Homestead Poems - Poems about Homestead

I crave healthy food. I don't want any food that's touched plastic. I want food straight from the earth and of the earth. I want it all. I want to wear a closet of linen and wool, softened by the years. I want to be an artist and builder and poet and I want time to...

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Three kids to a bed, two beds to a room, three rooms crowded with flannel long johns and wool socks. If I was lucky enough maybe they had only been worn by two or three brothers before me. No holes was never a guarantee. Mama had us tucked in tight under hand stitched quilts made from...

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In the garden, mud squished beneath my feet. I dreamt of oceans vast and concrete, Where rainbows danced upon the waves, And washed stone glistened in the sun's raves. But beyond the sea, darkness loomed. And creatures of the deep entombed, A world of mystery and fear Where danger lurked and death was near. Yet still, I yearned to explore. To sail the seas...

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Slime is a subtle stage for blame I can’t stay stuck to your ways/ I’m a little vague so your game I’ll ante up to plague/ While a tirade goes for their bane they played and waged/ I’ll abrogate woes to lurk away more straight/ Compile and appropriate foe’s to contain your plate/ The trial of a pirate goes on...

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gingerbread lace on a gorgeous white porch splashed of corals and oranges among the green trees here is a home where love is generously lavished I rush out of the car almost before it has stopped Home at last, I smell vanilla and cinnamon and love....

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A WW Homestead Autumn By Tom Wright 10-10-2019 Leaves falling, Winter stalling, Firewood hauling, Geese calling, Couch sprawling, Footballing. ...

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It’s the place where I belonged In my room listening to my songs The tree outside my window bent and swayed Where I felt I could have stayed My bike always rested against the wall Ready and waiting at my recall And playing cricket in the backyard Was a cool evening summer’s greeting card Oh, to return to those days again Where there were...

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“The Homestead” In my dreams I still see the house – The old country place Nestled among the Mesquite trees That whispered a welcoming chant. The grandmother stands bent over A cabinet rolling out dough for oversized biscuits While bacon sizzles on the stove in a cast iron skillet. The grandfather reclines behind a newspaper From his favorite chair, As he studies the latest prices...

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seen from the highway traversing backroads in central south dakota the framework of an old homestead a carapace more than a structure in the distance gnarled limbs held rusted barbed wire in place as fence scant distance from the homestead's weathered shell still standing proud a decades old Aermotor windmill. it filled a galvanized...

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At the Homestead today,no time to write verse, Fran had once again got the cleaning curse, Cleaned carpets and rugs,to eradicate bugs, Found not a one as we went, through, sweeping, Mopping,polishing too, everything gleaming, Dusted and cleaned, bed linen changed, Carpets outside to air, dogs better hide, Or they would be bathed and groomed too. Found time to nip out to Jumbo's...

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I gave you shelter from the storm, when it was cold I kept you warm, from blazing sun I gave you shade, stopped the wind from blowing you away. I gave you comfort in the night, watched over you while you lay sleeping, through my windows shone the moonlight; became the mulga perfumes keeping. Now I'm not wanted any more dust builds up...

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Misshapen limbs of the Palo Verde trees add an artistic touch to the landscape. While Honeysuckle twine about the old rail fence and the spiny Ocotillo flash scarlet plumes. Mesquite trees, older than the homestead, reach out and cast much appreciated shade. Saguaro's flank the hard packed drive. Desert poppies lead the way to the...

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Orphaned footsteps round the old place. Pitch black soil, packed deep with bartered coin and Indian heads – wood and otherwise, coat her worn leather shoes, Hutterite chic. The long land screams within its own silence. Prairie sage burns somewhere, a ghostly smudge for the undulating grass and, those it serves. Its alive scent makes the dead turn towards its head...

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Visiting with memories Childhood days, thoughts remembered, Things of me that used to be. House that's aged, weathered and grayed - I feel its splintering pain; Watching me as we all played. Elements she held at bay; Her walls hold cherished secrets; Creaky floors gave me away. Love has gone, home lost it's shine....

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