Ballad Home Poems | Ballad Poems About Home

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Ballad |

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 | Ballad |


DEAD AT HOME -For Veteran's Day 

It's a gray day, in the café, 
by the side of the road.
There's an old man, took a firm stand, 
trying to loosen the load.

It is struck luck, with his last buck, 
but he pays for his soup.
He has no wife, all of his life, 
he is out of the loop.

He will bum thumb, in a ride from, 
here to his cardboard box.
There's a sleeping roll, a piece of coal, 
and a pillow made of rocks.

No glory. 
A mad sad told cold story. 
Alliteration, of an allegation, on how he kills for glory.  
Then the lie dies, in GI's, when our soldier kills a man. 
All told, he is not bold, but this tale is secondhand.

He preaches whale's tales, of army mad males, 
as he calls for his god. 
Then he dreams schemes, of the war machines, 
and ghosts that run him odd.

Then he weeps sleeps, and a secret keeps, 
and he hates the morning light.  
He has lost his place, in the human race, 
and he always will take flight.

He will dine fine, on the red wine, 
which he drinks from a paper cup. 
He will watch stars, and count his scars, 
but his heart has given up!

No glory. 
A mad sad told cold story. 
Alliteration, of an allegation, on how he kills for glory.  
Then the lie dies, in GI's, when our soldier kills a man. 
All told, he is not bold, but this tale is secondhand.

-Edlynn Nau

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

The girl

See the girl living on the streets? does anyone know she is there,
Do you see that girl down in the dumps? and does anyone care.
We don't know the reason that she left her home and do any of us want to know?
She's out in all weathers without any covers in rain, hail and snow.
Does anyone wonder if she's ever lonely when we're all tucked up in our beds,
when she's wet and cold,  and we're warm and cosy does it ever enter our heads.
She might have been beaten when her home she left, she's sad and she's lonely and often bereft. 

Does anyone see me alone on the streets? trying to smile at all that I meet,
asking for pennies for a warm cup of tea, we're not all on drugs, at least not me.
I'm trying to avoid going down that road I try to remember the things I've been told.
Stories of people lying in the gutter, and people passing by all of a mutter.
Do they care, what they see there? I suppose they think it's everywhere !
But I would like to say to all of you . I don't take drugs, I'm one of the few.
So to all of you sat home by your fires, spare a thought for me,
when you pass me by tomorrow, I'd love a cup of tea.

Copyright © jacque lee | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |

I'm Dreaming/ A Liberal Xmas Tale

Who was this white haired Claus 
With rabbit teeth? 
Carrying a ton of peanuts 
For all to eat.

Dragged in a sleigh pulled 
By Agnew and Nixon, 
Who ran right beside 
Donnar and Blitzen? 

He circled Camp David, 
A fast fly by; 
With lox and bagels for 
the Jewish guys. 

A carpenters’ pencil 
Was poised by his ear, 
And boxes of nails dangled, 
From the gear in the rear. 

Why! Its Jolly Ole Carter Claus 
Draped in menorahs. 
Handing out home plans to 
the Arab before us. 

Visions of world peace 
Danced in his head; 
As, he flew straight to Afghanistan
‘Fore noggin hit bed. 

When down from the sky 
In the form of deer dung, 
Fell fruit tree seeds 
Too be sown in the sun. 

And, as CarterClaus’ whip cracked 
O’er Nixon's ear, 
As Agnew blanched, 
His eyes filling with tears. 

Droplets hit sand with 
A plop and a splatter 
’Pon the fruit tree seeds with 
Nary a clatter. 

The desert grew green; 
Trees sprouted and grew; 
Hearts filled with wonder, 
Bellies with stew. 

Homes were rebuilt, 
as before the fall, 
Cook fires were lit. 
Children grew tall. 

And Ole Carter Claus 
Flew home in a daze. 
Passing out sandwiches 
That Roslyn had made.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |



                            Where is 
that place were I can just be, 
silent and peaceful
                      Like the paced 
waves of the sea. I long for a 
space inside heaven 
                      Were I'm free, 
I'm finally home just like it was 
meant to be.
                      Friends and 
family wear their hearts on 
their sleeve, love and devotion
                      Meets our every 

                              No longer 
do we  struggle, or faint or 
fight to be free, for
                      We are finally in 
the place we can just be.
                      Not a blemish 
or fault can be found within 
me, my savior has cleansed 
                      Me of sin I am 
free, to worship and praise in 
complete divinity.

                            My father 
and his son and a place made 
just for me, crown on my head
                     White robe down 
to my feet, beautiful mansion 
towers over the sea, emerald
                     Waters glisten 
diamonds for free. I can run, 
jump, even fly if need be, in 
                     Wonderful home 
created just for me

                         No pain, fear 
or worries plague this heart 
inside me, and I am alive and 
                    Coexist in 
complete harmony.swung open 
are the garden gates, as they 
                    Intended to be, I 
now sing, laugh and play in 
heaven where I'm free!

