Best Living Space Poems
This poem was written after I took a tour of the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument in Wyoming, the site of Custer's Last Stand.
It was the year eighteen sixty-eight.
The U.S. government signed the Fort Laramie Treaty.
The Black Hills were to be closed to white settlements,
Preserved for the Lakota Indians
Forever, so long as the buffalo roamed.
'Forever' lasted less than eight years.
The eastern railroads needed meat for their track crews,
So professional hunters followed the rails westward.
Men like 'Buffalo Bill' made their living
Killing the buffalo for meat, hides, and sport.
It was the year eighteen seventy-two.
America celebrated its centennial.
Gold was discovered in the Black Hills,
And people in their thousands rushed to the west
Seeking fortunes and living space.
Most of them were immigrants to America
Fleeing depression and prejudice,
And ready to ignore the letter of the treaty law.
Towns quickly sprung up along the immigrant trails.
Towns like Deadwood - an illegal encampment
In the midst of Indian land.
People like Calamity Jane - an illegal immigrant.
Wild Bill Hickok - another illegal.
In the year eighteen seventy-six
The U.S. government sent the army to remove the Indians
From 'their land'.
Almost half of Custer's troops were immigrants themselves
From seventeen different countries
And two marked down as 'unknown'.
You already know the basic story.
The Lakota won the battle
But lost the war and their sacred Black Hills.
General Custer became a legend,
The Indian culture was 'civilized,
And U.S. history moved on.
History is full of ironies.
Custer, a hero for the North side
Winning battles against slavery in the Civil War,
Won greater fame by dying in a war to enslave the Lakota.
What's the lesson we should learn from all this?
Each of us standing here today is an 'illegal immigrant'.
We need to remember.
Categories:
living space, history, immigration,
Form:
Blank verse
A ventured stroll away from talk
taking in all superfluous detail
allowing it to fill my corrupted senses
an escape from the tedium
it invites me to escape from the routine.
To open new ways of perceiving
at what has been seen before
yet never revealed afore.
Rarely a moment goes by
when the same view cannot take on a new hue
for the view is alive
pumping subtle life
into each crook and cranny
so that every microcosmic detail
the tiniest of other earthly intelligence
are also offered the opportunity
the same that we are given
to flourish
of making a worthy society.
Beneath our very feet
subtle signs are there
for us to perceive if only
our eyes are able to notice.
Cracks and fissures around
infrastructures hardened textures
allow glimpses of those forces
not insubordinate
just seeking a share of living space
to echo their colourful vibrations
on our un-perceiving attentions.
An eye so keen to accept such notices
might be tempted to see
such sacred messages for us to feel or heed.
Madness may even encroach
to accept the design of such a divine creation
is at work edging around our corrosive borders.
Behind the corporal language
a communication so deep and so fine
no human sense could fully comprehend.
Unless we learned to abandon
our fleshy bony vehicles for a simpler primordial state
surrender complete intimacy with all of creation.
Hearing unutterable whispers of shining comfort
through the cracks and fissures along
the pavement, striding, roaming
surging up through gutters and drains.
The unsuspecting borders between nature
and our singular self-enhancing interactions.
Life is surging,
urging us to manifest,
in joining in feeding on its royal bosom
sharing in the feast of creation
so we, in turn, will return
to nourish the elementary message
of our purest love.
Categories:
living space, city, creation, environment, nature,
Form:
Prose Poetry
loss of control. an aberration. a defect,
when the perfection of creation is lost,
a cell grows and grows without a stop,
and all its purpose and function is deranged,
it blinds the eye or strangles the bowels,
floods the lungs or stops the heart!
children die for no good reason…
who can argue with such a demon?
Hippocrates knew it and the pharaohs,
but the disease was not as often as now,
as greed grew bigger and hatred spread,
more chemicals filled our living space,
the demon grew stronger and stronger,
now it catches and eats even babies in cradle,
what was once a disease of the old
now strikes the young before they have begun!
as a doctor, I have held the hand of a dying 5 year old,
waiting for his mother who was late to arrive,
The tragedy of cancer is not in the disease,
but in the fact that we are the cause of it,
more we destroy the nature we live in,
more poison we create for our own kind.
A life of purity and green living,
is the way to conquer many beasts
of our times.
true wealth is nature, that gives without count, no cash needed, no receipt printed.
