Poems about Home
#home
Poems about home and the meaning of feeling at home. Poetry about the happiness and comfort of a loving home life, and the people and family who fill a home with love. Also poems about feeling at home in a specific lifestyle or place in the world. Here you'll also find poetry about people struggling to find a place in society and experiencing the difficulties of coming from a broken home.
Burningbutterfly
Poem Published
17th Jan 2022 00:34am
17th Jan 2022 00:34am
Finding Home
I do not belong here
poolside with martinis
I did not fit there either
shared bunk beds with my ten year old son a constant fight to keep the roaches at bay
Glancing over shoulder at the times I thought I could squeeze myself in boxes ubiquitous
Only to find myself looking at loose threads and snug buttons
Edges overlapping
Pages stuck together
showing that it just. that I just. did not was not part
Proof of an otherness
As if somehow this makes being alone better
Makes the outside
okay...
poolside with martinis
I did not fit there either
shared bunk beds with my ten year old son a constant fight to keep the roaches at bay
Glancing over shoulder at the times I thought I could squeeze myself in boxes ubiquitous
Only to find myself looking at loose threads and snug buttons
Edges overlapping
Pages stuck together
showing that it just. that I just. did not was not part
Proof of an otherness
As if somehow this makes being alone better
Makes the outside
okay...
#strength
#hope
#courage
#home
#healing
21 reads
0 Comments
oskar
Poem Published
15th Jan 2022 9:34am
15th Jan 2022 9:34am
the smallest life
The smallest life
In front of me on the narrow track leading into the bushes,
I picked up a tiny field mouse held in the palm of my hand
where it fell asleep.
The tiny life was white and brown had eyes, heart and lungs like me.
What what’s next? I could not stay here all day with outstretched arm
waiting for the mouse to awake
I put it in my pocket when hearing the sheep coming down the track.
When dusty wool had walked past, I put the hand in my pocket
the mouse was not there; one thing to hold a mouse in my hand,
another thing is...
In front of me on the narrow track leading into the bushes,
I picked up a tiny field mouse held in the palm of my hand
where it fell asleep.
The tiny life was white and brown had eyes, heart and lungs like me.
What what’s next? I could not stay here all day with outstretched arm
waiting for the mouse to awake
I put it in my pocket when hearing the sheep coming down the track.
When dusty wool had walked past, I put the hand in my pocket
the mouse was not there; one thing to hold a mouse in my hand,
another thing is...
#home
#school
#city #earth
#city #earth
36 reads
0 Comments
James_A_Knight
Poem Published
13th Jan 2022 7:29pm
13th Jan 2022 7:29pm
Where do estate agents come from?
Where do estate agents come from? Our parents never told us. I often wondered. As a child, I could see they weren’t human. They looked human but when they spoke it came out like an advert for hair gel. Their robotic voices were almost hypnotic and before they knew it the adults they approached were signing documents.
I came to the conclusion that they came from outer space. Their purpose to facilitate the sale of and rent of property, for they seemed to thrive on human stress. Having established their origin, the next...
I came to the conclusion that they came from outer space. Their purpose to facilitate the sale of and rent of property, for they seemed to thrive on human stress. Having established their origin, the next...
#home
#aliens
75 reads
7 Comments
ImperfectedStone
The Gardener
The Gardener
Poem Published
2nd Jan 2022 8:04am
2nd Jan 2022 8:04am
The Symbol of Anise
The symbol of anise.
I'm well aware I don't deserve humans,
floods of gloom spill as tar
from plucked string bones,
sticks to their feathers,
blurs wide, round eyes.
The nurture part was missing,
heart still tethered
to a place in her dark womb.
You don't seem to know,
no one seems to know,
or forgives me without understanding,
the consequences of too long
by my side,
perhaps I'm glad
I can't envelope you wholely,
perhaps I'm glad our time melts,
wait 'til it refreezes,
thaws again
as it...
I'm well aware I don't deserve humans,
floods of gloom spill as tar
from plucked string bones,
sticks to their feathers,
blurs wide, round eyes.
The nurture part was missing,
heart still tethered
to a place in her dark womb.
