Verse Home Poems

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

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Details | Free verse |
The horizon was brewing ominous clouds,
Dark as if they came out of hell.
The once azure sky became hazy
As the north wind chilly breezes
Puffed up more stratocumulus,
Rain-heavy clouds that signified storms.

I rested against the balustrade
Of the promenade, looking down at the sea.
Waves upon waves dashed at the dark crags.
Sea spray washed my tired face.
Above the seagulls came to enjoy
The thunderstorm that would soon erupt
Above the small bay, now emptied of boats.

The sea gulls were indeed a sight to see.
Only a hundred or so circled the inlet.
They were truly a harbinger of storms.
They flew against the wind, or with it,
Or soared above it, much as they felt like it.
They plunged into the sea for food
Irrespective of where the chilly wind blew.
They were an elegant sight to see.

As the first drops of rain fell, I betook myself home.
My wife was waiting anxiously for me
Afraid I’ll get wet.  “Watching the birds?”
Clearly she was not very much amused.

She turned her back on me, as thunder boomed
And lightening flashed but I went with the wind,
And clasped her round her winsome waist.  
She did not resist, neither did I.

5 June 2017
POTD 6 June 2017

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017




Details | Free verse |
A path strewn thick with ruddy-faced leaves
led to nowhere and everywhere in fantasies, 
our near-death rescue from boredom 
        come afternoon chores and homework pages 
                                                                 wrinkled in time.

I try to recall all I tried to forget. 

Back home, under the willow trees, I weep
for childhood, friendship, 
                         for innocence surrendered,
all I thought I could keep, fuzzy lines
           between love and loss,
 practical days that come with age.
I close my eyes to see through tears -
          you,  a dance in rain showers, oval-spheres
of costume jewelry, tea parties and dragons slain 
rays of sunlight climbed, 
imagination uncaged,
             carefree hours,
                 diamonds in darkness,
restless dreams fell like leaves
                       on the wrong side of the tracks.

Two kids set free in skies shaded gray -
we said forever, a pinky swear I remember,
naïve in make-believe worlds. How many years
passed by, miles kept between you and I?
A phone call once-in-a-while reminded 
of our   bitter, listless eyes, 
        our disappointment in distant words.
I hope you always knew the truth,
                    I loved you, dear friend.
It was myself, I hated.

Time cradled our laughter,
held it on the breeze, 
                         childhood secrets
shared with ease on our path, 
thick with               summer's dead leaves.  

We, too young to notice, 
                          fell into brittle leaves 
                                          trodden bare 
before first snow.

Our laughter now echoes in dreams, 
chaffing our willow trees 
                                       still sulking low, 
moss brushes away tears in timeless beauty, 
         and waits for you to come home.



An old poem, revised 3/15/17
249 words total

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
Come oh come to harvest home ye thankful!
Rouse thy tongue for thy barns, so big and bountiful;
All grains and gains safely gathered in with ease.
For thy plenteous portion, oh praise the prince of peace.

Come ye thankful who dwells in God’s own field.
Worship Him whose wealth and wisdom we wield;
In tears and sorrow, wheat and tares together sown,
But in harvest’s hour, in joy we reap wholesome wheat alone.

To thee oh God of harvest, we thankful will come,
With harps and hymns to Thy holy harvest home;
Singing with Thy holy angels on the street of gold,
Gladly bowing down to Thee, Thou shepherd of the fold.

Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2009




Details | Free verse |
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 | Free verse |
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 | Free verse |
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 | Free verse |
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 | Free verse |
Home Of The Hang Man

The children are so full of doubt
No one is allowed to speak
No one is allowed to shout
Opinions are driven underground
Seems that every time they do it wrong
Always been the same old song
Never get it right
Never allowed to speak
Never allowed to fight

It’s a strange house
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house

The kids just don’t understand
They don’t see that this is the way it’s all been planned
Keep them frightened is the game
Then all those “other” things won’t need to be explained
Why is big brother always mad
Why is younger brother always sad
Why does he sit in his bedroom all alone
Because it’s a strange house
And not a home

It’s a strange house
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house

Everything they do or say
Is turned into to a weapon to build upon the barricade
And Dad pretends he’s not afraid
Of the sudden discovery of suffocated memories
The dark deeds linger in a cage
Of ridicule and violence that makes the babies cry
So Mum has buried her suspicions worryings away
In Sunday lunches usual farce
A make believe gathering of corrupted loving and pretended merry making

It’s a strange house
The kids are so full of doubt
A strange house




Big brother hit the self destruct
With pills and needles long before he decided he was gay
No one ever asked him why he was so mad
And  no one ever asked why younger brother was so sad
He sits up stairs in his room 
Surviving in a sea of doubt
The suffocated memories have all come out
He’s always sad and he’s always alone
The babies to they both have grown
But he doesn’t know them anymore
It’s been so long since he left that so called home

It’s a strange home
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house

Their children are so full of doubt
Brought up and made this way
All their futures turn to grey
As all the buried memories fight their own way out
Remember why they always felt so wrong
Remember what happened when we were young
And mother just closed her eyes she did not help
All the future turns to grey
Brought up and made to be this way

Father was the hang man who took their lives away



Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2008

Details | Verse |
 

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 | Free verse |
We stood at the edge of contemplation 
watching through the window to the world
but not ever knowing where we stare

We fathom the scale of injustice 
weighing heavily on ordinary minds
where ordinary is atypical
and creativity is pushed
back into the recesses of time

Awaken with me in yesterday's linens 
our dramatic interpretation of life's song
dispell rumors of ruins in waiting
and let your sensuous tune carry us home 

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
lingering softly
in the angelic silence
of a magical new night...

i remember whispered words
the softness of your breath
tingling the nape of my neck...

your eyes deep pools
touch light as a feather
my head on your chest...

the sea scented air
delicately cocooned us
our lips barely touched...

waves lulled our own melody
of sweet sacred tunes
as hearts became one...

i remember the moment
that time stood still...

how do i describe
something bigger than words...

for in the air
that i breathe

it is you
who has blessed me...

heaven sent you
from the stars above...

the sound of your heartbeat
was when i knew...

i

was

home.







reworked 08-10-2016

Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Going Home



There’s been so many things
That I’ve run from
Been so many things 
That I have run to
 
Some times with open arms
Sometimes on my knees
The dusty pavements and paths
Have welcomed me

Searching in the dark
By match burnt candle light
Walking in the tunnels
Of too bright sun light

Tracks which lead to the mountain head
Where thin air led my heart
Back to the valleys 
Where you slept

Through barren grass 
So many in their fields
Just veins inside a forest floor
Wandering forever lost

To the sea the roads have brought me
To the waves which can only show me
A map to guide me
Back to you

And on the tourist clouds 
Which escape at sunset
On the freedom breeze 
Where their colours breathe me
I no longer roam
I find my way back home

While the foot prints that I leave 
No longer matter
The sands of time 
Lost to their own desert
Just a life inside an hourglass

I haven’t roamed on these bridges 
Of forever
Just to end the single thread 
Which has lead me
Balanced on the tight rope 
Of your heart

And it may be the freezing rain 
Which comes to batter
And there may be no light at all 
Upon the road
Still the tower of your love 
Still shines there before me
A compass to guide me on

And on the day 
When the sun billows into being
And the sails of love 
Will find my tired feet
When your hand is no longer the ghost 
Which saves me
But a palm that reaches out 
To feel my own

I will no longer roam
I will have found my way 
Back home

Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
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 | Blank verse |
I dream of the old house, five thousand miles
away, across the sea, high on the hill,
the garden where the rhododendrons shade
the black and white tiled steps up to the door.

I enter, walk from room to room, and see
my mother on the balcony; she sits
beneath the tumbling vines and reads her book.
My dad is in his study playing chess.

