Couplet Home Poems | Couplet Poems About Home

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

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Details | Couplet |

She Calls Me Home

She Calls Me Home…

At days long end
Left on troubles shore
When I just know
I can't take anymore
When the last light
Of hope is gone

She calls me home
She calls me home

When my thoughts
Are racing round
And I can't find
A friend in this town
When every door
Has turned out wrong

She calls me home
She calls me home

She calls me home
To her embrace
Wipes the tears
From my tortured face

Calms my soul
Til the demons are gone
And with her sweet voice
She calls me home

When the dark
Won't give up light
When the wrong
Outscores the right
When the noise
Outdoes the song

She calls me home
She calls me home

When the clouds
Won't seem to break
And the sky
Just seems to ache
And the sun's
Completely gone

She calls me home
She calls me home

She calls me home
To her embrace
Wipes the tears
From my tortured face

Calms my soul
Til the demons are gone
And with her sweet voice
She calls me home

Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2012

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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

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Misdirected Anger

Nightmares, jungles, blood on hands
Unjust war in distant lands
Scars that no one else can see
Memories doing battle with his sanity
Off to war, a rich man’s fool
Rich man’s son was off to school
Some came home in boxes, statistics mount
Media smiles announcing body count
Working man’s sons without a voice
Off to war without a choice
Coming home to hate, the fire fanned
Misdirected Anger in his native land
Dismayed with the war, activists groups
Pointing blame at the drafted troops
So many dead through the bloody nights
Protecting rubber trees and oil rights
After the storm, there was no calm
Soldiers coming home from Vietnam.

Dedicate to Vietnam vets who served valiantly,
unappreciated at home

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2011

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Is it Just me

Sometimes I don't know, is it just me Why am I standing, when I should be in the trees Sometimes I don't know if it's right for doing wrong It appears that I'm singing a totally different song Sometimes like in my past, is it just me Maybe I'd be happier, back amongst the leaves .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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atop your hearth my soul doth rest
away from fear that grips the best

like ships at dock you gently tend
to aches and pains your love will mend

when evening falls you bathe your light
on loved ones gathered, hearts held tight

as daylight breaks, you conjure smiles
our travels filled with love for miles

and like majestic oaks that cast
your acorns nourish dreams that last

© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2012

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Fill It With Him (Mid Swap)

There is no love, without our God; 
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
I cannot stay if He’s not there,
A sense of loss would fill the air. 

Fill this house with truer faith
Let, our hearts hope in Him always --
He‘ll heal spiritual beggars,
His glory abounds forever…

Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
There is no love without our God.

Enter, for the kingdom is nigh,
Reach in and ask He’ll not deny.
There are blessings awaiting you,
Hope in Him, and He’ll see you through…

Open your heart, for it is home
Remember God is on the throne ~
When despair strikes – Give it to God, 
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~

Adell Foster©2009 Adell1

Comments: Mid Swap: Created by Jenny Buzzard from England. This is a strict structure that 
repeats the first and last line as a center couplet. A syllable count of eight per line with 
rhyme scheme as follows:


Copyright © Adell Foster | Year Posted 2009

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Wanted: New Home for Rooster

A plucky fellow wakes us up each day at dawn
To the tune of cock-a-doodle-do we yawn

How grateful we've been that we need no alarm
His sunrise serenade has far more charm

EXCEPT on weekends when we are free to sleep in
Want to stuff a sock in his beak 'ere he begins

So we decided to put this loud one on loan
The stud-master rooster had a new weekend home

In a neighbor's yard where chickens needed a mate
He strutted his feathered tail, made many a date

So many, in fact, that the eggs did abound
Tributes to his manhood littered the ground

Our sweet neighbor lady has cried out, "No more!"
And we want to avoid a neighborhood war

Can you take him in, not just weekends of course
Our chicks and our neighbor's demand a divorce

This unfaithful fowl needs a new chicken coop
One that is filled with an "open-minded" group

I hope there's a taker, 'cause this much is true
He could be the entree for our next barbecue

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

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This lunar sunset was what he’d most miss  -
They always said death was like this : 
Slo-mo and black-and-white
Like an old movie trite.
It had happened to him twice before : then
At rush hour on the G15 highway outside Shenzhen        (1)
In his new red car when he was twenty;
And again on the pad at Dongfeng  launch facility -       (2)
An accidental fire in the cabin and abort
When the oxygen supply fell short.

The sun had glared at him all day from the black night  
Familiar stars visible, coloured bright. 
He ran through his old lectures in his head
The cool ones - yellow  orange, red,   
The hot ones which stare  and emblazon,
As everything slips slowly down to the western horizon.
No loss of heat from sun, but shadows lengthening  now,
Black, black, lengthening inky shadow.  

