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On Writing And Words Home Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Home

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Details | Verse |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part VI

Water licks your feet
Far cry from the beating sun
Desert sand to sea

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

My Wishes are Simple

My Wishes are Simple

My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.

My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.

My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Going Home

What is it to see the soil of home again?
A welcome, snow-struck and a return
To cold; sharp white contrasts sunburn.
We converse in broken tongues to men

We know, hooked on holiday language
Comprised of wandering hand signs.
Collect the car and pay parking fines,
Drive through towns and over a bridge

Until we reach the Western gateway.
Oh when will we arrive at our house?
No camels there, only field mouse
Which are eaten by our cat anyway.

The plane flies for an age, slyly yawning
Through the stretching, pealing sky,
A knife through air; what it is to fly.
Our travels over; a new day is dawning.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part II

The Med between us
The gusts make me think of you
Storms... it’s just like home.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

Unashamed Self-Promotion


Greetings, good and kind fellow Soup-ers!

'Tis wonderful, I say,
to be a Soup-er, so if I may,

I humbly request you to lay down your pen dipped in fine ink,
and visit my blog which can be found at the following link:


Now if this blatant self-promoting of mine seems rude,
I ask for your generous forgiveness, dear fellow Soup-er,

And wish you a day, that is peaceful, kind, and just plain super!

So cheers from the scribbler for now,
and as I take leave, my fellow Soup-ers,
I, in courtesy, to you all, do bow!


Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Monoku |

A Poet's Home

No matter how long you stay away, you can always come back home again ~*~
Note: 1/21/12 For Carol's "What I like Best about Poetry Soup" Contest Annalise Brigham *2nd Place

Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |


How some students grew up on the Computor? 
and can't function in the real world right click the bus mommy and place it at the 
stop it is taking much too long to come around the horn. form method="post" 
This paragraphic is free to be a space bar for mee and ewe. 
option>Sometimes in my fables there is parts and pieces of mye poems this is 
not yellow journalism or nepotism or even bad form eye can copy and paste and 
then add text eye can translate pictures into banners and banners into love eye 
can relate a page to GOD and find a way to enter clouds formed and someday 
eye will make it rain inside this idiot Computor box and it will fry all the electronic 
components of every Computor in the world then we will all go outside again and 
inhale the fresher air. 
Just now eye went to a Bravenet website to make me a new website and its free 
but of course the upgrades would cost me but the free sights is challenging and 
it gave me a code for a welcome type box and it did NOT work as it is in the form 
of a a href not a url. The idea is the webpage would bring me people they would 
sign my little guestbook too bad it does not even relate to the page it won't 
translate at all the code is wrong its backwards to a forum type webpage the url 
is too long. The HEY REF only works on websites the URL IMG thing only works 
on FORUMS how many people have followed links to there destruction. When 
eye got the thing on my FIRST PAGE of HOME the thing took off with me when eye 
clicked it open we went for an internet ride and eye lost the page eye was on NO 
fun. Eye would not want a HOME Computor user to become lost in navigation 
when he was just trying to let me knoe that he had viewed my poems. The thing 
is done the web page that they gave me is very green and nice looking but does 
not do a real function oh well in this Brave New World does anything rally have to 
have a function and so mye gentle reader ewe it seems to mee the eye the poet 
fable maker fabulist like Aesop that eye am just the new proud owner of another 
big white elephant so they will always benefit from instruction of this knowledge 
from someone please open windows as many as yew want and let them learn 
yew some. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Rhyme |

heart, mind, and soul

father time in my chest
keeper of its own pace
just skin and bone depth
influences time and space
what are we but drifters
 in an unknown

see truth in a literal
belief before my face
stars with no funeral
light will win the race
here i am, not for long
death starts at home

where is this leading?
which story could it be?
despite all my reading
writings the cup of tea
i dont need to know it all
as long as im not alone

Copyright © Davin Payne | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

No Place Like Home

I struggled, got her words just right
as I revised for half a night.
Onto the battlefield she rode
my glorious soldier named Ode.

