Best Home Is Where The Heart Is Poems
"Home is Where the Heart Is"
Savages
behind closed doors
Civilised
but wild animals
sharpening claws
Humanity
tries to escape itself
can’t run away
from finding
"TRUE HOME"
behind closed doors
Now opening windows
fresh air
escaping shadows
Legs splayed and arms wide
breathe
"LIFE"
in for once,
we are empty vessels
noisy prisoners
in our own skin
Soul seeking Soul
peers through
the vitreous humour
99% water, salty
the Soul swims
through an ocean
towards the aqueous perimeter
facing the clear shallows
there the
"LIGHT"
penetrates the space
between the lens
like royal jelly
the Soul stands
it begins to sing
wobbling behind
the retinas reflecting
a Blue Sky
bit by WASP
kissed vehemently
in the heart
the stinging barb fixed,
Love, like a virus,
pumps the relevance
of existence
Crimson
through
Violet Blue Green rivers
Home is where the Heart Is
the hornets’ nest broken
rebirthed, awoken
wet wings spreading
unfurling in lock-down
velocity rattles
the Normals,
the civilised
wild animals
sharpening claws
a Soul
escapes the hive
dripping honey
like a Bee
pollinating white sheets
towards the Sun
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
“Home is Where the Heart Is” / The Chameleons
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOl9lohiMP8
1. The 'Vitreous Humour'
2. WASP
"Home is Where the Heart Is" / The Chameleons, Lyrics
https://genius.com/The-chameleons-home-is-where-the-heart-is-lyrics
https://visioneyeinstitute.com.au/eyematters/the-vitreous-humour/
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/all_that_is_seen_and_unseen_1223436
Abandoned places,where
perhaps memories linger,
with wisps of wafting moments,
aware, somehow, even of the now,
Though long forgotten by all others,
One wonders why, and surely how,
Such strong vibrations of the past,
Seem to time, to have taken a bow...
Gutted building, windows broken,
Creaking, leaking floor,
Last stepped on by the living,
So many, many years before...
Where lives were lived, and
deaths have come in their way,
To others, in a time gone by,
Who here saw their last sad day,
Tears were cried,hearts
were smashed,
Love withered, its flame
reduced to ash...
Is this a mysterious black hole of time??
A singularity, of now and here...
Where time is not so limpid...
And death is always near,
And fear can swim in the unknown,
The fear of time's mysterious cloud...
As ticks, as tocks, somehow go forever by,
so mysteriously, and seemingly, oh so loud...
What was the last calendar's year hung?
The last phone call received,
And who had been the one rung??
Ghost House,
Ghost House,
Scary, time
abandoned place,
Secure in forgotten
nothingness,
And with time,
you've lost the race.
Always in black, Fr. McShane
raises cathedral hands and intones,
‘our brother is finally home.’
Absolved of the fight to contain
a lifetime of tears
in this ceremonial splendor
I just have to wonder.
His Nikes are ‘home’
in the walk-in closet,
aren’t they?
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
August 31, 2012
heirloom roots dart unto tropical spaces
seven thousand islands stitched by dainty laces
where ripples of meadows form formless
there, lovely women gather milkfish with kindness
of gumamela leaves sun-kissed, peach-dressed.
On tinted valleys, a gathering of eagles astonished;
forests of green brush coconut - combed tresses
and temperate sky curls into sunset wishes
while crickets are led to peaks of tobacco embers.
Billowing grass huts cling to the clang of village pails
as serenades of tanned guitars speak of folk tales,
till rustic gaiety shifts rice grains open to gliding
unto coastlines made of Asian waves rambling.
A paradise on miles and miles of Pacific heredity
her limbs swaying into pearl necklaces so daintily,
such movement my lips burst of hibiscus seeds
a grandeur spread on a carpet of ancestral beads.
This is my morning and night broth, my daily gland
miles of guava trees dwelling…my birth mark, homeland.
©
*gumamela—a hibiscus plant found in Asia
* my country is the Philippines
SKAT's MY LAND IS MY HOME contest
by nette onclaud
Home Is Where The Heart Is
Oh my goodness
"Lets Party, Family Reunion"
Family of 10
Its all good, we stay close knit
Look forward to cookouts
Mardi Gras here is a big hit
Our seafood is the best, fresh from the bayou
My moms the best cook
Shrimp boulettes, jambalaya, just to name a few
Born on the bayou, its in my blood
Could never leave here
Louisiana is where I spent my girlhood
Written by: Debra Falgout
Contest by "SKAT"
( I sure do "heart" america's heartland!)
Iowa heart land
spring's Redbreast, summer corn rows
fall harvest, winter tableaus
For Brian Strand's Poetry of the Noun contest
And for Skat's MY LAND IS MY HOME Poetry Contest
When the rain rages fiercely
upon the window panes,
through a cold howling wind
sending ice through my veins,
rarely do ever
I feel so alone,
as when missing you here
in the place we called home.