Copyright © Yvonne Roberts | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |

For them

For them.

To her the word love refers to a boy.
Something she yearns for and misses dearly.

The day they met was cold and fraught with January chill.

“Oh, that does seem so long ago.”

That is the untarnished memory she replays over and over again when events in her life go array.
Back then it was tangible and real, their lives together had not been succumb to so much misery and woe.

They have triumphed, failed, and even caused each other more pain than can be imagined; But through it all they always walked the path together, holding each others hand.

She loves him unconditionally and for that some people cant understand but love needs no excuses, certainly not for them.

She adores him for working so hard, slaving to the man trying to base a future and a plan for them, but she feels guilty that  their small American dream over the years has always led down a dead end.
With today’s hard times she knows they are not to blame, but still her idol hands carry burden with them.

A plot of land, a small farm, and a home to call their own so they may grow old.
that’s all the pair desire.

He loves her to, a thought that at times is unfathomable.
He admires her dreams, even if they are bigger than the world and never distills fear in her that they wont one day come true. She thinks ill rationally and believes in things as a child would, but this merely makes him smile at her spontaneous outlook.

To him she is like a wild bee, searching ferociously for something.
At times he doesn’t think she will ever find it, that’s why its so hard to see her cry.

Life hasn’t been fair for them.
It’s a tragic book that just keeps reading on.

But they muscle through living on their dream and knowing that as long as they have each other, everything will be alright.

And as they drive home to their house with no walls, catching glimpses of each other in their ratty car they don’t feel so alone.

Behind those blue eyes, she will be forever nineteen to him and to her, as she gazes into his brown large pupils; the boy she knows has grown into a man and at that moment they know, one day all the sacrifices they have made will pay off.

Copyright © Whitney Hart | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

heaven on the water

trawlers steam out from dutch harbour
patroling the frozen waves
serching for gold under the sea 
to feed my family

in the wheelhouse the stars shine in
skyes dark and air so thin
no mater where this vessel takes me
my heart is yerning out for you

heaven on the water
is where im dreaming of my love
i see your face on the misty spray
as im calling out your name
heaven on the water
it wont be long my love
for a few more days i know you`l guide me 
guide me home to you

icey winds shiver my spine
as we bring out catch abord
empty net and broken dreams 
as the waves come crashing down

storms break loose with a crash of thunder
rolling across the bering sea 
up and down around then under
but still i dream of you

heaven on the water
is where im dreaming of my love
i see your face on the misty spray
as im calling out your name
heaven on the water
it wont be long my love
for a few more days i know you`l guide me 
guide me home to you

i see you face as the boat goes down
sea whispering my name
beconing me to the river
where we first found love

heaven on the water
im still here my love
watching you and our daughters 
from the stars above
heaven on the water 
calling out your name
calling out your name
heaven on the water
calling out your name

Copyright © Matt Doe | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |


Home was just a mellow state of mind
A place a rambling man would never find
Home was anywhere the rivers flowed
Spent most of his days on the open road

Couldn't find a reason to settle down
Morning would find him in another town
Standing still was too big a price to pay
He wouldn't have it any other way

He's a dying breed standing in the rain
Longing for the sound of an old freight train
Sometimes sleeping 'neath the stars above
Living the life he's learned to love

Got all he needs strapped across his back
Too much up ahead to start looking back
Live for the moment. Don't regret the past
All the years go by so fast

In a cheap hotel on a lonely night
He felt the pain and the time was right
He prayed Dear Jesus I'll no longer roam
Tell my Father I'm coming home.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |

I'm Coming Home

He looks through the curtains as the meal is served

The sweat on his brow and the I.V. drips

Mom wears her apron with a picture of a turkey on it

It was her favorite and the music playing

And I'm coming home to where I'm loved

Father sits watching the game as the plate goes round

He had  money on the wrong side but he swigs a beer

Everyone seems happy and content so he knocks on the door

No one hears  and he stirs,trying to break free of the restraints

And I'm coming home to the warmth when I'm cold and alone

Where a man works and his wife cleans and raises the boys

Where desolation has no place to hide and no regret

And Mom hasn't begun drinking because her son left and will never come back

Where the geese still fly South to the warmth

Dogs bark and people have to stand to switch the channel

And I'm coming home

No cell phone or video games to gaze at and 24 hour news

The nurse brings a syringe and plunges it into my I. V.

The Angel wipes my soaking brow and gives me comfort

I'm alone with the mist and the murmur of the crickets

I'm coming home

The house is quiet and emptiness within

But Mom left a light on with expectation

A sign was set for all to know I'm coming

The quiet is lovely and the light welcomes


Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

I'm Comin' Home

Well, I'm high on country music.
And my mind, it won't refuse it.
The memories of our love.
I'm comin' home..