Her rival said - "she's much too long!"
another nagged - "..setting's all wrong."
Broken and bruised my warrior stayed
doing her job, somewhat dismayed.

Hours before the contest was done
came this brassy note, only one.
"As I read,  your piece was just fine
You just skipped ev'ry other line."

Front lines were chosen, mine were not.
My Ode retreated, proud to have fought.
Humbled, she found the road back home;
the battlefield is no place to roam.


Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Baggage Claim

Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival, 
          I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches 
                                                Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
          Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
                                                He holds the key to this new world.

The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience 
          Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped 
                                                Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence 
          Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped 
                                                Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.

My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
          In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
			   Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
          On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
                                                Our intrepid journey commences...

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |


She heard the calling of the music
Listened to its fate, it found her, she found it
They are now bonds inseparable
Its laws are now in her reasoning
She understands and even knows how to interpret it
It dictates and she follows its pace
She listens and does not contemplate
She has learned to link its dynamic perfect unison with colors
The immeasurable days, weeks, months and years seemed indifferent
All she heard were the thoughts of the distance
Reminiscing home calling as its usual number
She proceeded and finally she is preceded 
With the inscriptions and thoughts of iridescence

The ROYGBIV’s of reason
And realized that they had always been awake from the beginning and through each season
Even if time had not fulfilled its calling

The gates of the imprisoned have be opened
And sights have started to follow

After their wars had deprived them with sweet sorrow 
While they were lost trying, battling between intertwining crimson companions 
And could not decipher right from wrong
After the journey of a thousand years across earth’s barricades
She found the 
                                                           swirling ~ twirling

Copyright © Johnny Pyro | Year Posted 2010

Details | Verse |


Which other lovely place could be
so remote and silent,
if not this room where thoughts
turn into sweet verses that enchant.  

A fake hawk guards the wide window,
its face with red eyes keeps 
those noisy kids away 
while the cuckoo clock laughs and sings!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haiku |

Driving Home From Bill's House

Part I
Driving from your house
My thoughts swirl like midnight fog
One more tune unsung

Part II
I would have played it
But I was deep in your thoughts
Didn't miss a thing

Part III
Already it's late
I don't feel much like sleeping
Words won't always hold

Copyright © Barb Black | Year Posted 2007

Details | I do not know? |






Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |


Books are a way of learning a trade
Books tell us stories, poetry, and plays

Books entertain our vast minds to the fullest
Books are in my opinion the coolest!

Books describe people of the past
Books are abundant at home and in class

Books bring home dragons and ghouls
Books aren’t apart of uneducated fools

Books represent a means to an end
Books are there when you haven’t a friend 

Books are hard and soft sometimes
Books are in brail to educate the blind

Books will be here and with me forever
Books without you doesn’t bring us together

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |

my life defined

a series of acts
with a few different scenes
and the script is me knowing yet praying 
that it wont be
a tragedy

Every act i face a series of tests
each test given a name called a scene
I repeat these scenes like life lessons
and when i get them right
like a game show 
i move on to the next act

How many acts are in a Shakespearean tragedy anyway
will i be strong enough
when in this test no matter how near or far from home 
that's always where I'm pointed

I walk out one door
to find myself on set still
outside this time so it should appear
another door i walk into leads me inside
but yet on a yacht going far away
and the actors are always there
asking me dilemmas
choose this choose that
and then I'm right back at the beginning
flashback making it all make sense
like a dram of circles inside my head

the foreshadowing is thick
for we all know the circle routine of the circle of doors
that lead us around on the set
from act one of home to outside
then faraway and jail
to yacht to flashback home again

what is the lesson to be learned
depends on the actors
and the foreshadowing is thick
story lines story lines

this is my life
the show must go on
and i sit here wasting time to write
the actors of my life were never friends
and proof for look they are all on strike
leaving me to walk these circles in my mind
alone on this set blind

open the door
sunrise blue bright outside sky
open the door
I'm on  yacht
open the door
I'm in jail
open the door
I'm in outer space
open the door
I'm home again
and the foreshadowing in this scene is clever but oh soo thick
as i walk in circles by myself
the story seems to stick

how can i make their guts crawl and plan to fail soo tragicly
no one would intervene and it would make us all sick?