Sometimes it seems
I can still feel you here.
To this old faithful heart
you are still ever near.
But now it's not warm
in our bed on your side.
No sheltering arms
from the storms can I hide.
For so many years
you've been holding my hands,
with a promise of faith
in our gold wedding bands.
Now, I can't feel the warmth
of your soft soothing touch,
reassuring my heart
how you loved me so much.
To the last minutes end
I was right there with you,
praying to God
he'd again pull you through.
I, above all, knew
just how hard you'd try.
Still, deep in my heart,
knew you're ready to die.
Letting you go
was the hardest to do.
Nothing makes sense
in my life without you.
So many expressions
of emptiness sighed,
I find myself wishing
to be by your side.
Understanding your readiness
when it's my time,
I pray yours and Gods hands
are reaching for mine.
When I get to there
with you, never alone.
To eternally live
in the place we'll call home.
-Jeannie Minor
I’m longing for a place that I belong
This need for comfort is constant and strong
They say that home is where the heart is and that’s where I want to be
With all the falling leaves beneath the apple tree
I want to roll around in the leaf piles and breathe in the fall air
This place that I am stuck in could never quite compare
I need to be where I am loved to the moon and back
I miss going home to an “I love you” and an afternoon snack
I try to find the feeling that I so long for
I have never felt this type of yearning down my core
Please just give me some chilly sweater weather days
I’ll run and run trying to find a way to satiate this phase
This time of year I can never feel whole
I am broken and up north eternally has a piece of my soul
I know where I must go but until then I’ll have to comply
I’ll bury my aching and wait for the day I can kiss this place goodbye
Lets leave our own soil
lets meet half across the world,
Lets find Our homeland.
Charma
The State in which I was born is “Home”
It’s huge and all over it I’ve roamed
Born in Big “D”, so that’s where it starts
Then moved up to the panhandle parts
Moved East to rose capital city
Love this town, it’s extremely pretty
I attended John Tyler High School
It’s my “Home Town” and I think it’s cool
Attended college in Aggieland
South in College Station, not too grand
Fort Bliss, way out West, for Army time
And then I left my “Home”, what a crime
A job with Boeing in Seattle
Into the traffic, what a battle
You can take the Boy out of “Texas”
You can’t take “Texas” out of the Boy
Submitted by Charles Sides
For the MY LAND IS MY HOME Poetry Contest
Home should be bliss, a place we can rise
to awaken each day with clearer eyes.
A structure, a room or arms wrapped around
someone who's heart calms beyond bounds.
Home can be anything that speaks to your soul,
a safe place to go to with no usual role.
A haven to allow yourself to be you,
no guards enclosing, only grand views.
Undress your alter ego that you put on
for the others.
Naked and raw you can walk uncovered
not smothered.
Lay your head on my shoulder,
rest until you sleep.
Inhale my body scent
dream until you weep.
Home is where you feel at ease
and your heart hears love.
Home is nothing but a place
fitting like a baseball glove.
I climbed to the top of the pile of hearts
Marching softly over each quivering mass
As I ascended, I crushed each thought bubble
Eliminating doubt
Continuing up a sheltered path that swallowed my shadow
Stepping over wild flowers that knew I was coming
I was visited by awareness
If I vaulted from this pile I could fly
I leapt, soaring with a new sensation
Of possessing my own wings
home is the land in my dreams,
Those dreams of bonds of both joys, love & family.
Though longer still the stretch strains,
tearing my heart into a desperate longing for my love .
I shall sing in dreams my days of absence & in time we shall reunite .
Even i, A wounded man longing for a fading memory throughout sleepless nights .
I myself shall fade but live in memories & in dreams of those dear to my land.
In death i shall lie with my love, intimately understanding my course .
So let me die victorious ,knowing that i am one with my love .
Return my corpse a fossil ,to rest in the land of my sacrifice .
To lie down fertile in the land with my love .
like a kid in a candy store im told by myself , you could look but you cant touch.
embraced the feeling of an outcast sometimes i feel like the only lonely hand with no other reaching out to clutch.
i take a deep breath and then i sye.
windows to the soul is out of my control to open and close but im no stranger of peeking in between my curtains and blinds.
good guys finish last and sense their the last men left standing how can i not question how long do they have to stand alone?
its said home is where the heart is so what can be called sanctuary if my heart became a rolling stone?
like a kid in a candy store im told by myself , you could look but you cant touch.
embraced the feeling of an outcast sometimes i feel like the only lonely hand with no other reaching out to clutch.
i take a deep breath and then i sye.
windows to the soul is out of my control to open and close but im no stranger of peeking in between my curtains and blinds.
good guys finish last and sense their the last men left standing how can i not question how long do they have to stand alone?
its said home is where the heart is so what can be called sanctuary if my heart became a rolling stone?