Writing Home Poems

These Writing Home poems are examples of Writing poems about Home. These are the best examples of Writing 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.


The poem(s) are below...



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 | Rhyme |
                                                                            
The night is dark, and stars are peeking
I wish for wings that I could fly
And take a magic carpet ride
To places deep where phrases hide
So rich with wisdom, and insights known
Above the moon, where stars are keeping
The secret words to write a poem

Instead, my muse is here at home
No need for magic, no need to roam
If closing eyes and knowing this
The wonder of poetic bliss
Are beneath my feet, beneath my stare
A poem resides most anywhere

The voice inside my head must share
My life, my friends, my family
Within my reach, are memories
Where lies a wealth, a poem or verse
To touch a few with heartfelt words

My poem unfolds like a tiny rose
It starts new life, so tightly closed
But given life, it opens wide
And takes me on a carpet ride
Where magic words no longer hide
Above the moon, beyond the stars
I pray my poem will warm a heart....

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

Details | Verse |
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 | Free verse |
"I Do Believe" 

The purpose of LIFE is to {Living In Faith Ever} 
to enrich God within us 
to an optimum level 
so that We as Humans 
can be guided by God 
to fuel out brothers and sisters 
with the same driving force 
to connect with the living God, 
to His existence and 
to See the Invisible, 
Believe the Incredible, and 
to Receive the Impossible 
to our everlasting journey 
to Heaven.

Rev. Samuel Mack
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com

Copyright © Rev. Dr. Samuel Mack OMS DD | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Like sick allergies, 
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE

Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!

Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination ! 

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
When are you coming home, son? I miss your smile, you've been gone for quite some time now we haven't talked for a while. When are you coming home, son? How are things, all right? I still have that picture you gave me I look at it every day and night. When are you coming home, son? I know this war's been hard on you, I still remember the day you left I said, I loved you. When are you coming home, son? I see the plane landing there, but it's a coffin draped with the flag 'tis something I can not bare. When are you coming home, son? I remember days gone past, I now stand, looking over your gravestone you were taken from me, your life went fast. Copyright © Cynthia Jones Nov.17/2005 Being a Canadian, writing this bothered me. Thinking about the American troops in Iraq and the Canadian troops in Afghanistan. When will our governments finally see what they are doing is wrong and send our troops home?

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
November and April
when the trees are first bare and last naked
have become my favorite months. All the food eaten
except last rose hips and earliest leeks.
Leaves innocent
as dying men and infants.

Study one plant or animal each morning
before writing anything. All reading -
poetry or prose, truth or fiction -
classified the same, the distinguishing
characteristics being helpful or boring, 
beautifully or indifferently written. Then

practice trumpet worried not at all about
my sound or perfection. Afternoon, my sons
return from school, math and (again) 
reading, piano. Wednesdays we walk
observe plants and animals and record
our observations to identify and classify

later in the week. Nothing else special
need be done but stay alive.





Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |
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? |
He says he loves me then he says he loves me not
He loves me today but by tomorrow I'm forgot 
He runs from my love but returns wanting more
I guess I'm to blame for letting the traveler explore, 
See travellers just wander and are never here to stay
They admire the scenery and enjoy the display 
They tour the land and ride the attractions
So memories become their only subtractions,
They search for an experience that is what they yearn
The condition once they leave is none of their concern!
So how can the land be devoted and true 
When travellers come and go out of the blue.
The present is now and where he's travelled to,
But the past he calls home so he must return soon
Most likely just a visit although time can only tell, 
But what he lusts is in this land and he knows it very well
He may call that place home but its this land that he seeks
Travellers on a mission never realize until they hit their peek
He continues to damage this land down to its core 
So what's left to offer when their is nothing left in store?
The resources were depleted and the land left bare
He comes and goes as he pleases it doesn't seem fair;
See this land has been abused time and time again
Seeds that were planted, were means to an end
But pleasure and satisfaction was always accomplished
Because this land provided where the homeland was disadvantaged!
But despite the history and despite the trust
Submit to his urges is something he must.
So this time around his departure is permanent 
Lack of faith and loyalty was the final determinant.
The damage he caused cannot be rendered,
So his visitation rights he has surrendered!
So leave this land I say and never look back
This is the path you chose I hope you can stay on track,
Cause travellers have memories of the lands they have stained
But the land only remembers the one that remained!

Copyright © Nicolette Holness | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |




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 | Dramatic Verse |
                    It was a moment in time 
                  a fate of inspiration gifted 
            I believe I was lifted a destiny in writing 
                I would vibrantly pursue .
             Renting a cottage once in Monterey Bay
           this cottage special in some way
          
            The very minute moving.. I felt a presence 
                      giving me no serenity , no rest 
                            feeling I were a quest ~

                 After desiring this home so                            
                      telling the Realtor ~ I made a mistake     
                     She told me be calm ~
                        many have said this before you 
                               ~ this haunt was not a new 

                  For once lived a Writer ~well respected Gent
               His cottage a distillery during the time of prohibition.