Copyright © Troy Jeremy Nelson | Year Posted 2007

Details | I do not know? |

That's What I Do

The alarm goes off and I rise up, for a moment foggy from sleep.
I look through the curtain and stare out at the world in front of me.
Where am I ?  My mind is a blank , the cob webs still clinging. 
Oh yes I remember.   I'm Where I'm supposed to be.

Miles away from my home and my family, doing a job not many can do
or would want too.
This is my life day and night,  to deliver my loads to the receiver's so that
consumer's will have what they need.  That's what I do.

Then it's off to another pick up and another hurry up and wait day.
Because no matter when I get there the freight won't be ready to load.
So I'll be up all day waiting for it.  No one seems to care.
Then it's all night long no time to wait. Got to get on down the road.

Montgomery is a long way off and  7 a.m. comes early, just enough time 
to fuel up.  Both the rig and myself.  Grab a thermos of Joe
Then it's back to the road I go.  The HOS is a pain the D.O.T. the same
The coops are open and weighing.   My weights o.k. and it's off I go.

Daylight is just a memory and the night is long and black.
The c.b. is chattering low. 10 people talking at the same time.
Truck stops are full and there is no place to park so I head out
 to find a rest area.  Then call home  on the land line.

Hello I miss you. Did you take care of the things I asked you too?
Yes I'll be home by Friday, No I haven't forgotten a thing
Yes I know I won't be late.  I promise!  Yea I love you too!
I hang up and I feel it,  the painful sting.

I walk back to the truck, sadness fills me, and it lingers.
My heart hurts until the night closes in on me and I sleep.
The alarm sounds and I arise and I move out onto the road
Montgomery calls, and the diesel in my blood flows deep.

This is my life. What I do to make a living
It's hard and lonely and scary  too.
But it's the life I've chosen to live and I know it better than myself
Miles, and miles, everyday.  That's what I do.

Copyright © Georgia Walker | Year Posted 2006

Details | I do not know? |

The only way home

“The journey to an infinite destination begins with the execution of a choice made and
a step taken”

Copyright © Johnny Pyro | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |

I want to go home

I sign, and from the moment when my ink -
naive and plain - lays down its life, I cry.

Microwaved air brushes against anxiety
plays with our concentration, dances with sweat.

Our eyes: giant pendulums patrol inside this brimming bucket, guarding the lies.

Children, ragged and seemingly archaic, graze
in herds along this expanse. This thirsty sight

calls for aid. Sand slips sensually
into every cranny. I can taste the insanity.

Falling like trees they multiply, lining up
nought after nought with the lick of my trigger.

Featureless faces lay gaunt; their cheekbones defiant and dark reach out for 

Blood-curdling screams scratch scathingly
throughout my body, grating on my bones.

I am lost. We are the foreigners.

I want to go home.

Copyright © Phil Naylor | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse |

A Perfect Poet

 A Perfect Poet 
A Perfect Poet 
He wrote the poem and spelled the words so incorrectly he must tell his word 
document to ignore the half of it. He tries to make a style stand out to be 
eecummings in his heart he starts an idea and makes it work somewhat then he 
twists the center until it gels and bleeds then he turns the ending until it seems 
like just the ticket for the transfer on the bus ride home a perfect gnome a self 
important man so far from home a place in time already gone so all alone and 
hurt the day will come when attitude will win and all the people lose there hate 
and poets win and a perfect poet rides the wind and the blanket gets so wet at 
times and the life spills out when love arrives. AH HA he cried a perfect poet is 
the plan a perfect poem is a different thing. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme |

The Home of my Computer

I call it clutter corner
and you can see the reason why
things are scattered everywhere
enough to make ya cry

But that my Friends is happiness
a place to dream each day
a place to put the words I write
To save the things I say

Who knows the final outcome
If I made it look all bright
Perhaps the words would stop to flow
If it had a different sight

So stay it will all cluttered
that corner that I love
The corner where I write whose words
that come from heaven above

Mr. Doug

Copyright © Mr. Doug Frederick | Year Posted 2006