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I think no stimulus could be
as potent as the one to pee.
A feeling frequent and innate
is this - the urge to urinate.
It comes each day to everyone
at work, at play, or on the run.
It comes sometimes as home you drive,
and soon you're hoping to survive
the bursting of your inner dam
while sitting in a traffic jam.
Then down the street you drive distressed
with thighs together tightly pressed.
You wish so badly it would cease
and then you pray for sweet release.
And as you drive, you ache and ache
and curse that drink you had to take.
You want to speed, but big surprise -
a cop's behind you. Squeeze those thighs
to keep inside what wants to flow!
You do not dare to let it go.
Few impulses can so compare.
Oh, how you'd love a diaper there!
Then home at last, you do a dance.
You run while pulling down your pants.
And horror, if when once inside,
you find the bathroom occupied!
WEll, just be glad it's mountain dew
you're holding in, not number two!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
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You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless,
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
cautiously,
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too?
I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
But
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately,
"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
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The Devils Riddle
Dark is the night
Dark is the soul
Dark is the heart that used to glow
Empty are the rainbows falling from the skies
Empty of the spirits when the darkness flies by
Empty is the treasure chest of dreams long gone
Tombs hold secrets of mysteries past
Tombs hold the dark to ensure it will endure
Tombs full of treasures are barren at last
Stones are grey in silence they sit
Stones are markers of the dark run amiss
Stones look up to overcast skies
death looks down, the final curtain call
smirks and winks, I will soon have you all
dark and empty you shall soon be enslaved
to the mysteries of dark empty ways
there is no final place that you shall rest
emoH the angel of death has declared
“oN graves the trumpets play as I shall sing”
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
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At long day’s end, our thoughts may stray
to where we long to wend our way-
a peaceful place where we dismiss
all things in life that are amiss,
and none are wont to cause dismay.
Our footsteps hasten us to this:
the warmth of hearth, the welcome kiss.
For those less fortunate I pray
a home sweet home they'll find one day.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
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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
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As today.. tis 4th of July
May Blessings come
before Your eyes
All Praise and Glory
be to God Almighty
As You watch and see
Beyond and within Fireworks
Sparkling lights glares
Beholding Lights of Beauty
Love of God everywhere
when You see Fire-lights
Sparkling within the night
Tis just like
God Beauty is given Inside
Behold beautiful Souls
Whom within hearts
Fire-lights are Lit-Glow
In hopes that others
Shall see.. come to Believe
God's Radiant Light
Given His Gift of Love
Only Through Our Savior
Jesus Christ...
Then whomsoever
Comes to Jesus
Fire-Lights of Love lit-within
Born-again.. Free from their sin
God's Glorious Light
Shall Always Shine
Within Our Hearts.. Souls.. Minds
Awaiting for the Precious time
When Our Savior.. Our Messiah
Comes to take Us home
up High.. within the Sky..
Behold.. All Born-again Souls
Hearts on Fire-Lights Glow
As Radiant.. Beautiful Love
Sparkling Star-bursts Lights
Showers of Glorious Love
Radiant and Bright
As Jesus comes from Heavens
Lights Bursting in Air
Souls together everywhere
Gether High in Sky..
Meeting Our Glorious Light
Our Savior.. Jesus Christ
Come to Jesus
Beautiful Colors bursting of Love
God's Beautiful gift
When time be
You then too.. Be swept up..
born-again.. Into Gods Eternal Light
Set Free.. Fire-light lit
Stars Sparkling Lights
For God is the One
that makes all things happen
God's Beautiful Glory
Sparkling Souls..
Be Watchful
As Souls Like Stars bursting in air
As Jesus comes.. Like.. through the Night
Holy Spirit of Love.. non can compare
Shall No longer be here
For then Rapture..