And I'm high on constellations.
Buddy, I've got relations.
The memories of our love.
I'm comin' home..

Now, you see it your way.
And baby, I see it my way.
The memories of our love.
I'm comin' home..

'Cause I'm high on country music.
And my mind, it won't refuse it.
The memories of our love.
I'm comin' home..

And I'm high on constellations.
And buddy, I've got relations.
The memories of our love.
I'm comin' home..

Now, you see it your way.
And baby, I see it my way.
The memories of our love.
I'm comin' home..

'Cause I'm high on country music.
And my mind, it won't refuse it.
The memories of our love.
I'm comin' home..

Country Music-Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1996,2014..ALL rights reserved..

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |


Be still your heart my foster mom
I made it 'home' safe
God welcomed me with opened arms
In his peaceful place

I know your decision was so hard
Yet it had to be done
I thank you for my trip abroad
You are second to none

I once have had nothing much
Until you came along
A bonded pair we were such
With a love that is so strong

So thank you mom for loving me
I've loved you right away
Until we meet again, you'll see
Me, waiting along the way.

Forever love & gratitude,
Fudge, Ebony & Angel

Copyright © Candi Lynn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

Oh, to be in Trinidad

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
where the hot scented currents flow;
  from Caroni wetland to Nariva
chaconia and silk cotton tree grow.
  Where reaching palms whisper
across island reef and coconut lagoon,
  and the forests of Papa Bois
flower with water lilies in bloom

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
in the time of the house of Trestrail,
  and be again that child before
the Voyage of Six leaving did sail!
  Where in antiquity ocean flight
Amerindians crossed its riverbends,
  and tall masted clipper ships
sailed the spice seas to its far ends

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
when equatorial rains have passed;
  and gaze Big Wet to Big Dry
burning canefield and wildgrass.
  Lowland baptism of blossom
resurrect from Toco to Mayaro Bay,
  and in reacquainted seasons
waves of consciousness slip away

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
where tales of bacchanal abound;
  how old chimes with new
yet uprising does a trumpet sound!
  And ghosts of the revolution
fan the flames in the hot raging sun;
  where dat voodoo spirit rise
the Obeah Man when day is done

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
for crab and callaloo on Sunday...
  let the Boca gulf gates lull
and stars over Tobago my fears allay.
  Dream and moonstruck gaze
till Monos windsong wakes no more;
  listen and you too shall hear
rapping upon her hideaway shore

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
for the scarlet ibis returning flown;
  hummingbird's backward dance,
beauty I'm richer for having known!
  And in days of future past
tread again the hot Maracas sands,
  or horse trails of Blue Range
and Rancho Caballero grasslands

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
when the Oval's at its raucous best,
  and the lions of Queen's Park
bay for Christians in noble contest.
  Where the air sweet with rum
breathes of doubles and pepperpot,
  and the drums and soca play
till everyone feelin' hot! hot! hot!

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
playin' Mas' with cart and barrow;
  when masquerade and fete
jump loudest to Kitch and Sparrow!
  Calypsonian tents jammin',
limbo flame sparks the night flare,
  and Carnival streets jumpin'
from St Augustine to old St Clair

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
among the blood of African slave,
  and not be destined, alas,
to lifeless fill a cold foreign grave!
  Lo, where indentured cargo
in waves landed upon South Quay...
  I pray the bells of Greyfriars
will gently toll in absence for me

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
when the great Savannah dawns;
  hot roti and roasted corn
in early light over its tracks and lawns.
  Land of my nativity begun
from hills to blue Caribbean Sea;
  I miss that golden age ended
and lament what must be must be


           August 1995

Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

NO MAN STANDS ALONE - The Ballad of Barney Ross

No man stands alone
in the street, the ring or the combat zone
some lay in the gutter
some sit on a throne
but no man stands alone

At the age of fourteen 
he had a dream
to become a rabbi 
Chicago 1924
then his dad was killed by men
who tried to rob the family store
his brothers and sisters were sent away
to an orphanage where they would stay
and though his faith was blown away
he vowed to bring them home someday

To God and man revenge he swore
he walked with gamblers, 
hoods and whores
he fit right in 
then on a whim
he walked into a boxing gym
he fought Canzoneri in ‘33
for the lightweight title victory
he made up with God 
and finally
he could reclaim his family

Those McLarnon fights 
were the stuff of lore
the only man 
to ever put him on the floor
he won two out of three, 
then in the Armstrong bout
he nearly died 
but was never knocked out
then in 1941
the Japanese pulled a sneaky one
so he joined the marines 
and he got a gun
and he sailed into the rising sun

On Guadalcanal, 
he fought so brave
overmatched like old King Dave
he put twenty attackers 
in an early grave
for the one marine 
whose life he saved
in a hospital bed 
for months and days
they kept him in a morphine haze
then sent him home 
strung out and beat
to the pushers on the mean, mean street

Hollywood was very keen
to put his story on the silver screen
but they focused on the drug abuse
he tried to sue 
but what’s the use?
Barney Ross was brave and strong
they couldn’t keep him down for long
his rabbi said that he must try
to be a model Jew in the public eye

but from the public eye he slipped
like a phantom radar blip
they say he hunted Nazi criminals
and he ran some guns to Israel

Barney Ross was brave and strong
I thought that he deserved a song
he did some bad
he did some good
and he saved the world
the best he could

Copyright © Art Wright | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

I was raised on a little old farm

I was raised on a little old farm

by my daddy who raised pigs in a barn

my mama  well what can I say

she helped my daddy on our farm everyday.