The house smells like it always did. Each thing
still lives in its accustomed place. This is
 a journey back in time: I am a child, 
was gone a little while and now am home. 

The light falls through the windows differently.
The trees have grown, obscure the view, and hide
The house from outside glance. Mom’s hair is white,
And father walks the stairs with halting steps.

I hope there will still be a few more years
For me to make this journey. Far away
Are home and childhood, and the church bells toll
The hours relentlessly. 

7/11/2017

Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
We lived in a crooked house.

Built on a muddy mound of hope with the corpse of yesterday half buried beneath

Sad eyes and smiley faces. A gilded countenance to pair the four walled fiction –

Painted thin; only just enough to cover our cracks. Widening like morning eyes; a mirrored reflection.

Dancing in a zigzag to the tune of the tremors. An ugly soundtrack coaxing ugly art.

Those damp walls. The cracks swallowing torrents from eyes in the sky

Wide eyed boys watching sliding droplets crashing into droplets. Swallowed like pride.

Doors jammed in water seeped jambes. Knotted and gnarled. A need for a greave

Trees weeping at what they witness from the outside looking in. Shedding leaves for tears.

Oft trampled floor boards creaking and crying in solidarity with those that walk its back

Whisper and scurry light-footed like mice in a hurry so easily scared by the wall breaching wind

Trying hard not to wake the monster sleeping downstairs - Breath held like tongues, voices low

Like the swing in the garden tied to the tired branch of the hunched tree. Seat sunk in mud. Ashamed.

A tip toe down the slippery stairs; in fear of drowning in the basement swimming pool. A watery hell

Festering in the bowels of this building ever since the burgeoning moat breached the ramparts of this faux castle.

Lopsided family photo frames hanging by a thread. Nailed to crumbling walls. A slipping semblance of home.

The rising cigarette smoke staining the walls like those words from the same pursed lips from the mind so hard to rid

A cloudy plume with no silver lining; an excuse for eyes to water; blurring those family portraits.

That poisoned smog escaping through the chimney. Blown out over spluttering trees aghast at what this house concealed.

The wind once blew from the west. The house had many faces then but when the east wind struck its walls, the face it pulled it stuck. Doubled over, bent and crooked.

The trees perished like dreams and time brought change

But this crooked house remained the same.

Copyright © Zed Zed | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother 
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her 
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths 
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job 
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Zero.
By which nothing is divided.
No zero
no negative
no opposite
no hope
no Adam, no apple, no marriage, no morning.
No mirror
no knowledge
no God, no soul, no ear lobe, no Iliad, no Odyssey.
No universe
no black hole
no zodiac
no hero
no mission, no omission, no fission, no fusion.
No beanstalk
no tractor
no yellow
no 7:30, no wind, no window, no owl, no one.

In 773, at Al-Mansur's behest, translations were made of the Siddhantas, Indian astronomical treatises dating as far back as 425 B.C.; these versions may have been the vehicles through which the "Arabic" numerals and the zero were brought from India into China and then to the Islamic countries. In 813 the Persian mathematician Khwarizmi used the Hindu numerals in his astronomical tables; about 825 he issued a treatise known in its Latin form as Algoritmi de numero Indorum, Khwarizmi on Numerals of the Indians. After him, in 976, Muhammed ibn Ahmad in his "Keys to the Sciences," remarked that if in a calculation no number appears in the place of tens, a little circle should be used "to keep the rows." This circle the Arabs called sifr. That was the earliest mention of the name sifr that eventually became zero. Italian zefiro already meant "west wind" from Latin and Greek zephyrus. This may have influenced the spelling when transcribing Arabic sifr. The Italian mathematician Fibonacci (c. 1170-1250), who grew up in North Africa and is credited with introducing the decimal system in Europe, used the term zephyrum. This became zefiro in Italian, which was contracted to zero in Venetian.   - Wikipedia

