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Popular Home Poems

A Red Palm

by Gary Soto

You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.

That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,
Young, not yet the broken chair

......

Exposure

by Wilfred Owen

I

1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...
2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...
3 Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient ...
4 Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
5 But nothing happens.

6 Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
7 Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.

......

Disabled

by Wilfred Owen

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,-

......

1914 V: The Soldier

by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

......

Home

by Irene Kelsey

As we sit beside the fire,
Warm slippers on our feet.
Do we ever stop to think
Of those who seldom eat?

We sit at our tables
Getting stuck into our meals.
But do we ever stop to think
How an empty stomach feels?

......

Recent Home Poems

Father's Gun Hanging at the Door.

by C Duggan

My father's gun hung on the door,
at first menacing, then necessary.
That gun kept out the wolves,
the bears,
and the wind howling.
The gun kept out the cold,
my mother no longer shivered,
and my father no longer took watch.
The stars no longer stared,
and the moon no longer seemed like a dream.

......

Through the Woods

by Evelyn Judy Buehler

Strawberry red skies
when home beckons through sage woods
Pink love's going down
as dewdrops on purple rose
prior to the velvet close

Flowers follow me
their fantasy fragrances
recalling burnt gold
Beauty's dying once again

......

86. Trying

by Kea Campbell

Stumbling through the door at 1 a.m., not drunk, just sleepless's bite.
My house is clouded with fog, and I return at the latest times of night.
I long for peace, careful not to make eye contact with Death.
I cry for the coach to save me from my straits, while I rise and pine to the scant love for life that's left.

The air thickens, and tensions cut my wrists.
My days expand, and I sleep without rest.
The world weighs on my chest, with past wars documented on my flesh.
Disordered mentality is cinched around my neck, but the stool I stand on is breaded with red.

......

The Reynolds Library

by John Stetson

In the small town up the road from the farm where I grew up,
the library was in the town hall,
which was also the fire station,
which was also the jail house,
and later the Plumber's place.

It was a friendly place.
The Boy Scouts met there.
They had all the Hardy Boys books.
And a hardy lot of boys, but no nooks.

......

Finding home

by Martin Gepp

Building a house in a foreign land has an odd sway
Common fears are again in charge of finding a space
Frequent visits of tears usually try to lead the way
And invasive thoughts dislocate reality from it's place

Time struggles to find it's own dominium
Late nights and deep dreams start a delirium
I suddenly wake up and find equilibrium
Just to find a pattern that is written with my past idioms

......