorious Light
Our Savior..  Jesus Christ

Come to Jesus
Beautiful Colors bursting of Love
 God's Beautiful gift

When time be
You then too.. Be swept up.. 
born-again.. Into Gods Eternal Light
Set Free.. Fire-light lit
Stars Sparkling Lights

For God is the One 
that makes all things happen
God's Beautiful Glory
Sparkling Souls.. 

Be Watchful
As Souls Like Stars bursting in air
As Jesus comes.. Like.. through the Night
Holy Spirit of Love.. non can compare
Shall No longer be here
For then Rapture..
Has Taken place
Whomsoever is born-again
Beholding God's Grace

Will be transformed 
Reborn.. Sparking Love
Changed in Twinkling Light
Gone Home to be
With Jesus Christ
Our Glorious King
Everlasting Glorious Colors 
Pure Holy Light.. Eternity

Come behold God’s Holy Light
As the Star Bursting through the night
Be Saved through God’s  Radiant Glorious Light 
                                                  Our Savior ..Jesus Christ

Copyright © Star Light | Year Posted 2011

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Mellow yellow

Fluorescent fields of rapeseed, maize and barley greet me as I return home for Spring. That golden ball of fire seems friendlier among pastures not foreign to me. Hues of yellow make my heart feel mellow, as my senses are seduced by scents of yellow daffodils among marigolds, lilies and primrose fields of delicate chartreuse. Like Dorothy, I feel like I'm walking along the yellow brick road, among smiling tall sunflowers. Shades of delightful yellow guide me home as aureolin butterflies rest upon blossoming corn, but are disturbed by jonquil bees who seem camouflaged as they seek nectar from flourishing amber black eyed Susan's florets. As I near home, I can see mikado chicks following their mother chirping and squeaking. Why are chicks born yellow, I ponder, are they the sunglow yolk in an egg? Mother's herbs of mustard, saffron and vanilla pods fuse my senses, reminding me I am finally home. As I peak into the fridge all I see is yellow butter, cheese, grapefruit, lemons, melons and bananas. Which reminds me, yellow really is a mellow colour. 21 February 2016

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

I Am Not Afraid

      On the day the Lord calls me home I will not be 
afraid as I know He loves us one and all and to this
earth we are only on loan
      We have spent all our lives here with family and 
friends and so we leave this earth to go home to be 
with our Lord and our family and friends who have
gone home to Heaven before us
       And so our lives go full circle as the Lord sent us 
down from Heaven to accomplish the things He wants 
us to do here on earth and as we complete this we will 
be called back home to heaven to live forevermore
       I am not afraid as I patiently wait for my call to 
enter the Kingdom Of Heaven where I will wait for my 
family and friends to come home and be with our Lord

Poems Of Inspiration (OLD) Contest 
Sponsor: P.D.
7th Place Winner

Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2010

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Riding Misty

Though Santa never responded to pleas
There was just one gift on my list each year
A horse that could run at the speed of light
A bold little gal; I never had fear

With two high school friends I visited a ranch
To ride in 103-degree heat
Through the bramble bushes and prickly pears
Upon little “Misty” I took my seat

The Mustang Adoption Program’s success
Sparked ranchers from Tucson, Arizona
To give a home to a rust-colored mare
Many miles from my home near Daytona

Cryptic white markings graced Misty’s neck
Looked like words in Native American code
“She’s so small,” I whined, seeking to ride fast
But no matter, to the desert we rode

Even the roadrunners were envious 
When Misty gained speed and hit her full stride
Warp speed!  I clung to the saddle horn
As Misty passed larger horses with pride

My hat fell on a cactus, sweat filled my eyes
My life flashed before me, quite a surprise
It seemed like she had wings as we flew
Don’t be quick to judge a horse by its size

I thank Misty often for the ride she gave me
She fulfilled my dream and gave me a thrill
But on the news today a reporter said
Wild horses would now be rounded up and killed

I’m so grateful I had the chance to ride
A wild horse with spirit and awesome speed
But what will become of her ancestors
Misty’s now part of a vanishing breed

*For Frank's "One Standout Day" contest
by Carolyn Devonshire

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Johnny Had A Girl

Johnny was my best friend through our early teenage years;
Wherever one of us went the other could always be found near;
Until he found a girlfriend who soon supplanted me,
But because he was my best friend, for Johnny I was happy;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
She rocked his world
Johnny had a girl.

Throughout four years of high school I was always the third wheel;
Going off often by myself, leaving Johnny with his girl;
They learned about biology outside the class room walls;
Johnny always had plans with her every time I would call;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
Oh, what a thrill
Johnny had a girl.