Has Taken place
Whomsoever is born-again
Beholding God's Grace
Will be transformed
Reborn.. Sparking Love
Changed in Twinkling Light
Gone Home to be
With Jesus Christ
Our Glorious King
Everlasting Glorious Colors
Pure Holy Light.. Eternity
Come behold God’s Holy Light
As the Star Bursting through the night
Be Saved through God’s Radiant Glorious Light
Our Savior ..Jesus Christ
Copyright © Star Light | Year Posted 2011
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Of all the things that I have lost
Perhaps what hurts the most
Is that I can no longer go
to where I once called home...
I cannot roam with childish glee
Down through the leafy grove
Nor play with snowballs, dance is snow
Then thaw beside the stove
I cannot use pink muhlberries
To paint my childish lips
I cannot eat the greens I've picked
Right down to soily tip
I cannot brown my little legs
Beneath the blazing sun
Or slpash in cold and icy pool
Until the day is done
I cannot play my hide and seek
With gateman's little kids
Nor drink the flavored Persian tea
Chase dreams through drooping lids
I cannot rub the walnut skins
And stain my fingers black
I cannot gorge on cherries sweet
I can't bring one day back
I cannot pick the blubell flowers
Or swing from walnut tree
I cannot gorge on luscious fruit
Those mountains, I can't see
I cannot run through fresh green grass
Nor bask on asphlat walk
I cannot run through classroom halls
Or tire from childish talk
I cannot show off gardened home
To foreigners and say,
"This place is really paradise
That none can steal away"...
I had a dream last night that I was back in my childhood home in Tehran, Iran. We lived in a walled, gated compoud that was the property of our church. My father was a school principal and the administration building and dorms were on our campus. We were situated in Shemran, at the foot of the ELBRUS mountain range. The compund was green.....beautiful. We'd swim in the icy cold pool then lie on asphalted walks to warm up. We had a cherry orchard, walnut, apple, apricot, plum, muhlberry, and almond trees. It would snow in winter, and My brothers would jump off the roof of our house into the snow. I can't describe the ache in my heart at not being able to go back. It was an enchanting childhood and no one can steal my memories. After the revolution in 1979, the government took over the property....but they can't take My dreams. I've shared this....painstakingly written on my phone because my dream was so vivid. I needed to share...
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2017
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On the day the Lord calls me home I will not be
afraid as I know He loves us one and all and to this
earth we are only on loan
We have spent all our lives here with family and
friends and so we leave this earth to go home to be
with our Lord and our family and friends who have
gone home to Heaven before us
And so our lives go full circle as the Lord sent us
down from Heaven to accomplish the things He wants
us to do here on earth and as we complete this we will
be called back home to heaven to live forevermore
I am not afraid as I patiently wait for my call to
enter the Kingdom Of Heaven where I will wait for my
family and friends to come home and be with our Lord
forevermore.
Poems Of Inspiration (OLD) Contest
Sponsor: P.D.
7th Place Winner
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2010
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Johnny was my best friend through our early teenage years;
Wherever one of us went the other could always be found near;
Until he found a girlfriend who soon supplanted me,
But because he was my best friend, for Johnny I was happy;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
She rocked his world
Johnny had a girl.
Throughout four years of high school I was always the third wheel;
Going off often by myself, leaving Johnny with his girl;
They learned about biology outside the class room walls;
Johnny always had plans with her every time I would call;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
Oh, what a thrill
Johnny had a girl.
One week before graduation, coming home from a date,
Johnny never saw the drunk driver until it was too late.
For three months in a coma, I sat by Johnny’s side;
I knew that when he woke up, someone had to tell him she’s not alive;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl.
I took him to the gravesite so he could see it with his own eyes;
We stayed there for hours so Johnny could say his goodbyes.
Johnny got in his car that day and started heading west;
Nobody has seen Johnny since, I wish him the very best.
