Long Home in Poems
Long Home in Poems. Below are the most popular long Home in by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Home in poems by poem length and keyword.
Evict me from this grimy house
My son asked me what self-loathing is
His home still occupied with laughter
I was taken aback by his cleanliness
I told him it gathers like dust over time
Sweep my house free of grime
Adults self-loathe their homes best
I bade him to keep his house clean
I spoke from my home in unrest
With words from a dirty hypocrite
How do I dust things so unworthy?
Aged I covet this grimy restlessness
Ushering demons to trash this nest
Self-loathing is self-destructive
It starts with a back door ajar
It ends with a house in flames
Invite you through the front door
Into these charred walls of hate?
You turn back time full of soil
You give me rest in my lazy-boy
For a lifetime I’ll make amends
Comforting fractured self-loathings
Till there is nothing left to break
Someday I won’t bang these walls
I’ll wait for you on my uncomfy couch
Hoping my son’s house stays clean
Hoping my elbow grease makes neat
When the master returns to mine
Will this residence be unoccupied?
Will it be swept clean and put in order?
Will I have a response to self-loathing?
Then I’ll be led out hand in hand
After remodeling this divided space
No longer foolish to tear a home down
At home in a zone, peaceful, alone, relaxed to the max
Doing nothing, something, anything, whatever
I flip the channel to “Love It or List It,” Scramble a must, kids talking, syrup on a biscuit
Cheese puffs, tootsie rolls, I live for moments like this
Braless, chillin’ socks on my feet
Prop the pillow, quiet time with God
Writing in my book, thinking, reading before I go to sleep
Sign papers, time ticks on by
On my bed is an umbrella and a brush, so what
Date night not over, get a spoon
Eat a Jello pudding from the fridge in my room
No distractions by phone, that’s called favor
Lights out, prayer time
Life is great
Every night I have a date
She will not bow or break, stand in the shadow of your mistakes
But show strength, and resilience, that she still has what it takes
She has a mission and as a destiny without you it will be fulfilled
As your foolhardiness thwarted her true dreams will still be filled
Colours shown for their true intended, intentions, are suspended
Falsehoods exposed of which past words that beguile pretended
As she fears not the ground that upon she has to toil, or to travel
Rejects all the traps that are primed, that she as needs to unravel
She has a home in which to defend, so its land, as all of its wealth
Left un-protected to guard, where she has to use all of her stealth
To bypass the greedy eyes, and hands of others intentions to gain
The last of her royal designated blood line, and hers only to retain
Sword in hand she will not bow, or break to this right as to defend
This legacy given to her only as to which on her it now all depends
(Probably more a short story than free verse
In any case it’s true,
seen through my eyes as a child)
He was a heavy smoker sat by the fire
Coughing and wheezing hacking up phlegm
spitting it into the blazing hearth,
that hissed back contemptuously upon contact
On a rare occasion when he’d miss,
the dog would lick up the gooey mass
with a determined exuberance
A filthy habit I heard some say behind his back,
but he was always happy,
didn’t care less what others thought of him,
a real character,
anyway my whole family and I liked him
He was our uncle from rural Ireland,
we visited him and his wife
on their small farm a couple of times each year,
probably more so, when my Dad had a car that worked,
My sister and I used to make grossed out faces
at each other when he expectorated into the open
hearth of the fire,
we thought it was pretty cool, and grotesquely funny
One spit in particular is legendary,
he spat out a stringy length of gunk
but needed his fingers to help pull it away from his mouth
and direct it towards the fire,
some actually made the distance,
amazingly the dog raised his head
and caught the rest of it, happily wolfing it down,
I mean come on!
we were still in tears laughing, on the way home in the car
On later visits it seemed bits of his face
were disappearing or bandaged,
still he never complained,
his voice was almost gone anyway,
and most unusually he wasn’t smoking
I was only a kid and in those days
you weren’t supposed to ask questions,
but it didn’t stop me asking my dad,
what was happening to uncle?
He told me uncle had cancer of the mouth,
and part of his tongue and lips had to be cut away,
warning me never to smoke,
even though he had one lighting in his hand
Innocent me thought uncle’s face would grow back
and he’d be ok,
but unfortunately he died pretty soon afterwards,
Damn I used to be spellbound
watching him trying to catch his breath
and hoofing viscous gunk upon the fire,
even more so when he missed
I tried to copy him on a visit to my aunt
just after he passed away,
of course I missed the fire on purpose,
The dog never budged
My sister shook her head
I was truly ashamed!
By
David Kavanagh
Once a milky winged stallion,
I mistook you for an angel.
I believed your majestic prowess.
Like Zeus, I too hitched my chariot.
Once the sparkling points of night,
I mistook you for sky magic.
I believed immortal your cosmos,
your dazzling namesake array.
Then your avatar sold oil.
I watched your B movie at fumy gas pumps.
I witnessed the curse of your hydrocarbons.
I lost faith in your Earth poisoning moniker.
Then your appellation found home in the dirt.
Assigned by mercenaries feeding slithering snakes,
tracking and tracing, extracting all our privacy
for any perversion of power.
I weep now knowing how far you've fallen.
I should have known.
You were always the prodigious child of Medusa.
We are in the process…a long process for Deborah and me…
of moving from our home in Florida to our family cabin in NC.
We are in the middle…making progress…and as I write this poem
it seems only fitting that I find myself
sandwiched between two homes.
On my left is a water color or our home in Florida.
It’s where we watched our children and grandchildren grow.
On my right the cabin in North Carolina
where old memories and our future dreams will flow.
When I stand before each painting…every moment I arrive…
I’m amazed at how two paintings can make my memories come alive…
As I sit between these two paintings…I feel the need to mention
I see much more in each painting…that just their 2 dimensions.