False world of man gives tokens of no value, awards and merits that perish with time.
we wear blinkers of social prejudices and lose the greater reality of nature!
Live in nature, love nature and be part of nature!
A panacea for all man made diseases like cancer.
Categories:
living space, death, fate, stress,
Form:
Free verse
As I stepped out
onto the porch this evening
I felt unnerved
by the atmosphere
There was nothing but
calm stillness, and yet-
it bore a hint
of turbulence so small
as to only be perceived
in an odd sensation
on my skin
Thinking of the calm
before a storm
I hastily scanned the sky
searching for an ominous sign
But the sky was clear
albeit a weird mixture of hues
with too many shades of
Barbie pink overshadowing
the dusky purples and blues
The yard itself seemed
normal-but-surreal, too...
and looking at the
technicolor-green grass
I felt overwhelmed by
a heavy stillness in the air
As though I were trapped
in a vivid photograph
the only thing still alive
still moving- and suddenly
utterly oppressed
by a feeling of uselessness
with no idea of what
to do with myself
I felt a crazy impulse
to run away; as if
my presence there
was the problem
and that by leaving I might
find my way back
to other living (moving) things.
Inside once more
I now find the surreal stillness
has moved inside the house...
casting a pall over
the living space and
stretching down the hall
I fancy it has followed me
edging closer, stalking me
quickly closing in-
but as the feeling begins
to encapsulate me-
I am shocked to realize
that the turbulence feels
strangely familiar
I had only noticed it
in the stillness
away from daily distractions...
but it was within me
from the start.
Categories:
living space, anxiety, emotions, feelings, how
Form:
Free verse
I have dreams and high hopes for the coming new year.
Many aspirations that I must achieve with true ease.
When this year ends and all the madness does cease
I shall bring forth good will without dread nor fear.
O, I shall fall to my knees and love without displease.
Can I be the one to make a difference?
May I take away all life’s sufferance.
My house has needed much improved alteration.
I should paint rooms here and there without complaint.
I know I would enjoy my living space if acquaint
with my new furnishings of my own creative creation.
I shall show myself I can be handy without restraint.
Can I be the one to transform the earth?
May I show myself my treasured worth.
I pray I can take time just for me to write poetry
more often so I can feel the comfort I used to feel.
For writing has always been the only way I heal,
I can only save myself from disdain and misery.
O, I must show my mind my gifts can be ideal.
Can I be the one to express my soul?
May I try my best to fill my heart whole.
I shall begin to bestow kindness more unto family
so that they can understand how I feel so abate.
May I love without hate and genuine joy create,
showing how much I appreciate unconditionally.
O, in multitude of faith and joy may I saturate.
Can I be the one who shows I can be me?
May I show God just how beautiful I can be.
Soon It Will Be 2019
December 22, 2018
Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Categories:
living space, life, new year,
Form:
Lyric
Amazon mist and rainy mornings green as the day God made them
dropping from a moist sky full of even grays and sheltering light
peaceful music playing from the spheres of a dense forest dream
we are all little humans in a big big giant cave, .... the rain
Pitter patter drops on thirsty tree in a world that is evened once again
sheets of rain fall from my window and I click click click and glean
a slow memory of old, photographs of mom and dad inside the garden
we were small and happily drinking in the scene .... the rain
A Sentinel watches from a soldiering evergreen, I lived there before
the white washed walls of peace and the age old chanterelle dance
as raindrops settle in my soul, I compose a poem about the downpour.
Petrichor scents permeate my living space as I listen to ... the rain
Rainsticks and drums Native chants and Pagan dreams of old, I remember,
Lady Gianne and her healing chants, how she lifted her face to the winds.
"Heal me now and make me whole" * " Bring peace and love forevermore"
As nature creates pathways to equity, the rain loves US,
again and again and again. .... the rain.
Categories:
living space, appreciation, rain,
Form:
Free verse
l
u g,
f n
i y i
t s t s
u w n s
a o u e
e l o l
A b day b b and b
Cold and furious, enough, sans closing doors.
Socks and sweatshirt with wind caressing.
Acorns f p the porch outdoors
a o
l u
l n
i d
n i
g, n
g
r,
t, e
f t
a n
r i
The d a precursor to W invited in.
Regeneration of living space, aired out.
All before the Christian holidays, the t a i l s p i n
of s and i also b and b
n c o l
o e, u e
w n s
t s
y i
n
g.