I’ve taken care of her graveside for thirty years and more;
If Johnny ever comes home again, we’ll be friends just like before;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010
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Though Santa never responded to pleas
There was just one gift on my list each year
A horse that could run at the speed of light
A bold little gal; I never had fear
With two high school friends I visited a ranch
To ride in 103-degree heat
Through the bramble bushes and prickly pears
Upon little “Misty” I took my seat
The Mustang Adoption Program’s success
Sparked ranchers from Tucson, Arizona
To give a home to a rust-colored mare
Many miles from my home near Daytona
Cryptic white markings graced Misty’s neck
Looked like words in Native American code
“She’s so small,” I whined, seeking to ride fast
But no matter, to the desert we rode
Even the roadrunners were envious
When Misty gained speed and hit her full stride
Warp speed! I clung to the saddle horn
As Misty passed larger horses with pride
My hat fell on a cactus, sweat filled my eyes
My life flashed before me, quite a surprise
It seemed like she had wings as we flew
Don’t be quick to judge a horse by its size
I thank Misty often for the ride she gave me
She fulfilled my dream and gave me a thrill
But on the news today a reporter said
Wild horses would now be rounded up and killed
I’m so grateful I had the chance to ride
A wild horse with spirit and awesome speed
But what will become of her ancestors
Misty’s now part of a vanishing breed
*For Frank's "One Standout Day" contest
by Carolyn Devonshire
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
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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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This women in my home argues why I leave her so-much along.
Together she say, the two of us should make the weakest link in
the chain strong (relationship). "but she's all along". The bird's
chirping as the sun awaken and stretch forth its arm as another day
creeps through the curtains and not one word is spoken. "This stran-
ger in my home". Whoe, I guest - I-guest silent is the proper thing
to do, don't say nothing to me, and I want say nothing to you.
But I break's the ice and reach for her hand, she stubborni-
ily pull-away and storms out of the room, I'm confuse and now I'm
angry, "You men's just don't understand", is the response she say's
to me, cann't talk to this stranger in my home, "but she's all along".
I head-out the door for work, not to be such a jerk. I leave her a
note to meet me after work. at a nice cozy lil restaurant secluded so
we can talk. I arrive there first, then she walk's in looking so sexxy,
my whole head spins, (she's) looking this good can not be a sin.
We rap and we talk, this stranger (my wife) were once there were
danger of never seeing her again-now after a few drinks and the pro-
blem becomes vaguily clear, we toast to communicating, and sometimes
two people will not alway's agree on the same thing. Touching each
other's hands-looking into her eye's, she's wearing a very provocative
dress that clearily has awaken this man. Talking is refreshing and I tell
her, your perfume smells aahhh soooo--sweet, now at home we stop and
began Kissing, and together we floats-on to heaven. "With Wing's be-
neath my feet's".
Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2010
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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
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I’m looking at an old house
Called home by someone
I will look at any old house new or old but
Home is ALWAYS an old house
Old people open doors
Walk the floors
Old people light the candles
Decorate the mantles
And the roof ever slants
So young thoughts may go
Sliding down to settle on ground
In front of home
Seasons come
Seasons go
Cloudy bright
Rain or snow
Inside though
Home is ever warmed
By timeless ghosts
Of hearth reborn
I’m climbing the stairs of an old house
Called home by someone
To open a door
Find stairs and climb some more
To follow the footsteps of some vague someone
In an old house called home
...............................................................
For Trudy
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2009
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We may not have a "White Christmas", yet joy remains the same
I find delight in viewing candles reflected on frosted panes
They remind me to be grateful for warmth and light so near
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year
A scenic view of white smoke rising from the chimney tall
Dainty snow flakes falling as kids roll them into balls
They sail against blustery winds and I wonder how they dare!
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year
Sweet music heralding peace, urges hearts to spread some joy!
Displayed is a wooden Nativity Scene to greet you at the door
A glittering tree with twinkling stars stands proudly at the rear!
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year
Fresh pine garlands dress stair rails with large red velvet bows
The aroma of cinnamon and pine saturates, delighting one’s nose
While a cozy wood fireplace glows, inviting, daydream stares
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year
The baking’s almost done; and tons of sweets are ensured
Though, there will not be any Christmas pudding this year, for sure
Mama’s been gone home a while, yet the many memories linger here
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year
Whatever may happen in life, Christmas joy lives in the heart
A warm home and loving hearts have sufficed from the start
Much food, drinks and good conversation; lots of fun to share!