After my father's appointment by his homeland as a state official in the customs house of Bugia for the Pisan merchants who thronged to it, he took charge; and in view of its future usefulness and convenience, had me in my boyhood come to him and there wanted me to devote myself to and be instructed in the study of calculation for some days. There, following my introduction, as a consequence of marvelous instruction in the art, to the nine digits of the Hindus, the knowledge of the art very much appealed to me before all others, and for it I realized that all its aspects were studied in Egypt, Syria, Greece, Sicily, and Provence, with their varying methods; and at these places thereafter, while on business, I pursued my study in depth and learned the give-and-take of disputation. But all this even, and the algorism, as well as the art of Pythagoras, I considered as almost a mistake in respect to the method of the Hindus (Modus Indorum). Therefore, embracing more stringently that method of the Hindus, and taking stricter pains in its study, while adding certain things from my own understanding and inserting also certain things from the niceties of Euclidxs geometric art, I have striven to compose this book in its entirety as understandably as I could, dividing it into fifteen chapters. Almost everything which I have introduced I have displayed with exact proof, in order that those further seeking this knowledge, with it pre-eminent method, might be instructed, and further, in order that the Latin people might not be discovered to be without it, as they have been up to now. If I have perchance omitted anything more or less proper or necessary, I beg indulgence, since there is no one who is blameless and utterly provident in all things. The nine Indian figures are: 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1. With these nine figures, and with the sign 0 . . . any number may be written.   - Fibonacci, Leonardo of Pisa

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
There is one place in this lonely life
where I can run away to on this long, dark road.
Only the moon knows my way home tonight
and I hold the key to this door in my heart.

I see an open book still on the table
waiting for my eyes to read again,
and an inviting, marshallow-soft pillow,
offering to cradle my sleepy head
and uphold me in what dreams may come....

The warmth of home is where my heart is tonight.




(This poem was inspired by the song "Home Sweet Home" by Motley Crue.)


Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
Walking home in the deep purple shadows
Of twilight, her arm crooked in his
As she looks up to his face
With a shy smile and a look
Of trust and innocence, for she feels
So complete, yet reserved because she doubts
She's ever felt this way before while
Walking home in the deep purple shadows.

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
8:00 am

I listen to hums of 70 degree air conditioned whispers.

Playful, chirping birds swing across damp meadows
Under humidity’s gentle fog

‘Tis a silent morning, 5 days in the making

A gentle reflection upon my minutes,
Absorbing breaths of home

So much laughter
So much joy
So much food

Even a miniscule side of frustration’s true colors,
Amusing attempts to sludge my momentum

My friends made themselves known.

The others become answered insignificance.

My beating heart couldn’t be more grateful. 

My pupils reflect upon final nights’ splendor,
While they write lessons upon life’s chalkboard

Fury of Salsa & Disco beats
Pulsate across my spongy cerebellum
Holding hands with my Mother in proprietary motions

The whites of my eyes become silver injected pools of serenity.

What more could I ask for?

I listen for 8 & 4 year old footsteps to silently speak
Exacerbated adoration, filling my smile with electric permanence

In these silent, reflecting moments before I pack my bag, my soul’s window
Prepares…

…I await aromas of a Puerto Rican brunch
Before I go home

I await touches of a gentle waterfall against my cheek
Before I go home

I await exemplary wishes from roots of family tree to return tomorrow
Before I go home

And, after these shedding tears & resilient smiles are embedded within,
I await the reckoning that will shake foundations into Ionosphere grins

When I
Return home

8:30 am

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
    "A Blessed Year"



in the Year of 2012 our reflection
reminded how truly blessed
our family felt with strong emotion.
a new home with lovely trees
and blossoming bushes flourished
green grass for animals to enjoy
beautiful birds singing melodies
acres of ground for gatherings
and celebrations.

happiness surrounded new parents
my military son and his wife
welcomed new baby boy with
pride and joy and love.
God has given us so many reasons
to cherish each other and Life
for love rules our home always.


through sickness and death
we fought the good fight of faith
and trials made us a strong family
material possessions allow feelings 
of importance ... but ...
we learned that love is the 
key element to this earthly existence.

so in the Year of 2012
we share this love with everyone
thus extolling God, who loves us all
unconditionally.


