Home Is Where The Heart Is,
so home can come to you.
Home is where the Heart is
by Robert J (Bob) Moore (c) 2020
Home is where the heart is, I’ve heard many people say
but I find that I leave my heart, in many places along life’s way
My heart is in the land of my birth and in the land which I now know
with relatives I’ve have never seen, as through life’s stream I flow
Cousins I may never meet Aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces
both here, and a land across the sea carry my hearts little pieces
and my closest family hold large parts of my heart
I know how much this love will hurt, when that day comes to part
Places we have lived in, and memories we have of them
times gone, of joy and happiness, a life which we lived then
Home, is not where the heart is, the heart is where you’ve been
the people you have known and loved, the places you have seen
The heart is with the life you’ve lived, things done along the way
each step you left a little bit, and one day you may say
I knew them, and I loved them, and they meant the world to me
all my friends and relatives, and my loving family
If home is where the heart is,
Then I must truly be at home with you,
Because my heart longs to be with you from here on out.
If home is where my heart is,
Then forever shall my heart be with you,
Because I only feel most at home when I am with you.
No Place Like Home
Spider webs, lichen…
Fairyland at best, makes up
A humming birds nest
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
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?
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
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
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
Snow-capped Alps with snow-flowers
have crowned her for millions of years;
foreign armies oppressed her for centuries,
but her children fought them,
with swords and bravery to expel them
and reclaim their right of free citizens!
On this beautiful sea-washed land
rose a powerful city which governed an empire stretching
from England to North Africa
and from Spain to Syria; my forefathers never went to Ireland,
or had intentions go beyond the Rhine into Russia,
where the Huns didn't seem a threat to anyone happily living!
Art flourished in every region: from North to South;
the builder, the sculptor and the painter
gave their passionate souls to embellish her
with churches, cathedrals and monuments
that today the masses admire a lot...
has anyone had these moments?
By now you must have a hint
of which country I'm telling you about:
it is my magnificent Italy...
that boot-shaped country!
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"
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 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 .
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.
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