One week before graduation, coming home from a date,
Johnny never saw the drunk driver until it was too late.
For three months in a coma, I sat by Johnny’s side;
I knew that when he woke up, someone had to tell him she’s not alive;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl.

I took him to the gravesite so he could see it with his own eyes;
We stayed there for hours so Johnny could say his goodbyes.

Johnny got in his car that day and started heading west;
Nobody has seen Johnny since, I wish him the very best.
I’ve taken care of her graveside for thirty years and more;
If Johnny ever comes home again, we’ll be friends just like before;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

This is not a Winter Wonderland

Icy cold rain floods the brutal cold air forcing many to seek shelter in their homes Inclement weather indicates the arrival of Winter as people seek comfort in warm temperatures Children watch in glee as snow falls elegantly running outside to build snowmen and for snowball fights Snow is like life, so beautiful - until people trample over it comparable to the life of the homeless who have no where to go Cruel judgement leads to them being shunned and alienated but did you ever look into their eyes? They are human! Complaints that they are drunk - but the alcohol keeps them warm Do you think they choose to be destitute? Why judge what you do not understand They are displaced by life's hardships - searching for refuge While you sleep in your warm comfortable beds spare a thought for those freezing tonight Defeated, depressed, hungry and freezing cold they will sleep rough again - hoping not to wake up tomorrow Winter contest by Broken Wings The Silent One 14 November 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Under the Willow Trees

A path strewn thick with rusty leaves led to nowhere and everywhere in our fantasies, rescuing us from after school chores and homework pages wrinkled in time; a memory come and gone returns to me. Back home, under a row of willow trees, I weep for my childhood friend, for the innocence lost, I thought I could keep, for the faded line between joy and pain that suddenly comes with age; I close moist eyes to see you dancing in rain showers and climbing up rays of sunlight, imagination uncaged; running carefree for hours - just us, two, whether skies were shades of gray or blue. We said forever, a pinky swear I remember, naïve in our make-believe world. How many years passed by, distance growing between you and I? A phone call once-in-a-while became just a Christmas card once-a-year. I hope you always knew the truth, I loved you, my dear friend. Time cannot erase our laughter caught on the autumn breeze and the childhood secrets shared on that path strewn thick with rusty leaves, trodden bare each year come fall of winter snow. Our laughter now echoes in dreams, chaffing the row of willow trees still sulking low, moss brushing tears in timeless beauty, waiting for you to come home.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Wing's beneath my feet

       This women in my home argues why I leave her so-much along.
        Together she say, the two of us should make the weakest link in
        the chain strong (relationship).  "but she's all along".  The bird's
        chirping as the sun awaken and stretch forth its arm as another day
        creeps through the curtains and not one word is spoken. "This stran-
        ger in my home".  Whoe, I guest - I-guest silent is the proper thing
        to do, don't say nothing to me, and I want say nothing to you.  
        But I break's the ice and reach for her  hand, she stubborni-
         ily pull-away and storms out of the room, I'm confuse and now I'm
        angry, "You men's just don't understand", is the response she say's
        to me, cann't talk to this stranger in my home, "but she's all along".
        I head-out the door for work, not to be such a jerk. I leave her a
        note to meet me after work. at a nice cozy lil restaurant secluded so
        we can talk. I arrive there first, then she walk's in looking so sexxy,
        my whole head spins, (she's) looking this good can not be a sin.
        We rap and we talk, this stranger (my wife) were once there were 
        danger of never seeing her again-now after a few drinks and the pro-
        blem becomes vaguily clear, we toast to communicating, and sometimes
        two people will not alway's agree on the same thing.  Touching each
        other's hands-looking into her eye's, she's wearing a very provocative
        dress that clearily has awaken this man. Talking is refreshing and I tell
        her, your perfume smells aahhh soooo--sweet, now at home we stop and
        began Kissing, and together we floats-on to heaven.  "With Wing's be-
        neath my feet's".

Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2010

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Mirror Of Time

I hold three magic rocks, in my hand. Rolling them over and over and over. Leaving this 
reality behind, far behind I stepped into the magic mirror and there I was back in 1959.  It 
was the same month, November.  I looked around and it was the same as I remember it had 
been then.  Mom looked so young and beautiful and said, "The school bus will be here in a 
few minutes."  I looked at the calendar and saw that it was November 25th, the day before 
Thanksgiving.  I said, "But mom, I haven't been in school in forty years."  I got this strange 
look from her but she didn't say anything.  Walking toward the door I caught a reflection of 
myself in the hall mirror.  I was so young.  My hand immediately went to my face and I 
stopped and stared at myself for a few minutes. I said, "Mom, can I stay home and be with 
you today?"  Again I got that strange look from her, then she smiled and said, "Sure, it's 
your last day before Thanksgiving anyway, why not?"  She and I sit down and talked for 
hours.  Then I said, "Do you mind if we go next door and visit with Maw Maw and Paw Paw?  
I haven't seen them in so long and I've missed them terribly!"  Again another strange look 
from mom. Next door I saw Maw Maw and Paw Paw as they had been in 1959.  I wept and 
they all looked at me so strangely.  I hugged them and kissed them all and we talked for 
hours.  Dad finally came home from work and I ran and hugged him so hard. "Dad why did 
you have to leave us in June?"  Again I got strange looks from everyone.  My tears were 
falling.  I saw Aunt Frances and Uncle Bill who lived beside Maw Maw and Paw Paw. "I've 
missed you both for so long." Strange looks again!  They didn't understand because to them, 
it was just another day in 1959.  The day grew late and I knew my time was soon ending.  I 
got near the magic mirror and mom and dad were standing there so young and healthy. I 
said, "Mom I'll see you on the other side of the mirror, but dad, I'll see you another time, 
another place."  They didn't understand.  I stepped back through and my reflection was as it 
had been before.  Mom was sitting in her chair at age 84.  I said, "Mom, do you remember 
the day before Thanksgiving, 1959, when I stayed home from school and we spent the day 
together?"  She said, "Yes, it was so strange that you could never remember anything about 
it.  It was as though you had amnesia.

Copyright © Marty Owens | Year Posted 2009

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.


When pebbles knead the holes in my shoes
These torn eyes writhe from  my orphan blues,
A lost soul quivering in the cold...
I feel alone, a birth date untold
No parents cupping my sullen face;
While time grates in this runaway place.

They say that I was darn negated,
Like a package, somehow, quite hated
Thrown quickly in an old garbage truck..
But why, why, did I run out of luck?

I dream of running free through the corn;
To be nestled and family- born…
Still, nights cut pain; my wishes decay
In foster homes where I briefly stay.

But rags comfort me,” kid, you’ll be fine,
When adoption brings love’s true sunshine!”

Dated 11/6/2015
For the Contest, Trashed  #4, 
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Written by: nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Utopia home of the rich

Fly me to the moon - to build a new home
to be closer to God, peace and tranquillity
Endeavour to build a sanctuary full of love
where stardust illuminates the way home
No pollution in every breath you take
just clean air in an hygienic environment
A new age kingdom free from all hate
no colour, no boundaries nor nationality
Smiles are the currency - all is free
living together as one in harmonic unity
Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters come
refugees, homeless, poverty stricken come
The door is open to those who want to escape
from the human egos killing planet Earth

Poetry Contest by Mystic Rose
13 November 2105

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless. 
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger. 
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death! 	
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive. 
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”

Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.


I’m looking at an old house
Called home    by someone

I will look at any old house    new    or    old    but
Home is ALWAYS an old house

Old people open doors
Walk the floors

Old people light the candles
Decorate the mantles

And    the roof ever slants
So young thoughts may go

Sliding down    to settle on ground
In front of home

Seasons come
Seasons go
Cloudy    bright
Rain    or    snow

Inside    though
Home is    ever    warmed

By timeless ghosts
Of hearth    reborn

I’m climbing the stairs of an old house
Called home by someone

To open a door
Find stairs     and    climb some more

To follow the footsteps of some vague someone
In an old house called home
For Trudy

Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2009

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

This Special Time of Year

We may not have a "White Christmas", yet joy remains the same I find delight in viewing candles reflected on frosted panes They remind me to be grateful for warmth and light so near Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year A scenic view of white smoke rising from the chimney tall Dainty snow flakes falling as kids roll them into balls They sail against blustery winds and I wonder how they dare! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year Sweet music heralding peace, urges hearts to spread some joy! Displayed is a wooden Nativity Scene to greet you at the door A glittering tree with twinkling stars stands proudly at the rear! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year Fresh pine garlands dress stair rails with large red velvet bows The aroma of cinnamon and pine saturates, delighting one’s nose While a cozy wood fireplace glows, inviting, daydream stares Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year The baking’s almost done; and tons of sweets are ensured Though, there will not be any Christmas pudding this year, for sure Mama’s been gone home a while, yet the many memories linger here Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year Whatever may happen in life, Christmas joy lives in the heart A warm home and loving hearts have sufficed from the start Much food, drinks and good conversation; lots of fun to share! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year “Less formal” is my style preferred, so do relax if you please Sit on the floor, take off those shoes; dance or just be a tease When you feel stuffed and need a nap, if you snore, have no fear! Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year ~*~

Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Old Victorian

My great, great Aunt had a lovely old home, with many a wonderful story, hidden within its walls. A Victorian, architectural designers dream; vaulted ceilings, full of ghosts; where spirit voices sang of its splendor. What I remember most, were the sparkly door knobs; prisms reflecting the sunlight; beautiful rainbow colors, adorning her sitting room walls. The animated colors of her crystalline chandelier wove dancing shadows into the fabric. As a small child, I reveled in that light-play; how I loved her magical home.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Jungle War

So thick with rain,the rancid air
into the jungle pours.
Young soldiers with their feet on fire
keep on despite the sores.

