I miss the haven of my youth long past
when melancholy melted in the mirth
of sharing time with siblings. What a blast
we used to have. No memories are worth
as much as those when life was still carefree.
If there were worries, they were shouldered by
two parents who looked after family
and did their best to make sure to supply
their kids with the necessities to thrive.
We were not rich, but we were clothed and fed,
and from our parents, we learned how to strive
to meet our goals in future lives we led.
No home is perfect, but I can be glad
as havens go, a great one I sure had!
The late-summer track runs blue with deep shade,
While cicadas rasp in sun-whitened trees;
And ask what secret lives inside the breeze,
You clasp my hand where sandy gullies fade.
I show the compass, by the years decayed,
Whose faithful needle leans, and never flees;
We watch the foam that feathers on the seas,
While on the shore our wandering steps are made.
You ask where north goes, in your small voice calm,
As though the world was just this morning born;
You spy a blue-tounged skink beneath a thorn,
And hold a broken shell within your palm.
The compass points its north through dusk and foam;
Your wondering hand points farther still—to home.
Home Sweet home was our most safe haven,
Only shelter when I was just a kid and minor.
Mom-Dad were there to bear each responsibility
Enjoyed with my siblings at every step of childhood.
Simple pleasures, simple disputes awoke in our home.
Wonderful sharing of sister of my heart to take care.
Excited days settled at night with worry-less sound sleep
Events occurred in sorrow or gay, but to assure,
Top secret of entire peace lay in our sweet home.
Home Sweet Home is now my holy sacred heaven.
On love and care I have erected my home as ideal one.
Mind gets real relief in each distress, dismay and agony
Enchanted days settle at night in perfect profound peace.
Secrets remain hidden,
A story stays untold.
Walls grow taller,
And the padlock keeps it closed.
Keys are given
To all who reside within
And to the few who earn my trust.
Because what lies inside
Was meant to be hid.
The outside,
A perfect dreamhouse,
White-picket fence and all.
How ironic,
The same colour of drywall
In which I watched a crater form.
Few visitors ever see
What goes on
Behind closed doors.
Once I give them a spare key,
Nothing is hidden anymore.
The doorknob beckons for your hand
Before it’s too late.
Now you see inside the house,
And I know
What happens next.
Now you know my secrets,
My deepest, darkest fears,
And that shatters your lens,
Because I am now real.
But the windows are now smashed,
The story’s been told,
Walls are still crumbling,
And a new padlock now holds.
FIND HOME
For those wondering souls who’s lost their way,
who has even forgotten their name,
For those of you, who lost their faith,
because of more than your fair share of pain.
A life of roses among the thorns,
more than petals paving the way,
More than joys, your sorrows worn,
a soul with holes like soles of shoes each day.
Would that I could have saved you,
From the cruelties your mind and heart endured,
Would could I have even prevented,
What they said was for you, no cure.
Would that I could have pointed to signs,
When your obscured vision had gone,
But the lady has now laid down the path,
for her lost children to find their way home.
For those who had gone in another direction
although Jesus said, “I am the Way”
No other Truth, no other Light there be,
it was a lie that led you astray.
Come now my children, like a mother hen,
shielding her chicks from the storms,
The grace of Christ to gather you,
in His loving protective arms.
At Christ’s return to collect His bride,
And soon we’ll be rapturously gone,
But there will still remain a narrow way
a martyr’s path in red showing the way home.
When we were kids, you liked to torment me, go to the park and climb the highest tree.
Run across gullies at high speed, leave me on the other side with shaking knees.
But then there were days by the TV watching Banana splits and Christopher Lee.
Going to the fields to hide in long grass then run round the streets and fall on our ****.
We moved like gypsies from place to place, new schools, new people, we accepted our fate.
The boy with the golden hair was by my side and I wasn’t lonely cause we were best mates.
Then came the day we no longer roamed, found schools with good teachers, at last we were home.
We got on our bikes to explore the estate; cautious and wary we sped round the place.
To our surprise the kids were friendly and fun, not hostile or tough, or in your face.
Young ones, older ones, boys and girls, down by the brook all summer long.
Through escapades, bonfires, occasional tiffs, the Steppingstone gang stayed strong.
In labyrinthine longing,
where my weary spirit
roams,
I seek an effervescent
haven to call my home.
A luminescent refuge where
the anxious heart finds rest,
Where benediction
whisper and the soul is truly
blessed.