I have two sister and two brothers

we tried to always help out one other

it was just a simple life when I was raised in the 50s.

I was raised on a little old farm

we plowed our corn fields with our old gray tractor.

because our pigs had to be feed

we shucked off lots of corn 

 to put way in old corn  shed.

As hard as my daddy worked everyday

mama and him taught us good

values that still stays with all of this

to this day.

I was raised on a little old farm

my daddy worked as a Iron worker in the day

but on some days after daddy got home 

he worked and added rooms to our old home.

Money was tight while raising 5 kids

but mama always seem to keep us all fed.
But we knew everyday mama and daddy loved us even if the 

words[ I love you] was not offen said.

I was raised on a little old farm

in the winter we took time to ice skate

in the back field  on a swampy like pond.

it was great living on a long dirt road

with our neighbors the Boggs who had 
seven children of there own.

I was raised on a little old farm

and I am going to try to tell daddy story's

about or farm life to each grandchild in the

family that is born.

I hope you enjoyed this poem

because soon we well be selling 

our childhood home.

I was raised on a little old farm.

2015 by charlotte

Copyright © SHARLOTTE NEWAN | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Ballad of Trinidad

 Remember when days were long
   and all de children do is play:
 or how de burnin sun hot like fire
   and snow cone ice melt away,
 when I was a wee lad in Trinidad

 And licks fuh so in de bam bam
   if I do or say I right when I wrong!
 Playin cricket in de front yard
   in ragged shirt and watchicong,
 wit my bat and pad in Trinidad

 Hear de dogs of Independence,
  "masser's day has come" dey bark,
 and snarl "now we in charge!"
   But all dey do is fete and skylark,
 dats why tings bad in Trinidad

 Den me faddah "really speakin"...
   and me muddah, how she grieve:
"aye yah yie, it time to vamoose...
   oh time to leave",
 dat all hell gone mad in Trinidad

 I say to she "yuh makin joke!
   Mummy, what is dis tomfoolery?"
 Man, next ting I know I on a boat
   past de Bocas headin out to sea,
 and I was sad to leave Trinidad

 Dey get vex and riot in de street,
   trow stick, pelt stone, and cuss;
 shout "Black Power...Malcolm X..."
   PNM say "why all yuh makin fuss?"
 But tings get real bad in Trinidad

 Trinis start to swell up dey face
   and ax demself "is all yuh fuh real?"
 Criminals was skinnin dey teet
   burnin and lootin lookin to steal -
 destroyin what we had in Trinidad

 But I would from my exile return
   de land of rapso, kaiso, and calypso!
 Where de panman play, "padna"
   and de Cahneeval jumpin fuh so,
 den I was glad to see Trinidad

 Back to limin on sandy beach
   wit buss-up and shark 'n bake...
 drinkin rum, Carib, and Stag spyin
   all de girls backside shake!
 Girls sweet too bad in Trinidad

 If yuh see party fuh so in East
   or fete in de village dong Sout;
 and Jouvay dawn at Pelican Inn
   till Road March jump and shout,
 dis is de lime I had in Trinidad

 Me faddah, he like de ole talk,
   de ghost of Jumbie Bridge in he head.
"Murder!" He laugh at all dem Trinis
   and how dey all "fraid de dead!"
 in Big Bertha clad from Trinidad

 He tink of tings back home like
   when de plum and de mango ripe;
"jeez-an-wrinkles!" He bol face say
   how "crapo smoke yuh pipe!"
 God bless my dad from Trinidad

 Man, he steups so and he say "boy,
   Trinidad full of ba'john and ole tief!
 Riddled wit crime and corruption...
   warahouns in charge, good grief!"
 And for all dis I sad for Trinidad

 Me muddah too, she say to me
  "hold strain and calm yuhself chile!"
 She say "son, doh be a saga boy,
   doh flash and doh make style"
 lest you be a cad from Trinidad

 Man, de whole place gone to hell
   and dey doh know how to fix she;
 all de younger generation fuhget 
   what it mean to be a Trini -
 to be proud and glad in Trinidad

 Now dey pull out cutlass and gun
   if on dey tail yuh lash out and cuff!
 Man, dese days no-one safe at all,
   Trins fed-up and had enough!
 How tings get so mad in Trinidad