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year
“Less formal” is my style preferred, so do relax if you please
Sit on the floor, take off those shoes; dance or just be a tease
When you feel stuffed and need a nap, if you snore, have no fear!
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year
~*~
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010
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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
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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
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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
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My great, great Aunt had a lovely old home,
with many a wonderful story,
hidden within its walls.
A Victorian, architectural designers dream;
vaulted ceilings, full of ghosts;
where spirit voices sang of its splendor.
What I remember most, were the sparkly door knobs;
prisms reflecting the sunlight;
beautiful rainbow colors,
adorning her sitting room walls.
The animated colors of her crystalline chandelier
wove dancing shadows into the fabric.
As a small child, I reveled in that light-play;
how I loved her magical home.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014
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So thick with rain,the rancid air
into the jungle pours.
Young soldiers with their feet on fire
keep on despite the sores.
This war is one that no one wants
and no one understands.
Young men and women give their lives
in these far Asian lands.
Back home these kids are shown disdain;
they're spit upon and worse.
When they come home from Viet Nam
in airports they are cursed.
A blight upon our history
was this long standing war.
But we should show the vets respect
for suffering they bore.
written by Deb Wilson
January 12th, 2013
for contest "Historical Modified Quatrain"
Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013
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A land unto its own as old as dirt
Condemned by voguish northern state of mind
This realm you'd be hard-pressed to disconcert
Though his'try would prefer it be maligned
The secret twisted oak and winding creek
The tapestries of moss that grace the swamp
They whisper in a language few can speak
Revealing true that fair southern beauchamp
There is no match for tender Georgia peach
To Cajun gumbo nothing can compare
And off the Apalachicolan beach
Fresh oysters make the finest southern fare
Sweet Dixie with your blemishes and charms
No place I'd rather be than in your arms
Jan. 4, 2017
The American Deep South - That magical swath spanning from east Texas eastwards and upwards through to the Carolinas
For the contest by Silent One Re: Sonnet About Where I Live
Copyright © Carolyn Fish | Year Posted 2017
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Home Poem
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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
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Home Poem
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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
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Home Poem
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Home is not merely made of four walls
Home is not merely made of roof and room
Home is where the love and affection calls
And the home is where the heart can bloom.
What it needs is something to endear it
Where formally there's no one to welcome us
But where is only kind lips to cheer it
And where there is someone to love us.
Home can never be quiet, polished and neat
But where tiny smudges of fingers small on walls
Tell the stories of far more sweet
And strewn toys, tell of kids’ play and calls.
We may roam and roam places on the earth
But home, sweet home is the place of mirth.
+++
January 29, 2015
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2015
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Home Poem
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Sometimes, I think about my life
And the prices I have paid
All the places I have been
The choices I have made
Seems somewhere along the path
I stumbled upon a stone
At that moment I realized
I’d forgotten my way home
My home became a prison cell
My memory was forgotten
My soul was like an egg
An egg that had gone rotten
Sorry I had to go away
You didn’t deserve my shame
I moved very far away
No connection to my name
My life has always been a lie
One I kept hidden from you
When you thought I was in college
Serving time up in the zoo
On the day I was released
You thought I graduated
The moment you were most proud
Another lie to be hated
I have learned it’s never to late
I believe those words are true
Grandma I’m on a mission
I will graduate for you
I really want to earn the pride
You gave me so long ago
I think it will bring some peace
Releasing guilt up in my soul
I’ve learned in the game of life
We must earn our pride
Even if the people are gone
Resting on the other side
I’ve learned in the game of life
Even though they may be hard
Choices aren’t like rolling dice
They're not like flipping cards
Choices define who we are
I know these words are true
Every choice I know make
Are bringing me back home to you
Grandma, I know where heaven is
It’s right here inside my heart
Inside of mine your memory
Until death will never part
During the time I have left
I vow to always let it show
All the seeds you sowed in me
I shall nourish as they grow
In the end I’ll sit with you
Just like when I was a boy
We’ll sing and praise Jesus’ name
With eternal everlasting joy
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010
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