Categories:
living space, autumn, wind,
Form:
Shape
Daylight slips in and out
of yellowing curtains,
as the sun blinks.
At such times
her thoughts
appear and disappear
The old lady has planted
her mind in closets
where dreams wither,
in kitchen cupboards
where herbs and spices dust the dark.
She will leave what she can;
small packets once gardened
when she cared to cook.
It is coming -
a change of occupancy.
She senses strange feet
and slamming doors,
young laughter runs in and out
of her breathing space.
Until then, she is here
in her last chair
in a memory-seeded apartment,
listening to the history
of her tucked-away life.
Categories:
living space, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Mother’s Day-Three Years Later
I may speak to you
as a still portrait on the wall
no wailing
ghosts don’t present
only those of memories
especially
clasping the cross
between my fingers
as it was buried
on your chest
no tears
I only whisper
“Mom…”
are you stirred?
I reach out
truly
lean in
indubitably
to the Lord
who
with no doubt
hears
my heart cry
I don’t use
many words
on
the smile of your shadow
but lean
into
the sure everlasting arms
of Jesus
it’s almost time to honor you
are you still my mother
or merely my sister
in Christ?
do we retain the same relationship
or
is it like husbands & wives?
the bible says
we are like the angels
in heaven
no longer
given
to marriage
so I wonder…
I wondered
at the beginning
of your death -
do I still
have a mother
or
am I motherless?
I tuck
the Mother’s Day card
away
my husband thought
I’d want to put
it into her arms
next to her large portrait
next to her purple urn
on that first motherless occasion
I can’t even look at it
I can’t conceive it
the scent of funereal flowers
fills my living space
and the altar of grief notes
is growing
I throw them down
like a house of cards
likewise discard the flowers
leaving dried petals of sunshine
in a broom closet box
it’s three years later
the dust settles
the drum beats
always reminding me
we must rehearse
every day
not pick up the phone
not regress
be addressed
only by our own
my children can still reach me
if they choose…I’ll hear
Categories:
living space, grief, mothers day,
Form:
Free verse
The quiet strum in the living space
It was Christmas day when he played
The struggle real but calm his hands
as he battled with his guitar
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
From the corner of each eye
If we’d have known to spill some tears
Thank goodness moment captured
Saved by a watchful foreboding
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
His sister near, this dear nephew sung
the stanzas as he moved imminent strings
A couple years later, I’d sit up in bed
It was such the occasion to raise the dead
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
This poem not meant to be tailored
just raw, sorrowful, surrendered to
the beautiful moment before the pandemic
then hell took ground and blood spilled out
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
Remembered more the facebook sage
the basking in the baptismal plunge
Before that was the Suicide Song
to his mother, father, sisters, brother
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
He thought he was past this depart-ation
but at last he stepped back into the past
perhaps a legion of demons took hold
Oh how this family pulled, but alas
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
He is remembered kindly despite this act
One friend spoke at his memorial - a grace
as he asked the Lord: only if the pastor asks
for more. He told of my nephew’s witness to him
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
What grace this was. We would not forget
the first and last time we spoke to his friend,
for then the Lord took him too - an accident.
No accident, we met him face to face. Grace
Hallelujah…sing…Hallelujah
Categories:
living space, suicide,
Form:
Narrative
Lampshades of beauty come in every shade
everyone should have one in their home
for when the moon refuses to cascade
inside your darkened room, then you alone
can light your inner world with glow and shine;
Bruise of night, ecchymosis of the soul
each fearful child of God should have their own
for when the stars refuse to spark, extol
within your living space, then you alone
can light your inner world with glow and shine;
Expensive trinkets I don't need my friend
for dearer still is inner light of heart
a lampshade is a blessing, a godsend
inside a darkened room, yes you alone
can light your inner world and make it shine.
Categories:
living space, appreciation, light,
Form:
Rhyme
Written July 05, 2025
*************
I am anchored when I am a garnet,
The mineral topaz when I shine.
A midnight fantasy of moonstone,
This precious gem's spirit is mine.
Emerald ideas are proliferating,
Within the gardens of my brain.
As opalescent moods still fluctuate,
With indeterminate strain.
I illuminate, akin to a glass prism,
When elation continues to rise.
A Sapphire flame symbolizes justice,
Increasingly irritates my eyes.
When shadows start to thicken,
I don the obsidian stones' grace.