 All yuh in T 'n T so blasted vex
   at de government and Manning,
 but in trute yuh still like to fete
   and drink and lime and ting,
 den bawl bobbol bad in Trinidad

 It jus like back in de Canboulay
   when de lawless slaves run wild,
 or in de dark days of rebellion
   and uprisin when I was a child,
 when tings went rad in Trinidad

 A pelau or buljol in yuh mout -
   sorrel, mauby, or a ginger beers;
 gimme pastelle and ponchecrema 
   from Christmas to Ole Years!
 Dis is de taste I had of Trinidad

 De Spanish come, de French too -
   boy, de British dey bring a queen:
 dat was way back when dis island
   was de jewel of de Caribbean,
 way before I was a lad in Trinidad


              January 2009


Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

Welcome home

Welcome Home

She stood by his grave in a long black veil
They found small remains in his jungle hell.
The honor guard, they all stand tall,
As they hand her a flag for her special wall.

She thought how young when he went away,
He was so proud to be leaving that day.
Now its many years since he's been gone
So she kneeled down and said:
Welcome Home,

OH Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've marched off to deaths drum.
Some came back, but found darkness there
And it will always be their cross to bear.
So walk with me and carry on.
And know this.....

Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've been away too damn long.
You've done your time, you've paid your price.
You've felt the pain, you've sacrificed.
I know you’re tired and feel alone
So I say to you,
Welcome Home.

                                              He was awakened by the call one night
A brother’s body was on a midnight flight.
So many times like the times before
He's followed a warrior to a loved one’s door.

So he rode his Harley to the service gate
Where there was a flag draped on a wooden crate.
And down inside laid his gallant bones,
As they passed he said.... 
 Welcome Home,

OH Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've marched off to deaths drum.
Some came back, but found the darkness there
And it will always be their cross to bear.
So walk with me brother and carry on.
And know this..... 

Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've been away just too damn long.
You've done your time, you've paid your price.
You've felt the pain, you've sacrificed.
I know you’re tired and feel alone
So I say to you,
Welcome Home.

SFC (ret) Alva Brown

Copyright © alva brown | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |


Vehicles flow on the road
Engines rumble loudly throughout
All vehicles are running on the same road
But as each of them is different destination

So many people travel back and forth 
They step on the same path 
All of them are in a hurry and introvert
But they do not converse together
Each of them has own target

I blend with those people
I do not know them and they do not know me as well
I only recognize who am I? And where to go? 
My destination is my beloved  motherland 
I look upon someone's waiting for my return
Darling...!! I will be back...

Ho Chi Minh City. November 04, 2014

Copyright © Phoukhong SONEVONGXAY | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |


One of the happiest days,
Is  bringing our soldiers home alive,
To where they can be seen,
By their families once again,
To show them we love them,
And care about them,
In the ways we should,
Cause they gave up their time,
And their lives for this country,
For our freedoms we often take for granted,
To protect us from the domestic evils of today,
Whether we see them or not,
We should praise them all,
For all that they have done,
Including those who have fallen,
And can Not walk back through the gates of home,
For they have fallen and given more for this country,
And sacrificed more than we pay attention too,
To save us all for our freedoms,
Which our country will often forget,
With time the fallen one's,
Because we often pay attention to those,
Who are here in front of us and can fight,
One day at a time,
Which is the wrong way to be,
Cause all soldiers are made the same,
And should never be forgotten in anyway,
Day after day cause we have what we have,
To remind us all of all who have sacrificed their lives,
For the freedoms we have to keep us safe,
Each and everyday!

Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

Old Flame

I was born in a small village,
with no distinction or privilege!
I loved every inch of that land
And carved the roads on my hand!
I kissed each olive tree on the trunk
Some thought I'd been really drunk.
It's always been my old flame,
And I still adore it the same.
It's always been in my heart
It nurtured my taste and art.

Copyright © Habib Zaqzaq | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |


I remember living in one room dingy and dire 
with old lino on its rotting wooden floor. 
I remember crystallised spit dangling from guard at the fire; 
as mother cleaned, he'd only honk the more.  

I recall how we went hungry, waiting for the paltry sum 
he allowed us for board and keep, the cheap fink, 
and how he served apprenticeship to becoming a true bum 
by treating as priorities his fags and drink.  

I remember all the rows he caused demanding back the cash 
which was supposed to feed and clothe his we’ans
I remember every Christmas morn' the gifts received were trash 
because he'd pissed the present-money down the drain.  

I recall one awful night my mother hunting high and low 
with a hungry bedraggled child on either hand, 
she finally catching that boozy stinker sate in the Dungloe. 
How he fumed, outraged that food she dared demand.  

I remember his begrudgement of those sparse few days away– 
one hour upon the beach or at the fair: 
how just when we were relaxing would be dragged from play. 
Homeward-bound: him the ‘bookies', us despair.  