*For Carol Sunshine Brown's In the Year 2012 Contest. 

Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
When I am in your home,
I am back to Laos after a lifetime.
I am in a place beyond words:

       Where the steam of the kitchen

       The smell of warm coffee

       The sound of a television

       The taste of a meal made with kindness

All feel like an America where our dreams come true,
Our memories return

And everything lost is found once more
Waiting with a smile, a sabaidee.

Copyright © Bryan Thao Worra | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |





                               The vast and beautiful world
 
                               The home we share together

                                 Tender hands protect you















19.02.2016
A-L Andresen :)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |


An episode of birds hovers beneath a marmalade moon , just for a while, as cotton-clouds sweep the brushed limbs of a sky ready to cradle the cloaks draping avian settlers; those who like us ascend on hammocks of dreams windblown by heady seasons gliding through embroidered spring, the livid lust in summer, on to a pious psalm come autumn, soon... opal stalagmites of winter: how abrupt and immediate this leaving! Here we are, beyond shadows tasting the song of evening walks soaring with Aurora’s mist vanishing into a world where permanence of cycles returns and repeats the refrains from humming rivers growing frail, until buds explode into leafy twirls sweeter than the scent of parsley on a fresh daylight…. icy, spicy, tangy. Birds tweet, to swivel back into ancestral nests much like us... wandering then yearning to kindle the fire and oil of sweet home. Somehow, seasons change… but our children’s dwellings and god ‘s grace do not. ............ 1/28/2016 For Cyndi Mac Millan's Contest FIVE PROOF: FREE VERSE THAT SHOWS IT AIN'T NO PROSE ...................... Literary devices: Assonance, Alliteration, Imagery, Mood, Synesthesia

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |

_______________________________ In silence and in prayer................. _______________________________ For those who gave everything and never failed to protect for those who left loved ones and tried hard not to look back for those who made it home and for those who's spirits flew on... For you my hat is off in Gratitude I thank God for people like you.. I remember with thanksgiving in painful facets from within each man and women who fought for this country until the bitter end.. Come home my proud soldiers come home once again come home my mighty soldiers come home to mend... In Gratitude I bow... _______________________________ A Debbie Guzzi Contest

Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2011

Details | Blank verse |

My Childhood Home


My lovely childhood home, I miss it so...
built Eighteen Eighty-Six, so long ago.

Three floors, all rooms with mantled fireplaces; 
carved woodwork, archways, spindled winding stair;
cathedral ceilings, sparkling chandelier
in dining room enjoyed on holidays.
Third floor not used but built with parkay floors
and doors that opened to small balconies.
Off the front door, a porch wrapped 'round two sides...
was like a fairy tale when I was young.
 
Such lovely grounds; garage with two horse stalls
and covered sleigh with velvet seats of red.
White gravel paths with gardens either side;
the rolling lawn, majestic tall pine trees
and rippling stony brook below the hill.
My childhood home fulfilled my childhood dreams– 
so happy there with my dear family.
Until I married, it was home to me.

And since home now is not too far from it– 
I often pass the site of my old house.
On left, before I pass under the bridge
that sprawls across the Hudson River now– 
the empty view brings sadness to my heart.
To build that bridge they tore my old home down– 
the only house to make this sacrifice– 
The vision of my childhood home is gone.

As I ride by I feel them wave to me...
the ghosts of past, and my dear family.


Sandra M. Haight

~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Enchanted House
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 05/23/2016

~1st Place~
Contest: A Child's First Home
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Judged: 10/17/2015

Note: Newburgh-Beacon Bridge was completed and opened in November 1963
         New York State claimed our home via eminent domain and purchased it in 1960

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
 ~~

my mind takes me back through the tattered pages of my life
                        to a place of warmth, security and love . . . . .
    
   to my mother's kitchen with its big cupboards and old stove
and a blue teapot on the kitchen table and grandma telling me of life
                                  of people in the family long dead . . .

it was at that same table that I read my first poems while sipping tea
     oh!  I recall father shovelling snow in winter all bundled up

and a warm fireplace waiting within . . .
                       then at night in an attic room this little girl was tucked in

                with forever loving hands, hugs and kisses . . .  .