This war is one that no one wants
and no one understands.
Young men and women give their lives
in these far Asian lands.

Back home these kids are shown disdain;
they're spit upon and worse.
When they come home from Viet Nam
in airports they are cursed.

A blight upon our history
was this long standing war.
But we should show the vets respect
for suffering they bore.

written by Deb Wilson 
January 12th, 2013
for contest "Historical Modified Quatrain"

Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

My family is everywhere

My family is everywhere like wild seeds sown
On the whim and bluster of a wind
Some left for Cuba before the revolution
Bring green stalks of sweet grass to sugar
And are still there, root sunken in the earth
Grafted branches without memory now
Or recognition of ancestral home,
Separated by language and new history
Thick as the depth of our watery boundaries.

Some in Panama built the canal, but no bridge
For home when their meagre cents were spent
Too soon. I met a few with little knowledge
But no anxiety for early morning mist of blue
Over the mountain, looking still to see them
Coming home like birds when summer is done.
Some went to Venezuela to see the oil
They said was black as Africa in the new world
Brazil: there football is more than economy
Gladiators: bloodless troubadors of the new army 
And many drifted into the squalor of Costa Rica,
Nicaragua, Ecuador, searching for light
Amidst old civilizations brought to ruins
By Conquistadores majesty and Roman might.

The only one who report are those from Canada
Is it because of the language, because they proper
As they do in America. Is there nothing in them
That longs for home, to leave the Mexico to her Aztecs
Her cactus lace with golden strands of sun.
When I was in Germany, Austria, France, far away
As Holland, Rhine and Danube linking invisble
Heritage, I met them, distancing the old decay
"We are thinking to move to Taiwan or Japan"
They told me, poverty does make a barren land
So I understand the boat people, not lying
Like Columbus, they seek the same treasure
And yet for their truth reap some displeasure.
I could package it for them to sell, but cannot agree
When the wind rattle the wattle of desolation.

My family is everywhere scattered like wild seeds
In fresh forests fretting with the burden of the wind.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

When the Wanderer Returns

As winter trees exhume their leaves
for spring
and Autumns' sacrifice 
retreats in memory 
Summers of sangria blossoms 
drape their crimson blooms-

exhale against an arc of sighing skies

Seasons conspire
to tempt the wanderer on, 
but it’s the stolen thoughts of childhood 
that bring the wanderer home.

© Suzanne Delaney

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2016

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Don't Let Right Become Wrong


She is always right and he is never wrong,
Neither willing to concede and the anger rolls right along.
Finding each others faults as they fuel this awful flame,
Both claiming victory when neither will accept the blame.

With clinched jaws and fingers pointing,
Their words so damning, so hurtful, and so taunting.
Then it reaches its fiery crescendo,
Then neither one knows what to do or how to let go.

What had happened, it wasn’t always like this,
They used to hold hands and share a frequent kiss.
Then something bad happened, almost overnight,
Seems now they cannot speak to each other without it turning into a fight.

Little things started escalating and devouring their heart,
With no common grounds for reasoning maybe it would be best if they should part.
She said I’ll take our children and go stay for awhile with mom and dad,
Then it finally hit him he was about to lose the best thing he ever had.

It finally happened like someone turned on a light,
He said I’ve been a fool and I never again want us to fight.
He said I had a vision of living in this cold dark and lonely home alone.
And I didn’t like the picture, you’re the only love I’ve ever known.

Now they both got refocused and once more it is a home filled with love,
And now neither will let a push become a shove.

Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2009

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

Her Lover

Moving quietly so not to wake her,
My lover half covered sighs like a purr,
We have had our pleasure
And now it's time for me to leave.
But the sight and smell causes me
A moment's thrill as I remember
our first kiss.
But I must leave, no time to dwell,
Thoughts of what could be,
Bow down to what life must be.
Without her my life is grey,
At home my other life awaits,
Here I am a lover,
At home I am needed -
but as a wife and mother.

Copyright © Alan Short | Year Posted 2009

Details | Home Poem | Share this poem | Create an image from this poem.

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