I remember trudging up to Creggan to the ‘Housing Place' 
every week with mother and sister, come rain or hail, 
and how that worthless, selfish, monster did not even have the grace 
to commend her dedication, instead railed.  

I can picture his expression when she got herself a job, 
determined not to lose her new clean home. 
I remember his wild tantrums when she'd saved up for a hob– 
the delivery man was perplexed at oral foam.  

I remember those miserable times as if they were today, 
how he made odd help with homework living hell– 
so that now a friend's assistance, however gracefully 
put, grates my tortured psyche so much I cannot tell.  

When we started working, my sister dear and I, 
it seemed for him a licence to give less. 
Many weeks he'd keep house-money and, as the months went by, 
we discovered he'd drunk the rent; that was a mess.  

So now sot has retired, and it seems his mind has gone– 
for he's telling all how great he was those years: 
he built house on the prairie. He was such a con: 
the only thing he constructed was a legacy of fear.

Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

The Long Way Home

trotting across my back field
there’s a storm brewing-in
it’s misty friend is climbing 
through the cold, prickly wires

Delicately drenched, 
as wet as 
a dog’s kiss,
there’s a-storm brewing-in
it’s casual pal is breezing-
bothering the wicker trees.

his smile- 
brightens my mind 
like the italian renaissance.
inhaling red tipped 
we chat under the glistening leaves. 

But there’s a storm brewing-in
it’s hamper full dirty laundry
is drying-
stringing across my back yard. 

his laugh-
is as pleasing 
as old dogs learning new tricks.
Just one more outburst, 
and I swear this storm will turn to stone. 

I bask-
his attention is as gratifying 
as a masters gentle stroke
just one more round of 
darting eyes and light hearted jokes.

I realize now, 
He grumpiness does best
to protect what’s raw and rare-
from the snakes who try to tear us away from home.

Like stumpy cigarettes, 
hanging off the tips 
of tough our lips. 
we’ll share each other’s worlds.
Yes, Like stumpy cigarettes, 
hanging off the tips 
of tough our lips.
let’s melt into each other’s worlds.

Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

The earth is my home

I am a man born on earth
I am a man born on earth
To live is my right
For that i have to fight
I don't need 
Anybody's green light
For it my own life
And i have the right
To be free 
And be free
I have no place 
Than the earth
I don't need 
All these  wealth
Neither gold nor silver
Can buy my health
The earth is my home

Copyright © Matt Ancient | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

Bittersweet Journey

Nine years a stranger in a strange land
     Travelling to my island in the sun;
A native son returning a native strand
     Where the journey had all begun

I, Icarus, flew its skies but survived
     The sun and thrust of engines loud;
On Bee Wee wings of wax we dived 
     Into that misty archipelago cloud

Piarco tarmac on grassy plains below
     Soon upon the trail of Queen's Park;
Charting the maps of time long ago -
    'Twas late and the boulevard was dark

The Banyan trees, the rustling palms,
     Glow of that bright calypso moon;
To my soul a succour its island balms
     And balmy breezes bore a gentle boon

Down the Churchill-Roosevelt to the sea
     Beetham shanties and LaBasse go by;
But 'twas Port of Spain's restless quay
     That conspired to grab my roving eye

Fishing boats off the high seas berth
     Her old clamorous city docks and pier;
The Gulf of Paria's sleepy channel firth -
     And's Independence Square

Upon the corner of Sweet Briar and Gray
     Where as a boy I played in the rain;
Waking by carol song on Christmas Day,
     And hearken, Greyfriar's sweet refrain

See ancient Savannah parched and bare
     Tormented by season's blazing sun;
Yonder hazy hilltop ridges no better fare
     But soon the rains will in deluge come

Over blustery Northern Straits we flew
     To Buccoo Reef and blue island coral;
Tobago's Crusoe shores came we to view
     With her verdant hills rich and floral

Upon the Coast Road to Maracas Bay
     Drinking a fool's fill by the fire's flame;
But I was seventeen almost to the day,
     And at seventeen I was always game

I met a lass whose eyes through me tore,
     More lovely than words can convey:
Beauty I've not known since or before,
     I'd like to remember her this way

Fondly I gaze the dormant Oval grounds
     Rapturous but for a short lived respite;
At my window did roar out the sounds
     Of steelband and parang in the night

With February upon us quickly I fear -
     Carnival's sleeping tribes awakened;
I had no costume, no robes to wear,
     Yet my burning spirit was unshaken

Behold on Jouvay morn at break of light
     Spilled hordes out of Sparrow's tent;
Revellers in the streets day and night
     Till Last Lap, Ash Wednesday and Lent

But our time here had drawn to an end,
      And leaving again bittersweet for me:
Saddened alas but my heart does mend,
     For this is my home and always will be