His pen wrote fast across his paper notepad  deformed
But the inky marks now in Pudonghua  formed                 (3)
As his English slipped away.
He’d been here so long . . . . a month?  A day?
Day is 15 earth days,  night is 15 nights
And sunset  lasts a whole earth day bright

Moon was full, his earth was darkened, like night.
A blue watery ball with edges of light:
While the earth eclipsed the sun  
A red halo around his spinning home was spun.  
Sun’s entry on earth’s western limb made  slow 
Red flares - crowns -  as the solar disk slid low,
And earth’s red light bathed itself  on white rocks beside,
He felt a last touch of home inside.

So unlike his own sunsets of the past
In his home in Guangzhou, seen last                            (4)
Over the Pearl River delta with bent light                    (5)
At  the heavy monsoon rains’  height.
This taikonaut’s  last sunset . . . . . his radio dead,        (6)
His pen drops, and he slowly nods his head,
As sun’s warm arms envelope his earth fond,
And he slips his surly bonds.                                           (7)
(1) A well-known dangerous highway in southern China
(2) Chinese equivalent to Kennedy Space Centre
(3) Pudonghua  (=Chinese) is the language spoken in southern China
(4) Major mega-city in southern China, near Hong Kong
(5) Pearl River is the river on which Guangzhou stands
(6) Astronaut = cosmonaut = taikonaut
(7) This line is closely modeled on a line in “HIGH FLIGHT”  by John  Magee


Entered   in  Nancy Jones's Contest  "LOSERS"

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

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Heaven must be  this  sweet  -

Old Pilikov across the street,

The  Schillings there along the shore,

Apple trees  just outside door.  

In the softness of  lush pink shade

My  children  grew and played

With  their heavy  laden  giant  blooms  

And inhaled  their pure  perfumes.

To start each day in blossom,

In display perfect and fulsome,

Spread low over my transom  -

Is surely  life in heaven’s bosom.

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

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Silence Befalls This Home Now

Looking through the bookshelves - a homemade book he chose . . . 
Trapped within the forgotten pages - he came upon a red rose . . . 

Flatten down with care - faded in colour - more so in its scent . . . 
Memories such of a time - so long ago - to himself only it lent . . . 

It came from a happy home - a home cherished - all with love . . . 
Every crevice packed with loving items - fitting all like a glove . . . 

A garden full of noises - the song birds they did forever sing . . .
And on these evenings roll scents from the flowers often ling . . .  

All crafted by a man to perfection - made to the one he loved . . . 
As no other person - nor idol - to his love - did he set above . . .   

There was nothing he would not do - to him a toll well spent . . . 
To share with his fair maiden - who was to him - heaven sent . . .

Their home a range of seductive aromas - a good woman baked . . .  
The scent of fresh green grass - cut - he meaningful then raked . . . 

A garden and a home - once filled with laughing children galore . . . 
With hollow sadness wasn't that some sixty five years or more . . .  ?

Silence - befalls this home now - bare - the creaking of the gate . . . 
No more idle down song birds - as the evening draws to its fate . . . 

The old man - restful in his chair - the book between his hands . . .
Memories forgotten - now remembered - now fully understands . . . 

His weary sunken eyes closing - they are about to open no more . . . 
Over the roof top and beyond the chestnut trees - a spirit soars . . . 

No more idle down song birds - as this evening draws to its fate . . . 
Silence - befalls this home now - bare - the creaking of the gate . . .  

Indiana Shaw . . . -_- 

Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016

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something beautiful and strange

   'neath my family tree I found
something green and blue and brown
hatching out beneath my touch
that I love so very much
can you take it home tonight?
feed it soup and hold it tight?
I can't have it ,Heaven knows,
it wants to wear my sister's clothes
and dance around in town all day
and make confections out of clay
put it in a sachel bag
make it march and wave a flag
until it learns it must conform
it's just too different from the norm
and when you make it tow the line,
I'll take it home and make it mine.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006

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Will she go home?

  His life proceeded as before
even though she left his door
he still got up at half past seven
ate his gruel and prayed to heaven

 he still went out to plow the fields
and calculated all the yields
from cows and chicks and eggs that hatched
he mended fences,wove the thatch
that roofed his hut in from the cold

but subtle changes could be told
he used to sing the cows back home
and whistle when he was alone
he brought her daisies every night
but now they wilted in his sight

his hair turned ashen and his eyes
paled their  blue to winter skies
a tremor started in his hands
he wrote her name out in the sands

out beside the garden gate
and on that night
she chanced to wait
deciding  love beneath the pines
and there behold she saw these lines...