You don't seem to know,
no one seems to know,
or forgives me without understanding,
the consequences of too long
by my side,
perhaps I'm glad
I can't envelope you wholely,
perhaps I'm glad our time melts,
wait 'til it refreezes,
thaws again
as it...
#love
#mother
#home
#moon
#emotions
53 reads
0 Comments
KittyFromHell
Poem Published
31st Dec 2021 11:17pm
31st Dec 2021 11:17pm
Trailer Park Luxuries
Although my floors may be sinking,
My walls are full of dampness,
And the paint job is crudely done,
I take a deep breath
And remember thankfulness
For small luxuries.
My bumper clings for dear life
Held on by zippy ties
And stubbornness,
But the car is paid in full.
The gravel driveways
May be full of dips and bumps,
But I can roll in thumping
My favorite music
Cranked as loud as I please.
Overzealous factory speakers
Put their bass down deep
In my soul,
And no one seems to mind a bit. ...
My walls are full of dampness,
And the paint job is crudely done,
I take a deep breath
And remember thankfulness
For small luxuries.
My bumper clings for dear life
Held on by zippy ties
And stubbornness,
But the car is paid in full.
The gravel driveways
May be full of dips and bumps,
But I can roll in thumping
My favorite music
Cranked as loud as I please.
Overzealous factory speakers
Put their bass down deep
In my soul,
And no one seems to mind a bit. ...
#love
#home
#peace
#gratitude
#poverty
80 reads
5 Comments
asbr808
Anthony R
Anthony R
Poem Published
23rd Dec 2021 5:54pm
23rd Dec 2021 5:54pm
Houses
a house is meant to be loved,
to be moved-into, to be lived in...
to love in, and to die in,
to be buried in the backyard under a lemon tree,
with a simple grave
and it is not a grisly thing,
the youngsters point and laugh
'grampa's in the leaves now!'
a house covers and creaks
shakes in a wind
and in a storm, leaks
a house smiles and sighs
certain smells swirl in certain segments,
you open that cabinet door and breathe in the air from the last...
to be moved-into, to be lived in...
to love in, and to die in,
to be buried in the backyard under a lemon tree,
with a simple grave
and it is not a grisly thing,
the youngsters point and laugh
'grampa's in the leaves now!'
a house covers and creaks
shakes in a wind
and in a storm, leaks
a house smiles and sighs
certain smells swirl in certain segments,
you open that cabinet door and breathe in the air from the last...
#home
67 reads
2 Comments
Green_Arrow
Poem Published
18th Dec 2021 8:05pm
18th Dec 2021 8:05pm
Are You Kidding?
As soon as we got
to our new home, we looked at
Mom and asked "Are you kidding?"
to our new home, we looked at
Mom and asked "Are you kidding?"
#mother
#home
#environment
#fiction
#dialogue
32 reads
0 Comments
Thetravelingfairy
Poem Published
10th Dec 2021 5:40pm
10th Dec 2021 5:40pm
You Should be Alone
Be alone
Yes
You should be alone
Shut the door
Shut it
Lock it up
Shut up
Close those windows
Nail the curtains
To your filthy wall
Be alone
Yes
You should be alone
Lonely? No
It’s not quite the same as
Being alone
Your mind doesn’t
Just stop
It keeps you company
Keep them far
Away
They won’t touch
Your burning stove
Or fuck with
Your bedding
They may yell
They might bang
To shake the room
But they cannot ...
Yes
You should be alone
Shut the door
Shut it
Lock it up
Shut up
Close those windows
Nail the curtains
To your filthy wall
Be alone
Yes
You should be alone
Lonely? No
It’s not quite the same as
Being alone
Your mind doesn’t
Just stop
It keeps you company
Keep them far
Away
They won’t touch
Your burning stove
Or fuck with
Your bedding
They may yell
They might bang
To shake the room
But they cannot ...
#loneliness
#home
#frustration
#confusion
#hurt
84 reads
6 Comments
ImperfectedStone
The Gardener
The Gardener
Poem Published
28th Nov 2021 6:24pm
28th Nov 2021 6:24pm
Change
Where are you to lay
when basic fucking
city harshness
cuts your breath from you,
eats those shoulderblades,
when your right hand
no longer speaks
to your left?