I see more than wood and windows…more than yards and doors and trees…
It’s as if each painting opens a door to a lifetime of memories.
The years all blend together…Deborah’s parents, our children, our grandchildren
I see paintings that are rife
with friends and family and a myriad of memories each painting brings to life…
I find myself some days just sitting here…
swimming through memories with a smile on my face
because memories have this awesome power to transcend both time and space.
We shall forever keep these two paintings close…so we can always view
where we’ve been in life…and where we’re going to…
I love how paintings can transcend both beauty and art…
how a painting enters our eyes through 2 dimensions
and finds a way to touch the 3 dimensions of our heart..
Pie Eyed (for The Night Before Contest)
Twas the night before Christmas and I’d lost me house
I had to get home and sneak past me spouse
She’d sent me to purchase a dozen mince pies
I never expected to meet with the guys
So kicking and screaming got dragged down the pub
And entered the draw for a hamper of grub
If I didn’t win, she’d find out my sin
And my Christmas dinner would be in the bin
Had a few beers and then a few more
The tannoy announced it was time for the draw
Yippee, I won it, but didn’t win big
I opened the basket and had a good dig
About as much use as a bucket of dung
Biscuits for cheese, soup, pilchards and tongue
Checked out the clock and resigned to my fate
I staggered off home in a right wobbly state
Not finding one’s house might seem rather bleak
Perhaps I should mention we’d lived there a week
And then there it was, front door open wide
I nipped up the stairs once I’d nipped inside
Then I found the bedroom door slightly ajar
My wife’s standing there in her panties and bra
But then I thought, ‘My wife ain’t got shapely thighs’
And that’s when her husband punched out me mince pies
So blackened and bruised, with my own doorbell rung
I suffered the wrath of my wife’s wicked tongue
28 November 2018
The Night Before Contest
Sponsor - Joseph May
I sat in church listening to the preacher
Without hearing a single word he said
I was thinking about the football scores
And my favorite team instead
As they passed around the collection plate
I put my money in
Wondering just what was the going rate
To have God absolve you of your sin
When it came time to share a sign of peace
I turned to the pretty lady in the red dress
Giving her my most pious smile
Trying real hard to impress
I shook the preacher’s hand at the door
Saying I loved his sermon that day
Anxious to get out of my tie
And to be on my merry way
As I stopped at the traffic light
With the windows down in my new car
A homeless man walked up to me
And started talking real bizarre
He said, “You know there’s nothing special about Sundays
Nothing special about the building they call a church
By simply going through the ritual
You don’t improve what your soul is worth”
“If you would rather be watching football games
You can talk to me some other time when you are free
And twenty dollars in a collection basket
Doesn’t buy your soul out of poverty”
“That lady in the red dress
Is much too young for you
And you have to fix the relationship you are in
Before moving on to someplace new”
The cars were honking from behind me
Because the traffic light was green
I turned around to shout at them
Then turned back and that man was nowhere to be seen
I drove the rest of the way home in a haze
Wondering if I imagined the whole scene
But when I turned on the football game
That man was in a commercial on my screen
“So think about the words I said
And talk to me on your own time
In a location of your choosing
When you are in the right frame of mind”
“I am always available to hear you
And provide guidance along the way
But the outcome of these football games
Is not a thing for which to pray”
So, I gave up church on Sundays
And I donate to other charities instead
And today I am a more religious man
Always conversing with God inside my head
In troubled times, my comforts can include
such simple things, and there are plenty of
those things. For me, there’s always comfort food!
A nice big bowl of soup is one I love.
Another stress-reliever is TV.
I lose myself in someone else’s plot.
Another thing, of course, is poetry.
I lose myself in that one quite a lot.
But sometimes life gets very hard indeed.
I find my phone and call a best friend or
one of my sisters! I think when we need
support the most, that’s what good friends are for.
My spouse is always there for me as well.
Sweet comfort is the home in which I dwell.
May 19, 2020
for John Hamilton's 'Bridge over troubled waters' Poetry Contest
At birth, the first thing we do is cry.
Once we reach home, in the cradle we lie.
Then we get bored and give our legs a try.
As infants, it’s all about me and my.
Soon, it is time for school, Oh me, Oh My,
and each day an adult wave us goodbye.
When learning gets hard, we complain and cry,
And then we are told, just give it a try.
As we’re growing older, time seems to fly.
School moves from early, to middle, to high.
Then come the years that often make us sigh,
dealing with kids whom our wishes defy.
The demands of life do our patience try.
It often seems we’re living on the fly,
with barely enough time to just say Hi.
During these times our life seems hard and dry.
Some work so hard, they keel over and die,
leaving loved ones behind to grieve and cry.
Others live long before they close their eyes,
But eventually, everyone dies.
So, today you live, tomorrow you die.
For most people, this is life, cut and dried.
But the ones who into the Scriptures pry,
discover this is Satan’s lousy lie.
The Bible speaks of life after we die.
Some call it a tale of pie in the sky.
I believe the Bible and here is why,
Jesus, died, rose, and ascended on high.
Those who believe in Jesus, though they die,
will not forever in the grave lie.
When Jesus returns from His home on high
He will resurrect His children who died.
Those alive, will with them rise to the sky,
To live with Him in the sweet by and by.
He will wipe away all tears from their eye,
and they will nevermore grow sick and die.
If you desire to live after you die,
your ticket to heaven you must buy.
Accept Jesus who for you did die,
And daily with Him your life ally.
Before us lies one, who in Jesus died.
So, even though we may sorrow and cry.
Our hope has in no way been drained dry.
One day soon, we’ll meet Gordon, by and by.