Amidst the cacophonous
clamor of this transient
world,
Your peace, oh Lord, is an
opalescent banner unfurled.
A paradisiacal sanctuary,
inviolable and true,
Where tribulations dissipate
in the cerulean blue.
So let me be transfigured in
this hallowed, holy place,
A resplendent
convalescence wrapped in,
Your abounding grace.
If there's no light, I'll create it.
If there's no fire, I'll make Warmth.
If kindness is lacking,
I'll gently place my hand on the wound.
If the ether is missing, I'll call it.
If the shelter is crumbling, I'll fix it.
If home is unreachable,
I'll build another with integrity and might.
If the joy is no longer, I'll find it.
If the spark is out, I'll light it.
If conciousness is gone,
I'll sit with you quietly to remember.
If the noise is too loud, I'll bring quiet.
If the quiet is too loud, I'll bring poetry.
If meaning is no longer present,
I'll remind you of how time and space aligned so we could look into each other
Safe in each other's arms lies our compass
a gifted direction of serenity in the evening
when your smile is a flesh tone canvas
that points to the stress that is leaving
our sanctuary in twilight is a calming delight
where we cast all of the day's troubles aside
welcome the soft grandness of love's gentle light
to this cause our hearts will always abide
no walls to build where emotions can hide
in this realm of purity, our safe haven
to these quiet moments our contentment is tied
so, this refuge of love is never shaken
we share the tenderness of our compassion
to lie still and silent in our love's armor
we are one another's home and companion
where our heart is a safe and welcomed harbor
What are you doing here, Crane?
In the mountains with your long legs and backwards knees?
Your head bobbing forward with each step,
we’re not used to birds like you.
The magpie is watching too,
before he goes on with his morning tea.
Thanks for coming
but I hope you can find your way home.
A place of warmth I sought after.
A place of love,peace and laughter.
A kind of maternal cove.
A safe place, that of a kindling dome.
A place could call home...
For a while I dwell in the wind of cold .
And took a stretch through stories untold.
Plenty was learnt through friends who foe.
My thrive did not die.
For I knew I would arrive home...
I came to realize that home is not a place.
Nor is it a pre-residential familiar face.
It is a lighter tone from which affection is prone.
A garden of no poison thron, that is home...
No cold,just warmth of radiant gold.
A door I sought after now open to that foretold.
Through every storm and road I have roamed,
Loving you feels like finally coming home...
By Poet.... "Haven hide me safe and sound. Far away from this cruel world. Give me peace of mind and body."
The story of my haven,
as I ran from the huge raven.
Was I living in a cave-in?
Life's pictures have been hung with a cloth pin.
The huge raven represents life,
the cave-in represents midlife.
Where did life go?
Time had no flow,
no more glow.
All the time I was low,
I just wanted to live and to grow.
Hiding in my safe haven covered with snow,
I now watch TV and a new game show.
Sprightly walk on landing,
then I step down each rung,
with habitual due dispatch,
an enthusiastic heart beats,
mind awash with apt fervour,
whilst fixating on elation,
that weaves rose bud tints,
to dawn townscape purliue,
on a fair earthborn agenda,
whose brief a germ kernel,
mission sprouting benign,
seeds among the coterie,
red sunrise street dwellers,
who sense crimson aura,
a fond radiant saunterer,
that tonic touchstone,
oops .. watch the last step
Home is a place on the run
It is the middle of the ride
The first stroke of the swim
It is the training and the race
The swim is the first room in the home
It is where it all begins
Home is the smell of chlorine
It’s the early mornings and cold pool
After walking through the home the second room appears
The ride
Home is the hours spent on the road and trails
It’s the ups and downs of the mountains
Home is the speed on the side of the road
The last room in the home is the run
It's the miles spent on the track
Home is many pairs of shoes
It’s the fast and slow, the ups and downs, the early mornings and late nights
Visitors often say this is the best room of the home
While the small home is often overlooked
It works for those who see its true value
But on the other side of the home is the back yard
And the finish line is what it is all about
And that is what they missed
I cannot remember
The first book I read.
The first time I felt
Alive.
That's what it is, always has been
To me.
A story, a narrative, a journey,
More real than the hand holding the book.
I open a book,
And feel at home.
For as long as I can remember,
Interaction, daily necessities,
Have felt
Forced.
But when the page turns,
My heart flutters.
Life is hard,
To one and all.
But books are constant,
And speak to the soul.
(Written 11th September 2026)
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