Coming Home Poems | Examples
These Coming Home poems are examples of Home poems about Coming. These are the best examples of Home Coming poems written by international poets.
The familiar aroma of the
Spices of onions, garlic thyme,
basil, ginger, black peppers
and and cinnamon.
These are triggers in active
response to Mama's soup
This is my home coming.
Home sweet home.
(15th November 2015)
The Depot
The morning sun begins to peek,
my shaking knees are feeling weak.
With heavy baggage in my hand,
it takes my strength to simply stand.
I am so numb the silence roars,
I have survived my endless wars.
Gazing at the train platform
remnants of the passing storm.
The grass glistens in the breaking sun
oblivious to the battle won.
Crowds disperse, the platform clears,
the whistle echoes in my ears.
To be alone at last, I breathe,
I'm taking in the autumn breeze.
My first steps forward, timid ones,
the light of day finally comes.
For I'm unsure what lies ahead,
will they love me now, wish me dead.
It matters none from here on in,
I fought the war, I fought the sin.
My body's weak but I am home,
my weary soul will cease to roam.
Debra
Imagine life without (indoor) showers
To come clean, you’d need a bath
And for a bath, you’d need hot water
Now imagine life without running water indoors
Go to the well. Fetch the water. Bring it home
Heat it up over a fire or on an old-fashioned stove
And where to put the bathtub, by the way
In the bathroom? What bathroom?
Life is so convenient today with indoor plumbing
Without it? – Like ‘Apocalypse Coming’
It had been too long.
The journey ahead would not be easy.
I'll somehow make my way.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
I live a dream no one can see
Awakening doesn’t interrupt it
This dream meanders seamlessly
Like chapters in the manuscript
I haven’t finished reading, though
I can rewrite some episodes
The most important ones, to show
That I’m still on a boat that floats
Out in the sea, but the next day
I’m waking on a landing plane
I’m always coming home to say
How much I love you, but again
I fail my little home to find
But your sweet breath I feel quite near
You could’ve hugged me from behind
But neither you nor I are here..
Circle unfinished
has no start and no true ending
the curve knows nothing
of the fullness we demand
to soothe our yearning for home
On the long way round
we trace the curve relentless
no short cut tangents
following the wide arc, slow
savoring the journey home
Fullness encircles
what we learn by getting there
coming full circle
returning back to the start
completing what we aimed for
It was only a bungalow.
To me more precious than any castle.
Love waited between those walls.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2025
She wondered what would happen ~
Winter upon us and war still raging...
Would life ever be normal?
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Last uphill stretch homeward bound
Smoke from the chimney in the distance
that tingling sensation of belonging
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Picture of Little Oreo’s arrival
I can’t believe you bring so much love and mischief
You were carried in by a stork
Too much wait for your arrival
Now that you’re here
Wasn’t told you do parkour
I can’t stop loving you
You’re so sweet little Oreo
Donning my Sunday best,
I glance in the mirror—
a twinkle, a gleam in my eyes.
A special day today.
My eyes lift to the heavens,
a miracle in a way.
The stairs to the big blue sky
invitingly beckon mourners
between the hours
of never and forever,
within reach for those called home.
I tremble feebly on the first few steps,
casting a glance at the grand entrance.
Visiting hours—
around the clock.
It is a road well-travelled
for centuries,
a haven for resting souls.
Hope ignited by belief
that the Creator
keeps turning the pages
of the book of mortal souls—
coming home
to their final resting place.
There will come a time
when your reflection feels like home again.
You’ll open the door
to what you've been avoiding for years—
and it will be you, standing there,
unarmed, unashamed.
You will take out the old stories
you tucked away
and read them with new eyes,
not the ones who loved you then,
but through the quiet voice that has always seen you
and held you through the silence.
This time, you’ll sit
not to fill the space,
but to be present with the truth
you’ve been swallowing whole.
Receive. Settle.
Let the hunger finally rest.
No matter how old we grow…
no matter our fortune or fame
may the thrill we get when we return home
always remain the same.
In another's arms
I sense you already are
I lie here half asleep
waiting for your return
but deep inside I know
you're not coming home
(Methow Waters, 2011)
Dreaming
In the space of dreaming
I awaken to what is real,
again and again, dreaming
that everything that has been
has been but a dream of separation
on a journey always coming home.
Layer upon layer these dreams
have built into lifetimes,
each filled with relationships
as real as can be,
but never as real
as what actually is.
In every dream I wander,
the grief of loss and separation
marking each step
that defines a life,
heart broken at the core,
recognized only in the reunion.
And yet, still I know I dream,
a dreamer outside the illusions
habitually spun,
knowing that someday
I will awake at last
and this too will be a dream.
(2/4/24)