wanting to be lost
in rows of cornstalks- waiting
to hear your stories
is when you play your mother’s
favorite song, in a strange city.
The cement road tickles like sun-kissed grass.
is who you see in the mirror
every time tears run without permission.
In the salted blur, you can taste sweet blueberries.
is what the sun carries
oceans away, the love that nurtured you
basks you in warm wishes from the land of pines.
is how the city’s lights flicker when you’re
in the mountains, if you squint—
Imagine, in your reach, reflection of a galaxy.
is where white flowers peek through
cracks on a brick pavement.
Different lives, but same life—
a foreign land, yet one sky.
They say home is where the heart is
But you have flown across an ocean
You're something I'm blessed to miss
We will make it through all of the commotion
But when I come home, I'm never letting you go
When you're back in my arms, I'll be home again I know
A year from home is a lot, my dear
I'm homesick and all I can do is text you, I fear
Every rotation on your turn-table eye,
Or every buzz that the radio hums:
"Ah, I see, music sings through you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
The green of the frail willow tree I spy,
Or every flash of a sunbeam on the stroll:
"Ah, I see, colours shine through you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
Every frequent meal in this colourless place,
Or a willing treat if I'm likely to steal:
"Ah, I see, sweetness comes with you.
So no, I know,
I won't be okay."
Every second I spend counting hours away
Or hours I spend counting days:
"Ah, I see, my time should be with you.
So no, I know,
I can't see you though.
No, I know,
I won't be okay."
Our love was like the afternoon sun,
that melted those New York City streets.
But you treated me like dried-up grass,
that just crumbled underneath your feet.
I can’t be who you want me to be,
my blood’s country red not city blue.
Don’t know if I’ll find where I should be,
but I know it sure ain’t here with you.
Champagne and caviar ain’t my style,
they sure don’t mean anything to me.
Drinking all night is no way to live,
homesick and lonesome’s no way to be.
I’d rather live in a one-room shack,
somewhere I can hold my head up high.
Than to live inside your gold mansion,
waiting for life to pass me on by.
Let me be a penniless beggar,
with my heart beating proud in my chest.
I know it’s the truth when they say that,
money cannot buy me happiness.
So I’m headed back to those mountains,
just as fast as I possibly can.
Cause there ain’t no place in this city,
for just one more poor ole country man.
Long days of ache thinking of the good old days and grandma's lumpy mashed potatoes
When I'm lost and alone, there's a place I can go
Where my derelict condition just does not show
Like a security blanket, or warm woolly throw
Comforted securely when wild Winter winds blow.
When I'm too far from welcome, there's a place I reside
Refuge here from the yearning, I have no need to hide.
It's peaceful and hopeful, a colourful space
With a welcoming atmosphere my heart can embrace.
Not somewhere external, but a place deep inside
Always within me, though I wander far and wide
A magnetic pull so my soul knows it's place
A path leading home for my footsteps to trace.
Holding tight to this confession;
Love is a poison, maddening;
Soft words ignite like a matchstick,
my cocoon explodes in wildfire;
Exhale now your heart’s expression;
Gravity’s heavy; burdening;
The weight of a smile’s hard to kick;
Sticky situation is dire;
You are so right now I’m homesick;
Lifted, baby take me higher.
foreign shadows replace familiarity
stripped away due return
and the heart speaks with sincerity
its just the old familiar burn
some faces stay the same
new united through uncertainty
isnt the actuality quite lame
because i would most certainly
never return
Refugee
I caught myself, my bad side. in the mirror
Of someone else’s face. I stopped mocking
No longer thinking it funny and placed my
Feet in the shoes they had to wear.
In my cynical mind it was a comedy
In theirs a moment of indecision, worry.
Go home to a war zone or stay here in safety, no brainer.
But here is not home.
They left: three-day journey by car. Dangerous in itself.
An escape made three months before, as missiles rained
And debris crashed around them. Scrambled essentials
Into a case, picked up the cat, dropped off spare keys.
But there’s nowhere like home compared to the life
Of a refugee.
Easy looking in, do the right thing as if a robot.
Joke about stupidity, as you see it. Life is a tragedy
And I can’t imagine what I’d do if I were a refugee.
David Cox 19/08/22
I hear my inner voice call out,
A child like whimper sometimes,
Sometimes the cry of a wolf.
I find myself craving something,
Something not found in the books i read,
Something my mind can’t even perceive.
A hand seems to pull me in,
With good intention; just wanting to be held.
Along with it comes a friendly unfamiliar feeling
“i need to go home” i think, standing in the balcony
That has sheltered me for years.
The feeling of some quest left undone eats me alive
While i find myself in the purgatory of my mind.
Is it love i yearn or acceptance?
Do i want to be held or listened?
I go into a spiral of
What is and what should be
Meanwhile the hand somehow let’s go
And i go back to feeling the least
Leaving this mystery unsolved for the time being.
exile
forced displacement
closed borders bar entry
unwitting victim trapped abroad
homeless
Sycamores certainly speak French, cypresses - ancient Greek, the Old Testament's olives are bilingual: they speak Hebrew and Aramaic. Birch is a Russian tree though growing in Canada. So small and frail (they wither abroad), already gone into a winter trance, she is silent but she is silent à la russe. That's how silent bears in dens are, that's how drunkards listen to the voice of the devils dissolved in their blood, that's how old believers pray, that's how a poet meditates on his faraway homeland and, finally, that's how silent my girlfriend was, accompanying me to the airport. What are we doing here, you and me, between fall and winter, at the crossroad of four Canadian corners?
a hush of partings
of pursed lips and lonely hearts…
we should go home birch
10.12.2019
December Or January Haibun Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Seawater ripples
Unlike that of our lake
The waves are rich
And voluptuous
Thick and tumultuous
They pack a punch
Releasing a luscious rumble
In contrast to this harsh rocky coast
Our lakeshore is calm and still
Looking out the window
It makes me blue and homesick
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
May I write of a company of homesick boys,
Though felling Hitler was in the back of their minds;
The loved their country to the fullest degree,
And felt so proud to wear its uniform.
On Sunday night, our house was open door,
They laughed, scrambled eggs and joked for a while
Those knots in their stomachs untied with smiles.
Soon, though the bugles played Reveille,
And off they went to their destined way,
They, though scared gave their last drop of courage,
And that is why I am here this day.
Wherever you sleep my Texas soldiers
Please remember this 14 year old child,
Who didn’t grasp your “adventure,”
But credit you with why I am free
To honor you this Memorial Day
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