                  Many Gents and Ladies came to this cottage 
                      unlawfully gamble & drink through the night
                    Who would think , Doc Ricketts in Cane & Hat
                               it was a party by moon light  ~
                      
                              In the back a distillery hidden in a old shed
                                    many Alcoholics were fed ~
 
                         The ghost popular quite the Ladies man ~
                                I was honored while feeling displaced  

                                 For those who have not read my poems 
                                    ~   and this may be new. 
                                          This really happened ~
                      The ghost of John Steinbach rented me his home True
                                   
 

                  Yvette & The ghost of John Steinbach's  , Teamwork  9/14/2013 
    

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
I am a misprint,
Ink blot on love,
I remain a maybe
Longing for fact,
No speck of lint,
A hand in glove.
Thunder; a baby
Will only react

When you etch
Parallel clouds,
Whistling on cue
To a dead town.
Dream a sketch
Of silent crowds
Becoming you,
This boiling crown

Chews thought
Into flagellation.
Holes in the walls
To spy through,
Seeking a sort
Of bricked-up sun.
A heaven of halls,
All leaving you.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Pastoral |
The ancestral house seemed smaller, today seen with eye glasses
The pathway seemed shorter, the mangoes grow loftier
It was once open field across the hill
Mushrooming subdivisions had blossomed
The little flower orchard had vanished

But anyhow we felt it would still be remembered
Harrowingly different, but pretty much the same

There was an unfamiliar children’s “bahay-bahayan”
On that path that we arranged
In front of that sagging waiting shed that stands
Beside the curve, where the old Mango tree grew

Surprisingly, forty years folded one summer day
And hurriedly become a springtime of our memory
of many growing trees, of many festivities
a spot where I wept one night after my mother died
and spent longer, in starry-starry nights holding newborn offspring
Yes....it is all there, in that small ancestral home

Facetious, but I'm glad they kept the wooden parrot
It has the same green eyes
That big black statue of St. Roque, along a stony pathway that we laid
still sits behind the curve, where the old mango tree grew

Copyright © Edgar R. Eslit | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
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 | Couplet |
What would we do without technology?
I think we would all fall into lethargy.

I am upset because the computer is down
It's got me running all over town.

Trying to get a new modem is rough
When the provider gives you nothing but guff.

So you say to yourself "Myself I say...
Go get your writing fix in some other way!"

So over to the local library I trot
Where I can hit a keyboard and keep it hot.

Yet, I dread to go home to that box I have there
Because all I can do is sit and stare.

I could pick up a pen 'n paper I suppose
To try and write some witty prose.

But that makes my hands ache these days
Since I learned the keyboard and its simpler ways.

So I am just writing this ditty about technology lost
Because when it's down...my keaster gets frost.

And if any of you have been looking for me
My e-mails won't open so I just can't see.

Here in the library you can't speak very loud
Not the way to handle a furrowed brow.

Because I can't speak, hear, see, or write
I guess I'll just go home and call it a night.

Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010

Details | Haiku |
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? |
:-)


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:

http://afzalmoolla.wordpress.com/ 

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 | Tanka |
Why I Joined Poetry Soup My muse lay sleeping; my pen, dry for many years. Gathered past poems; published my book titled 'Tides'. A gift for my dear children. One day, my muse stirred; we had found Poetry Soup. Suddenly, new life... reading poems filled my soul. Words, rhythm, meter, awoke. They were never lost; just sleeping and laying low. My creative words found a home to grow and share with friends on Poetry Soup. Second book someday? One hundred plus new poems... where were they hiding? Matters not...Poetry Soup gave my thoughts new life to write. My expectations here at our Poetry Soup are greatly fulfilled. Blog laments go unnoticed, because "my glass is half-full." Sandra M. Haight ~NA~ Contest: Why Are You Here At Poetry Soup? Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis Judged: 01/23/2016

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Monoku |



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 | Rhyme |
Written by D. W. Breidenthal 


You take my breath away

I wanna stay in this entrancing paradise
I want all of the negativity to fade away 
The darkness isn’t my property…I despise
Living a life that’s filled with misperception and disaster 

I would love to live in the ocean’s ecstasy 
That would be spectacular if we can abide in the sparkly sea

This eccentric dilemma makes your angelic features too unclear 
It chills me to the bone…
My heart pounds with hope and fear… when will peace draw near
This flawless wish remains unknown

The night’s approaching…seek shelter and light
Painstaking regrets – I can’t back away from gravity’s pull 
Hand me the rope and don’t bestow your burdens upon my soul 
Sift away the misfortune and allow me to put up with the fight
Help me fulfill my flawless wish
And I’ll strip away your anguish

You’re a burning candle
I raise my head up from the mud
I step forward with courage that I couldn’t handle 
On my own, but you stripped away the agony 
Watch us grow and sprout as one flower bud!

