Homestead Poems - Poems about Homestead

I Crave

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

Winter on the Old Homestead

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

Homestead Greenery

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

Prejudice

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

Homestead Love

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.

A Ww Homestead Autumn

A
 WW Homestead
Autumn
By Tom Wright
10-10-2019

Leaves falling,
Winter stalling,
Firewood hauling,
Geese calling,
Couch sprawling,
Footballing.

The Old Homestead and the Clear Blue Sky

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

The Homestead

“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

Old Homestead

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

A Day At the Homestead

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

Abandoned Homestead

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

Homestead

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

The Old Homestead

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

Ode Homestead

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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