Home Poems
The Months
by Sara Coleridge
January brings the snow,
makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes loud and shrill,
stirs the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet,
......
Dark Rosaleen
by James Clarence Mangan
O MY Dark Rosaleen,
Do not sigh, do not weep!
The priests are on the ocean green,
They march along the deep.
There 's wine from the royal Pope,
Upon the ocean green;
And Spanish ale shall give you hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,
......
Questions Of Travel
by Elizabeth Bishop
There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams
hurry too rapidly down to the sea,
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.
- For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,
aren't waterfalls yet,
in a quick age or so, as ages go here,
they probably will be.
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,
......
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
......
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,
......
Nusantara Silence
by Ayatullah Nurjati
We were born from the land of Nusantara, a womb of time that contains seas and mountains, where waves learn to prostrate themselves and rocks memorize the wind's prayers.
Our language grows from the roots of rain, from the rustling of rice and the history of boats; words are not shouts, but silent traces that lead home.
Silence is not mere silence; it is a clear spring in the chest, where the mind abandons noise and the soul learns to listen to the universe.
In that silence, we know ourselves without the mirror of arrogance, calling out the name of life with a voice that does not hurt.
The mountains teach us to stand tall without arrogance, the sea teaches us to be vast without swallowing; the two meet in the awareness that life is care.
......
Far from home 02
by Mario Odekerken
The sky here is wider
but less familiar.
Even the wind speaks a language
I do not fully understand.
Streets stretch like questions
I haven't yet answered.
Faces pass,
kind but unknown,
like books I've never read.
......
lovin’ where I live
by Rikske Kessner
parched wind, salt‑tongued
from the far edge of the bay,
licks the last drift of
mauve jacarandas.
in the tin‑roof blush,
heat simmers like held breath,
I hear the slow heartbeat of soil—
patient, cracked, still keeping
the memory of rain..
......
"Limburg"
by Mario Odekerken
De heuvels ademen traag,
alsof de tijd hier anders loopt,
zachter misschien.
Mist kruipt over velden
waar stemmen klinken
in tongvallen die wiegen.
Limburg,
de provincie die mij uitgekozen heeft
......
If Someone Finds Home
by Md. Kausar Uddin Ahmed
If someday,
Someone finds shelter
In the lines of my palm,
Calls my hands
The place where their storms rest,
Their peace begins.
Then maybe,
Just maybe,
This short stay on earth
Will have meant something.
......
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Robert Louis Stevenson (31 poems about Home)
November 13, 1850 / Edinburgh, Scotland - December 3, 1894 / Vailima, Samoa -
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