_______________________________

January 24, 2015

Free Verse

Entered in the contest, Home Sweet Home, sponsor Skat

Third Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
My friends come home draped in flags 
I pause at the edge of the airplane door
Facing a tunnel leading me to a muffled joy
Strangers tell me I am related to them...
I deny a woman with three kids... her kiss
My friends are slipping in trucks with flags
They are loaded and back doors explode shut...
..............................................................

I wake up in a trench of blood and clean pillows
The same woman from the airport next to me
 Peacefully breathing...and I thought she was dead...
I think I am finally home, fans are not propellers
Camouflage doesn't bear swing sets in backyards
My friends' helmets, guns and boots line up in my head
Patrolling with weapons made of aluminum foil
-------------------------------------------------

There is too much silence for a dead soldier walking...
I think I FEEL the kiss of the woman with three kids ...







Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
 
I'll be home for Christmas home is where you are It's where fluttering flakes fall like stars on my face It's where the scarlet bird sings and a yuletide shrub sways It's where these arms get wrapped in your tinselled embrace It's where the mistletoe waits for kisses to exchange in the old doorway's shade. I'll be home for Christmas home is where you are Its where a stocking gets filled from a candle bazaar Its where the dough gets baked in molds of two heart shapes to be placed in one cookie jar I'll be home for Christmas home is where you are It's where carols are sung to the beat of the drum It's where lights are strung around our front porch posts It's where endless stories of our childhood are told It's where dreams are made where my love for you grows I'll be home for Christmas home is where you are It's the butterflies inside when you look in my eyes It's the smile on your face when we all sit down to eat the meal you just made I'll be home for Christmas home is where you are and wherever you are it is never too far for these feet to walk streets for this love to come flooding your heart.

Copyright © Cupids Arrow | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Let me set something straight -
Right here, right now!
Let me put India in the right perspective,
Let me banish some myths,
Some gross misconceptions,
And take you beyond elephants,
Sacred cows, snake charmers and yoga,
Beyond Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Taj Mahal,
To a civilization rooted for
over 5,000 years in the past
To a land rich - majestically rich -
In many cultures, customs and traditions,
In a bewildering variety of races,
Religions, languages and folk arts,
In a vibrant tradition of dance and music,
In religious festivals and traditional events,
In saints, sadhus, gurus and sages,
In gods, goddesses, munis and mahatmas,
In temples, palaces, shrines and monasteries;

I'll baby-steps you through a land
Of Vedas and Upanishads,
Of epic stories and incredible mythologies,
Of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita,
Through one of world's great spiritual sanctuaries,
Where religion is a way of life;

An overwhelming, complex land -
Its charm, its vitality and yes, its confusion,
Atonce alarming and enticing.
And that's the way India is:
Elusive, confusing, contradictory,
mysterious and exasperating!
Beyond easy description or analysis,
A phenomenal diversity of dress
and manners making one aware
of a different world -
A veritable fairyland!

No other country offers quite such
A spectacle of teeming masses that
continue to enrich the heritage of mankind,
Nowhere do the past and present
coexist in more colorful promiscuity -
An incomparable country,
Easy to love, hard to forget!

"There's only one India!" raved Mark Twain,
"A wonderland of fabulous wealth
and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags ..."
"The cradle of the human race,
The birthplace of human speech,
The mother of history,
The grandmother of legend and
The great grandmother of tradition."

This, indeed, is my country
Where I was born - 
An Indian at heart,
An American in spirit!
Namaste!
Khuda Hafiz, Jai Ramji Ki,
OM Radhe Shyam, Sat Sri Akal,
Jai Hind!!

Copyright © Abdul Malik | Year Posted 2013