"she left because I would not say 
the words I'm writing here today,
        I love you
seems so very small,
   for when she left
   she took my all."

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006

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Letter To A War Widow

With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent

The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath

As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store

If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display

I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed

I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve

I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate

My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near

On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue

I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December

Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught

In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime  

To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host

Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being 
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing

Copyright © Shawn Sackman | Year Posted 2009

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A Brave Soul Goes Home

A Brave Soul Goes Home

No mortal power ever on this common earthly plane
Can call you back as Heaven makes its final gain.

You mind was one steeped in such numeric certitude,
Possessing a spirit with a most certain pulchritude.

Your life strode a period of only six decades plus two, 
But in God’s divine plan he knew so well the real you.

You developed in time a zest for friendship and love,
Which God felt with such passion in Heaven above.

Your life had its great share of such suffering and pain,
But that never dampened your spirit on this mortal plane.

God was most aware always of your charitable nature,
As you helped those in need—victims of human nature.

Your departure from us was sadly short and unexpected,
But God’s plan and wishes for you were always expected.

And so Brave Soul we mourn your loss from our mortal home,
But we take solace in knowing God’s called you to His home. 
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
April 27, 2015 (Rhymed Couplet)

*A special tribute to a departed and most loved family member.

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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A House Is Not A Home Without You

A House Is Not A Home Without You By Rick Rucker The carpets and the drapes are new, Still, something urgent is missing: YOU! Now that we have a place, I long always to see your face, The desire to kiss you before you sleep, And again as sunlight, into our bedroom, will creep, I am not complaining, just stating a fact, You are what I have long lacked, A friend that shares my secret fears, As you have shared my past tears, I love you more than Life, And would proudly have you as my Wife, Our place is ready, to become a home, From which we will not have to roam, It is what I have prayed for, from Above, A place for us to share our Love!

Copyright © Rick Rucker | Year Posted 2011

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Safe At Home

When I closed my eyes and fell asleep in the premature hours of dawn
I never dreamed Your face would be
The next I’d look upon
My vehicle came to rest against the square concrete pylon
And those who found me declared to all
“It appears as though he’s gone”
They said I had the look of peace upon my face so fair
And in my lap my hands were laid
As if God placed them there
Just underneath those hands of mine my Gummy Bears were found
How is it that they rested there
And were not tossed around
You chose for me the greatest dad and mother one could have
And my sister; she’s so beautiful
Will you hold her for me Dad
For all of those that knew me knew how much I loved the game
But they also knew I loved you Lord
And someday you’d call my name
I’m grateful that I prayed the prayer to receive you in my heart
Now I know for sure that heaven is real
And we two shall never part
My final game was played that day as I heard you say “well done”
I ran into my dwelling place
Where I’m truly “safe at home”

Dedicated to RJ Ledesma jr who was called from this earth much to soon. May you rest in the Lord's care till we see you again. October 29, 1992 - September 24, 2011

Copyright © Janice Smith | Year Posted 2013

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Ye Olde Antique

It may be dusty, gross or reek;
It’s sure to sell if it’s antique.

For Susan’s Antique contest

Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2014

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Didn't Blink

I flat out nailed my first interview
Young and dumb without a clue
Then hired on the spot, no lying
Nervousness was my only crime
When suddenly his questions stopped
Damn it man, our eyes locked
I stood up in fear, my hand out
Ready to go home and just pout
His words were "your hired"
"I like the way your wired"
He shook my hand withe ease
Then we talked about the leads
I then asked him for an advance
Five hundred bucks, a slim chance
So when I left that interview
Holding five hundred buckaroo
I felt I had conquered the world
I drove home to kiss my girl
Caught every single green light
First time for everything, right?

Copyright © Mitch White | Year Posted 2010

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Copyright © 2012 
(A Purpose So Clear) 

Like children we fear 
  In secret a somber tear 

Like learning to walk 
 Babies listen to talk 

And reach for a hand 
  To help them stand 

This too, we all must do 
  By HIS Hand made anew 

by: LP

Copyright © Les Pruitt | Year Posted 2012

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going home

Oh sweet love that’s now been taken,
Back to thy loving care,
Their life on earth you lent us,
To enrich ours while they’re here.
And now they are returned, 
Once again were on our own,
Give strength, and light our path lord,
In a world that’s filled with wrongs.
We know you have a purpose,
Yet to us it seems unclear.
But faith in you eternal,
Will help to ease our fears.
And when our time must surely come,
To meet you at the end,
To dwell in peace forever,
And to meet our love again.

Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2008

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I can hear the horses snorting, outside my bedroom window,
Even though it comes, from so many years ago;

Cotton from the cottonwoods flying through the air,
Making whitened dapples on my palomino mare;

The hounds are all out baying, it must be dinner time;
In my tiny little neighborhood, I was never scared of crime;

Family surrounded me, aunts and uncles all around,
It was quiet on our little street, no sirens made a sound;

My cousins and I would play outlaws, and we’d hide out for a day;
Making mighty forts from the fifty tons of hay;

It never really changed much, as I grew up through the years,
And remembering that it’s gone, always brings me close to tears.

(My Parents sold the house I grew up in last year - It still breaks my heart)

Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011

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A Castle for the Mouse

Once there was a mouse that envied the castle on the hill.
It looked way more glorious than the hovel he lived in.
Every day he dreamed of what life there could truly be.
Dreams of wondrous food, plus beautiful rooms only his mind could see.
Sights from the windows each day, would deeply stir his very soul.
There would be glorious kingly meals, only a great chef could bestow.
There would be a fancy, cozy bed in a room with beauty all around.
But venturing up the hill… that is not even remotely what he found.

All the windows were too high with nothing near to climb upon.
And clouds were always obscuring any view that might be found. 
The family was too old with no children to drop crumbs upon the ground.
The furniture was ancient wood with nowhere comfy to hide from their hound.
The spaces were damp and drafty wherein he found to make his bed.
Nothing was anything like what he always dreamed it would be, in his head.
So he finally scurried back to the cottage, that home he’d always deplored.
Strange, the little cottage seemed to shine, and wasn’t a hovel any more.
While he’d been gone it seemed they had missed… giving him his nightly desire.
And they had got together to build a little castle just for him, set by the fire.
Then each night they had left a beloved, yummy piece of popcorn, solely for his lair.
He had been a loved little pampered pet, nothing better could be found elsewhere.

The moral to this story is dreams are only dreams that may not come true.
No matter how green somewhere else seems, always give a warm comfy home it’s due. 
Remember it’s a home filled with loving hearts… and not other things… 
That will make it… The Perfect Fit for you.

Bestiary: Type of Medieval poetry

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012

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There have been times in our land
When our nation has had to take a stand.

It first began at Bunker's Hill
Where so many men were then killed.

All through that war with the British King
Men here in America were fighting and dying.

They were the first "Veterans" of the US,
When duty calls, there was always a surplus.

Always men of courage it takes it seems
Like those with Jackson at New Orleans.

There were "Veterans" who fought both South and North
When the country was split, her sons poured forth.

Healing those wounds would take some time
But in the end it came in line.

Of course no one remembers the row with Spain
Where America sent her men once again.

The "War to End All Wars" was more than a saying
As loved ones and sweethearts were left home praying.

Oh, Chateau Thierry, the Argonne, Belleau Wood and more
Are now in our history as battles of that war.

Then came the biggest war of all
When the world went crazy in '39's Fall.

Our "Veterans" were there too,
In Africa, Europe, and the Katmandu.

From Casablanca and Casserein on Africa's shore,
To Sicily, Anzio, Normandy, and the Bastogne's of that war.

The Pacific saw its share of death and hell
From the first bombs at Pearl Harbor to Gaudalcanal.

Many "Veterans" died at Iwo Jima, Saipan, Okinawa too,
They shed their blood for me and you.

After the end, we thought we might have some order,
Until the Communists in Korea crossed the border.

The Vietnam era was one of upheaval and race,
Some "Veterans" coming home even received a spit in the face.

For their part the "Veterans" were not to blame,
And for our country, it was a time of shame.

Dessert Storm and Dessert Shield put them in the MidEast
Where terror reigns with sate for a feast.

Yet, the soldier, sailor, or airman know,
If his country calls, he must go.

They follow the traditions of other "Veterans" you see,
They put their lives on the line for both you and me.

To the ones who have worn our country's uniform I say
"Thank You, Veteran", we should honor you with more than one day!

Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010

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A Comforting Thing

I’d left old Kentucky for a while to roam, but now the roads call me, and I’m coming home. Just me and my pickup -we’re now headed to a chilled winter woodland, the cottage, and you. Those back roads keep calling. Old houses with gates I’m driving on past to where my dear awaits. I see in the distance a comforting thing. Smoke drifts from your chimney as wind starts to sing. A down- home cooked supper awaits me tonight then all-night sweet lovin’ near the warm firelight. 10/12/13

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

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Simple Pleasures

Today I'm going to spoil me.
Sleep in for an extra hour ... or three.
Stay in pajamas well past noon,
though this day will be over much too soon.