                    May 1992

Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

I Knew That I Had Come Home


White America hates me (as well as most of the world)...BUT JANINE HOOPS 
(TURNER) HAS ALWAYS LOVED it or not...whether you believe it or 
THE WHITE WITCH...who came in the form of the actress...Ursula Andress! I was 
'delivered' to Priscilla Lai ("Lily of the field") Fong ("Fairest of the land") Lam ("The Lamb of God")...who was wedded to Hwei ("The Devil")Yang ("Yellow")Hsi (FuHsi)...on April 23, 1959 at 1:01 am (Gena Rose Pahucki, as the 'delivering nurse'...the actual Gena Rose Pahucki died in a car accident on April 22, 1959...Gena ("For there will be an actress, Gena Davis")...Rose ("For your first girl-friend will be Rose Smead")...Pahucki ("For you will meet in law school as Pachefsky")...I was a glorious 'white' baby (Caucasoid)...with blue eyes...and hair with actual gold filaments! The Ancient Grimories picture the "Golden-Haired-Child of Destiny of China" posted internet photo! The fifty-five yearcurse broke on April 23, 2014...and I reached a height of five feet and eleven inches in the second week of (My final form will be six feet tall and I will weigh two-hundred-and-twenty-five lbs.!) July 2014...and 'beat' the 'Strongest Man in the World' at his 933 lbs. of bodyweight...I was 126 Sam's Club (Honolulu, Hawaii)...involving a three-hundred-twenty-three lb. 'marine' battery! BUT...The Original...The Last...and...The Eternal Source of Life...HAS GIVEN ME THE HAND OF THE ROYAL WHITE WITCH RENATA...Princess Renata Andress Zeiss...of the Royal House of Zeiss...under the King and Queen of Germany! I AM STUNNED AND OVERJOYED BY YOUR SUCCESSES JANINE! In an 'alternate' universe? (COINCIDENTALLY, I WILL NEVER BE AN ADULTEROR!)



Copyright © Thomas Hsi | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

The Hell I call Home

All alone here I sit, in this hell I call home.
With no motivation to silence these moans.
There's junkies in the next room, and tweekers below,
outside on the street, a whore with no one to blow.
There's a crackhead with a pit-bull, and a toddler in tow
she's looking to score, but the gangster says "no".
She curses and shouts as she heads down skid row, to
the mark on the Drew, who's been known to hold blow.

Down the staircase I'm winding out and onto the street
with Cecillia as my anchor, we step to the beat.
I stagger or swagger,
it depends who I meet.
I'm off to see Mary, and the kids on King street.
When I get there it's early and the kids are asleep.
Their chemical consumption has altered their beat.
The street is deserted and I feel like a creep.
Ya, I'm fitting right in, in this hell I call home.

So  I'm off to the station, with a head that can't think.
I curse the men with the money, and the ice in their drinks.
And the ones who reign judgment?  I don't care what they think.
All I need is my escape from this hell I call home.

I arrive at the station and my mans at the booth. 
I approach him and ask with the slang that is couth.
He fixes me up and I get high as the roof.
Another lost Thursday morning, in this hell I call home.

Copyright © robert burke | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |


I can say I'm glad to be back,
I can finally go and unpack
The country air is so sweet, just listen to the bird tweet, tweet.
I had been gone, far away in a hospital for a couple of days.
the town was small, smaller than mine, but I'm glad I left at the right time.
I felt home sick, it was like a tick, to be stuck in there, no fresh air.
Like the one I have here, it's very clear.
I'm just happy to be home, to be in a place I can't let go.
This place is my life, my guiding light, this place is home
my quiet zone.

Copyright © jessie conner | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Loneliness - A Country Song

I wonder what I am going to do.
I wonder where U are.
& I wonder why the cocktails, are no longer free at the bar.
I wonder why my ankles swell,
And I wonder if U know.
I wonder if the sugar’s sweet, and if ice really tastes like snow.

If you think my sugar’s sweet,
And ice really tastes like snow,
Then I wonder if when you remember me - you’ll call home and let me know.

It would be better for both of us,
If you’d call home and let me know.
Perhaps then, I’d know where to go.

I wonder if U love me,
I wonder if you’re true.
I wonder if the yard guy we hired is really out with the flu.
I wonder what happened to last night,
I wonder why I didn’t know.
& I wonder if you will spit in my hand,
And try to sell it as snow.

If you believe you will spit in my hand,
And try to sell it as snow,
Then I ask if when you remember me you will help me, by letting me go.

It would be the best thing for the both of us, if you would let me go.
I’m alone when I’m with you, alone when I’m not
I swear babe, I just don’t know.

I wonder why I give a damn,
Because clearly you do not.
I wonder when I’ll get a life, and stop wanting the one that you’ve got.
Wonder if I will grow some cajones,
I wonder where mine are,
And I wonder if it’s after five cause then cocktails - are free at the bar.