Where are you to take
those camel stored dreams,
the sustenance that comes
from mandolins and ochre,
the scent of a golden root
so strong it pierces eyes?
Where will you hide
from natural severing,
who rides you as an ocean whale
singing songs to an ageing grief?
Will you make a new home
when tsunamis of truth
have flat-washed the...
when basic fucking
city harshness
cuts your breath from you,
eats those shoulderblades,
when your right hand
no longer speaks
to your left?
Where are you to take
those camel stored dreams,
the sustenance that comes
from mandolins and ochre,
the scent of a golden root
so strong it pierces eyes?
Where will you hide
from natural severing,
who rides you as an ocean whale
singing songs to an ageing grief?
Will you make a new home
when tsunamis of truth
have flat-washed the...
#grief
#home
#environment
80 reads
3 Comments
ImperfectedStone
The Gardener
The Gardener
Poem Published
14th Nov 2021 4:01pm
14th Nov 2021 4:01pm
Compass
Compass
Do you think the bracken
felt her fingers,
bit the bones
of Summer clean,
that blinding light
of wintered sun
was bestowed
by lids of God?
Do you tumble slow
up Gallants Bower
hillscapes drenched
in refined war,
trade chests
for pursed mens penance,
watch tourists tumble 'long
mouth's sore ridge?
Do you long for birds
who soar on high,
over castles,
shaded sails,
between beech caped woods,
sod beneath sealed
in abandoned leaves?
Their naked mothers ...
Do you think the bracken
felt her fingers,
bit the bones
of Summer clean,
that blinding light
of wintered sun
was bestowed
by lids of God?
Do you tumble slow
up Gallants Bower
hillscapes drenched
in refined war,
trade chests
for pursed mens penance,
watch tourists tumble 'long
mouth's sore ridge?
Do you long for birds
who soar on high,
over castles,
shaded sails,
between beech caped woods,
sod beneath sealed
in abandoned leaves?
Their naked mothers ...
#home
#nature
75 reads
0 Comments
ImperfectedStone
The Gardener
The Gardener
Poem Published
8th Nov 2021 1:45pm
8th Nov 2021 1:45pm
Uphaul in Winter
Uphaul in Winter
Buying a house is alot like
assembling a picture,
painting a plot,
analysing, with foresight,
the yellowing of time,
the scientific things
one body needs
to make it homely
and then the frames
moving with in that
and within those
there is the consideration
of leaving,
of neglecting grief.
They'll be required to view
objectively the restart identified,
kill off warnings of transition,
add foliage to ideas and ideals,
give that new dig an identity,
erode the old one ...
Buying a house is alot like
assembling a picture,
painting a plot,
analysing, with foresight,
the yellowing of time,
the scientific things
one body needs
to make it homely
and then the frames
moving with in that
and within those
there is the consideration
of leaving,
of neglecting grief.
They'll be required to view
objectively the restart identified,
kill off warnings of transition,
add foliage to ideas and ideals,
give that new dig an identity,
erode the old one ...
#home
#winter
66 reads
1 Comment
ImperfectedStone
The Gardener
The Gardener
Poem Published
6th Nov 2021 9:31pm
6th Nov 2021 9:31pm
Recall My Great-Grandparents Home
Recall My Great-Grandparents Home
In the extension
of an architect's
drawn up dream
a recorder
I played,
and My Little Pony
and Pokemon,
marbles, piles
of Polly Pocket,
played God
on the floor.
There was a black
cassette Walkman,
and a bureau
with endless
types of paper,
happening - graph,
trace, lined
and graceless,
scribbles,
stuffed.
I could be,
not be
within it,
disappear
faceless,
all hair
rich air,
the love ...
In the extension
of an architect's
drawn up dream
a recorder
I played,
and My Little Pony
and Pokemon,
marbles, piles
of Polly Pocket,
played God
on the floor.
There was a black
cassette Walkman,
and a bureau
with endless
types of paper,
happening - graph,
trace, lined
and graceless,
scribbles,
stuffed.
I could be,
not be
within it,
disappear
faceless,
all hair
rich air,
the love ...
#love
#parent
#home
54 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems about Home