Warm fuzzy slippers on my feet, 
hazelnut coffee, a special treat.
These simple pleasures are all too rare
when I treat myself to some extra care.

The cat, she's purring, happy I'm here.
Enjoying the fact that "mommy" is near.
No watch on my wrist, no place to be,
just curled up on the couch watching T.V.

In my hectic life such days are few
so it's time to refresh, relax, renew.
The simple pleasures that I love best
are the ones that give me my much needed rest.


Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2016

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Fond Memories

We weren't rich by any means
but our bellies were full and our clothes were clean

They didn't display those high priced names
but they wore fine just the same

We didn't ride around in fancy cars
Grandma saved pennies in a big glass jar

We learned early that money doesn't grow on trees
we also learned to say "thank you" and "please"

I mowed the grass in the summertime
My sister helped hang the clothes on the line

My cousin usually took out the trash
On Friday we'd each get seven dollars cash

At nigh we slept under a big window fan
It made the most comforting sound when it ran

We put a beaten on that old screen door
We must have popped it a million times or more

In the Fall we'd all gather up wood
and invite every kid in the neighborhood 

Grandaddy would build us a pretty good fire
We'd all roast hotdogs on coat hanger wires

Our first roller skates had metal wheels
with rubber stoppers on the backs of the heels

We had a paved alley alongside the house
You could see sparks when we skated around

Every couple of years we'd get a new bike
We'd attach playing cards to all of the spikes

We'd attach them with grandma's wooden clothespins
so it would sound like our bikes had motorcycle engines

As I look back on our childhood
I think we had it pretty good

We didn't need all the fancy stuff
We had each other and that was enough

Grandma's house was our favorite place
We'd never felt more loved and safe

That old house was home to us
It was the best even when we'd fight and fuss

Those memories to me are so crisp and clear
I will always hold them very dear

Copyright © Nikki Reynolds | Year Posted 2016

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Growing up Abuse

Mother’s Day depresses me
because the way Mom sees me

when I came home from service
she rarely gave me notice

and labeled me not normal
never was an animal

she always looked down at me
to her I shouldn’t be free

is it some kind abuse?
she was very nice to Deuce

Deuce was her old friend
my life there to end

I feel guilty for having these thoughts
I always knew my life at home rots

Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013

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My kind of town is a village by the sea.
Where we grew up, my siblings and me.

Roaming free from dawn 'till dusk.
Home for evening tea, as we must.

Summers by the beach, paddling, swimming.
Diving off the pier, strongest swimmers winning.

Music playing from our Music Shop.
Or Mum in our Pharmacy, while caring for us lot.

School overlooking beautiful bay.
Taken for granted as we went outside to play.

Friendships we made then still going strong.
It's amazing how well we all get along.

Hitching a lift to local dances.
Slapping the hands of boys taking chances.

Would love to be a child again.
In that old fashioned world, way back when.

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016

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                  THE LONG ROAD HOME

Our home in the country sit's deep in a valley.
Once a month our small town has a home town rally.

Country living and country folk is what we live for.
We all are willing to lend a hand or to open a door.

Tall trees winter grass and the scent of spring flowers.
Chickens laying eggs,cows grazing in summer showers.

People of Prue,Oklahoma have nothing bad to say.
We socialize and join together in church and pray.

We got a church,post office,store and a school.
We got our own lake so there is no need for a
                    swiming pool.

There's plenty of room for dogs and kids to roam.
         .As you travel the long road home.
                      Teresa Skyles
Entered in Brian Strand's"A free choice any form/theme Max 12 LINES"contest

Copyright © T.A. Skyles-Theoklapoet | Year Posted 2011

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heirloom roots dart unto tropical spaces seven thousand islands stitched by dainty laces where ripples of meadows form formless there, lovely women gather milkfish with kindness of gumamela leaves sun-kissed, peach-dressed. On tinted valleys, a gathering of eagles astonished; forests of green brush coconut - combed tresses and temperate sky curls into sunset wishes while crickets are led to peaks of tobacco embers. Billowing grass huts cling to the clang of village pails as serenades of tanned guitars speak of folk tales, till rustic gaiety shifts rice grains open to gliding unto coastlines made of Asian waves rambling. A paradise on miles and miles of Pacific heredity her limbs swaying into pearl necklaces so daintily, such movement my lips burst of hibiscus seeds a grandeur spread on a carpet of ancestral beads. This is my morning and night broth, my daily gland miles of guava trees dwelling…my birth mark, homeland. © *gumamela—a hibiscus plant found in Asia * my country is the Philippines SKAT's MY LAND IS MY HOME contest by nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012