Copyright © Mari Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

BALLAD OF THE BAD BOY In MONTANA dedicated to my grandmothers twin sister

Some songs
Are of saddest times
The skies of darkest days
Some words
Bring such discontent
There are no gentle ways
To tell the tale
Without the tears
That tear the heart in two
But I will share
This saddest tale
Of hearts both black and true

There was a widow 
With a son
He was a spunky lad
And when she found 
Another man
The boy turned
Mean and sad.

The maid who cleaned the widow’s house
Saw the what was going on.
How each day the battle raged 
As soon as she was gone.

The man took off
His silver belt
And like a man insane
He beat the boy, he cursed at him 
And called him filthy names.

The mother’s love had maddened him
 He hounded the poor child
Jealousy had filled his head
By hate his heart defiled.

He loved the widow, now his wife
Her son was in the way.
He sent the boy away to school
On that their wedding day.

The boy wrote home--
He hated school
They beat him there and worse
They starved the boy
To punish him
For writing silly verse.

The boy wrote home to plead his case
He promised to be good.
He begged to be at home again
He’d even chop the wood!
At the widow’s urging
The man re-read the letter
'He must come home'--his sweetheart cried--
'He's promised to be better.'

The man sent off the widow 
Quick to get her son
She left him on the next train
Before the day’d begun.

The day was hot, the winds were bad
The clouds, they shouted rain
The neighbors said that angels wept
As they hailed the train

The man stopped by to get the mail
Without his widow’d  wife
Another letter from the school
How tiresome was his life!

He put the letter in his bag
And headed his way home
When bedtime came he got it out
He liked to read alone.

'Your son is dead,' the letter said,
The hand was from a man
the school was starving naughty boys
the lawmen had a plan.

The school would close, the boys all leave
But one boy would remain.
The dead boy would be with his ma
When she returned by train.

The man who loved the widow
And took her for his wife
Hanged himself before the dawn
And took his own dear life.

The widow and her son
Returned through beating rains
She walked into that darkened house
And blew apart her brains.

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

I know You Cape Breton

Hey, how are you

	Have you heard this one?
	Where there’s a midnight sun

		Listen to me now,
		Listen up young one
		One day I left someone

	Where did you say
	you were going?
	She looked so sad
	with her tears showing

		showing her a map of you,
		around the world to you,
		flying so fast at you,
		I left my Papua New Guinea,
		my home sweet home for you.

			So... like déjàvu, 
			You look so...
			Do I know you?
			No, don't say no...
			I know you!
			you were in my dreams

	You know that moment, 
	when you see her, 
	the light,
	that shines, 
	that lifts you high 
	into outer space so high

oh how I longed for you,
Just you and me,
your seasons, my wonder..
I wonder when thunders,
remind my mind, 
my sleeping child,
suddenly awake,
But Nova's away..

	They say people say,
	you'd miss home, 
	you'll miss POM..
	you said no,
	No, No, No
	you'll be home
	From winter to Autumn
	Just you and I
	you'll be fine

		So when the leaves fall,
		Or when snow falls,
		Remember me,
		Remember us,
		Our time, may be dying,
		Maybe someday I'll find,
		My child no child,
		and the sun so fine,
		I'll be home bound,
			To my Ocean playground..


Copyright © Moi Kaira | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

The Ballad of Malcolm McCorey

Come and listen awhile I pray
To hear a sad love story,
I have only a minute to stay
To tell the tale of Malcolm McCorey.

I'm Malcolm, Sally was my bride
I've loved her since grade school,
She was my life and my pride
And, I was her ever loving fool.

Work let off early that night
And it was pouring down in sheets,
When my eyes beheld the sight
Of Sally whoring 'tween the sheets.

My Sally was not forthcoming
And, I was blind by love's adoring,
I swear I never saw it coming
The day my Sally went a whoring.

This wasn't some casual adoring
That I might could understand,
This was at our home a whoring
In our bed with another man.

It was a cold and rainy night
And it was pouring down in sheets,
I wasn't prepared for the sight
Of Sally whoring 'tween the sheets.

The truth came like a blinding light
She couldn't wait to shut the door,
When I came home early that night
While she gaily played the whore!

She glared up at me in surprise
At seeing me suddenly arrive,
I stared back into her lying eyes
Down the barrel of my forty five!

It was a stormy and dismal night
And it kept pouring down in sheets,
I'll never forget the awful sight
Of Sally whoring 'tween the sheets.

The Padre' comes to comfort me
My life's now run it's course,
Today my pain will cease to be
Soon, I'll feel no more remorse.

I forgive myself of all at last
My soul will soon go soaring,
Today will soon be o'er and past
The pain, of Sally gone a whoring.

* Malcolm was executed in may of 1969. May God have mercy on his soul.

                        Timothy I. Brumley

Copyright © Timothy Brumley | Year Posted 2010