You took my heart to a wonderful place
I wanna desert this decaying body of mine and seek you in splendid light
You forgave me for my wrongs…you thrilled me with praise 
I wanna embrace the dawn’s incredible, appealing light...
Sweeping away the deploring night  

It soothes my sensitive heart…dismissing my vexing misery  

I have the urge to repaint the breathtaking memories I’ve spent with you
Will it scratch away the sorrow?
I have to search for shelter and burn away our calamity – slaying us with rue
 
Will my flawless wish store hope for tomorrow? 

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
92
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. 
value="Radio" 
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 | Light Poetry |
Ask chrome 
Of how I roam
Of how I mold
Trying to build gold

Working from home, my dream job!

Ask me
Of how I dream
Of how I avoid steam
Of how I create schemes and streams
Trying to make whole cream

Working from home, my dream job

This is no joke
It's hope
If only poetry would put food on my table
It would be an avenue to gamble.

Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
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 | Verse |
...an interpretation of a dream


From out the swirling surf
he plucked a maiden fair, and in distress,
whose innocence enthralled him so
that he could not express in speech,
articulate her loveliness.

He took her to his breast and blessed her, 
held her close, and quieted her fears;
it was as if she knew him well,
such recognition in her eyes,
as joy and peace didst dry away her tears.

They joined in union, they enjoyed
the purest of all sacraments,
unsullied by lascivious display.
They blended, as a tree merged with the sky,
a fusion of the elements.

Was he a Sea King, she a nymph,
protected by his gentle touch,
a child of God in need of succor,
he the providence that calmed her,
proffered bliss she craved so much?

Or were they lovers found in time?
wanderers who claimed their hearth and home,
dreamers living heaven,
bound together now as one
and sanctified, no more to roam.

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |
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 | Quatrain |
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.


2
   

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
You know some people in the world
Just don't know what music does,
It helps you with many things
Like when you can't feel any love

My eyes sweat when I can't do something
But when I hear music my worries disappear
And when I hear people hate music!
I can't hold back my tear!

If I had no music
My life will be in sorrow
But that's never going to happen
'Cause there's always tomorrow!

Music really means
A lot to me
And it will
Always fill me with glee

Copyright © Xinrae Cardozo | Year Posted 2014

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 
                        echoing 
                                  palettes 
                                                of 
                                                    grace
                                                           swirling ~ twirling
                                                                                       already
                                                                                             waiting
 at 
Home…

Copyright © Johnny Pyro | Year Posted 2010

Details | Verse |

Easy are the paths to follow
when I'm young and fancy free,
home is comfort, joy, a blessing,
caring folks and constancy.
My borders are the playroom, garden,
narrow spaces, fledgling child,
questions answered with a bear hug,
nothing crazy, nothing wild.

Later, as my frontiers widen,
gone the band aid to placate,
in the cauldron of confusion,
far beyond the garden gate.
Childhood greeting, pale and fleeting,
life no longer black and white,
paths collide and intermingle,
as I ponder dark and light.

Walking through the forest blindly, 
Hansel with no Gretel near,
breadcrumbs are a cruel delusion,
still my courage, stoke my fear.
Faith and pride and resolution
drive my journey on, because,
though I've traveled many pathways,
home is where it always was.

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Helen Caccumise was a very inspirational person. She loved drawing, painting, music 
and reading books. She owned a Veterans home in Greenwich Ohio, where I live. She 
has known my grandma Sandy for thirty years. They started the Veterans Home 
together. I always went up to the veterans home when I was little; it was around the 
time I started to call Helen, Granny Helen. She was a second mother to everyone. She 
would be the one to say that everyone looks for the perfect life to step into. They take 
all the right paths to get where they want to go, but no matter what, they always come 
back home to themselves. I usually went up there to hang out with a guy named Pat, he 
was a veteran. He went into the service when he was in his twenties. We were best 
friends but then something happened and everything changed when Megan (Helen’s 
Daughter) took over the veteran’s home. Helen lived in the house across from ours, so i 
always went to her house. She bought me my first ferby. She was the one that told my 
sister if she ate a full cigarette that she would be a smoker when she got older. Of 
course my sister ate it; guess what she is now a full time smoker, it’s funny how things 
work out that way.I’m writing about what happened the day Helen died because it’s still 
fresh in my memory, like it happened yesterday. I’m still getting over the loss of her. I 
spent most of my time with Helen because she helped me through my troubled times 
and she always wanted to listen to me play my bass guitar. So I owe her everything I 
own. If writing this memoir would help me find a way to get rid of the guilt then I’ll do it.

Copyright © Shayla Dendinger | Year Posted 2012