And allow the illumination of jasper,
Restore equilibrium in my living space.
Each diamond carries a whisper,
A truth that I have been able to flow—
This even caused fractures in the facets.
Still catching the dawn glow.
I evolved from stardust,
With spiral galaxies to approve.
Should you perceive that sparkle—
You are stardust, companion, and groove.
Categories:
living space, beauty, creation,
Form:
Rhyme
Let me take a journey into the unknown
A journey that might change what I thought I had known
A journey into the self
A journey into me
The id, the ego
Who am I?
Would I still be me if I stopped doing what I do?
(Would I still be me) if I changed my face?
(Would I still be me) if I changed my living space?
What is life?
Is it the breath, the body, the spirit or the soul?
Does it have anything to do with style?
Am I alive when I sleep?
How is life affected when I weep?
What is love?
What is love
Is it the friendship, affection or adoration?
How do I know when I am loved?
What signs are there when I give it?
Does my family always love me?
Do they love me when they are angry?
Do they love it when I am mad or sad and feeling bad?
Do they love me when I don’t love them back?
Someone tell me what is love?
Now let’s talk about death
Is death always cruel?
Or is it sometimes a favour?
I wonder why people cry
How else can you meet your saviour?
My soul is troubled
My heart unsettled
I am afraid, so very afraid
Why were we created if our inevitable destiny is death?
Who has the map to paradise?
Who knows about eternity?
I need answers about morality
Somebody talk to me about equality
Tell me about justice and truth
Do these things really exist?
Some things you will never understand
Where is the fairness when someone puts the letter l in lambdacisms and the letter s in lisp.
Categories:
living space, bible, death, irony, journey,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
The Champion
Controlled by remote desires I trip the laurel fuse of longing ancestry
My Mom had been chosen to compete diving from the high platform of
Hitler’s mania for ‘Kraft’ ‘Freude’ living space terror raised arms and all in
guns blazing a misplaced childhood offered on the altar of manic delusion
Wreaths gathered dust on unmarked graves white crossed monuments
administered torches blazed parades marched lined the ‘Higher Faster
Longer’ ‘More Ideologically Corrupt’ abuse of innocent festival of youth
Replaced demounted sacred Mount Olympus for Auschwitz and Stalingrad
My mother was no Jesse Owens who blackened Nazi dreams of whiter than
white no ‘Black Consciousness Runner’ shoving gloves to the sky in post-fascist
Munich 1972 quite close to Dachau where Jews Sinti and Roma vanished
at the hand of Swastika’s psychopathology for denial distanced denied memory
A colour TV to watch remote from a distance was the closest she ever got to
her dream of honour and glory disgraced by politics assassinated like Israeli
athletes in a continuation and preview of fanatical devilish monsters high and
low jacking innocent sports for propaganda politics malignant ideas and ideals
In 1944 there were no Olympics titanic battles were scrambled instead in
General’s Admiral’s chessboards and tactical blood baths no dives into chlorine
and water just rotting gassed trenches exploding the dreams pawns in the Games
crushing to bone meal the Peace with their tanks and grenades fusing demise
1948 came to London awaking from ruins and rubble and the brain washed
German Olympians were banned from all sports had they not spread eagled
their passion prostituted their vigour for eugenics death Fuehrer and Fatherland
My mother tainted blemished in blood and in water a fallen hero on her sword
09th August
Written for Healing Peace and for the contest 'Olympic Mania'
Categories:
living space, abuse, peace, political, war,
Form:
Free verse
Through the cracks in my paving
I'm growing lemon thyme
The rosemary I'm saving
In my cooking will taste divine.
Apple mint and dill, Parsley and chives
Basil and coriander, Oregano and sage
The fragrances in our gardens
Stay with us all our lives.
Some strange people call them egg plants
but aubergines are their real names
My courgettes and tomatoes
Now planted in cold frames.
Delphinium in the borders
Magnolia and roses too
Chrysanthemum and dahlia
Arriving right on queue .
Sweet pea near the back wall
Climbers of every kind
Seeing my cherry tree's in full bloom
always blows my mind.
I've got red hot pokers
Buddleia for the butterflies
The beauty of my snowball tree's
Is like nectar for the eyes.
A garden is a living space
It should not be neglected or left alone
Let it become your magical place
An extension of your home.
Categories:
living space, beautiful, garden,
Form:
Verse