Where I reside now…is not my home. Well, technically it is. I have lived there for more than almost two and a half years, but it still isn’t home.
Home is where the smell of apple-cinnamon fills the house during Christmas; when tons of tasty food covers the kitchen tables, and family members dig into the dishes.
Home is where I spent my childhood; where the room I slept in’s walls were a mix between the palest pink, white, and grey; the walls covered with my name and stickers, and the Elmo sandbox I played in when I was five.
I used to ride my bicycle down the street and back, and spend time at the neighbor’s house. I remember reading a favorite book of mine, while walking my dog down our long street.
Home, where I would walk outside with bare feet, cringing with every step because there were rocks covering the ground. The bonfire would be set ablaze and I’d get close enough only to back away again because it was too hot.
Now home is a foreign place to me. I no longer smell the sweet fragrance of apple-cinnamon during Christmas. The food seems to be less as is the family.
Where my room is now one color, white, and contains two boys beds; the stickers gone and the walls now freshly scribbled on. The Elmo sandbox is gone and probably sand less.
My bike is old and rusty with a baby seat attached. The neighbors aren’t as friendly. My book isn’t as fascinating and no longer is a favorite. My dog is getting old and no longer wishes to walk.
I wear shoes outside, and the ground is covered with dirt. It’s too much of a hassle to go outside, only to smell like smoke when you returned. The seats that surrounded the fire are empty.
My home is now filled with everything I used to know. My world is different than when I was a child. I’ve grown, and can see that there is no evidence that I even existed there.
They’ve replaced me. Two little boys, my nephews, are now my Daddy’s favorite babies.
I am at the end of the boot, and have been replaced.
Home is where the heart is, but what happens when that heart is broken?
they come into your life
leaving everything important
in its place
but certain things they change
like picture frames
at jaunty angles
these magnificent creatures
flit into our lives
and back out
you barely remember them
until drunk summer nights
at the river rock festival
they seem to line up
beneath star specked
and the heavy blanket
of summer humidity
girls with hugs
and guys with great roars of joy
as if they had been searching for you all night
memories are remembered
new experiences embellished
before the thread of your lives
untangle once more
and they are gone
off into the chasm of darkness
A sadness in my heart tonight
must be told, then dim that light.
To never see its face again,
and feel the pain that eats within.
A tragedy befell you see,
and stormy nights still torture me.
She fell and died while in my keep,
and now it haunts my every sleep.
Her face so blank and eyes opaque,
my heart fell hard, and then to ache.
No turning back what time hath wrought,
my constant conscience battles fought.
A fear of storms was Mollie's fate,
the night was dark, the hour was late.
As thunder rumbled in her chest,
and her heart pounded in her breast.
To run and hide, but never from
the storm that was about to come.
She climbed atop a place to see,
what made this horror, what could it be.
But leashes length, a noose had made.
Fell to her death, no more afraid.
I found her hanging from the chair,
part of my soul still hanging there.
For simple errors can take a life,
trip up the stairs, slip of the knife.
I put the wrong leash on that night,
it strangled her, I took her life.
Forgive me my fellow poets for this unintentionally dark poem. The tragedy happened a year ago and I am still trying to find some closure. Mollie was a little mixed dog that I was fostering for a local shelter. She was kind and playful, but deathly afraid of storms
and after years at home
life truly begins
leaving the nest
and in the wake of these big changes
a mom and dad
stand at an open door
a little sad
with arms around each other
with tears on their cheeks
as their child
now an adult
I am sometimes sad because
Surely churches should be
Shelters for the homeless?
Or because pockets jingle
And we are deaf to the jolly clatter
Whilst others hear the call of god.
Or because people with
Paper cuts leak bitterness
And not human empathy
And we leak and leak and
No one cleans up after us,
Until jokers mutter 'revolution'
And the day dreams of a burning city
Are believable when the cries for
Are from muted peripheral spectres
In our Utopia.
Mostly I am sad because my words
Are void by lacking action but
My mind refuses to stop spilling out poetic waste.
Today you gave me a fake flower and
Most likely a lie but the flower is on my wall
Shiny yellow thing in foil bright like my eyes, you said.
I hope our exchange gave you hope.
Of little paws,
innocent, precious ones
their spirit snatched. Gone.
Sold to the Chinese factories
The irony of the elephant.
They hunger for hides
for skins and bones, for coats.
Ignoring the blood
they burn plastic by the ocean -
will justice be so long to come?
A life in a cage
not a choice, taken by force
helpless and broken
how does it feel to melt
when polar ice caps are home?
In the beginning,
authority was given,
for ours is a gift, but why
do we throw Consciousness away?
written with The Sparrow Girl
another year older
but it feels as if a life time has passed since i last stood in this place
my face hasn't aged
there isn't a damn thing that stays the same
the boys are going grey
the girls have all run away
and those who haven't
stayed behind to master the art of procreation
we haven't been bright eyed kids
for quite some time now
we cry now
twice as often
and thrice as sly
our eyes stay dry in the daylight
for the sake of acting strong for those we love
but we'd love nothing more to unwind
to hide behind the curtains
and watch our sorrows flow downward
forever pirouetting towards the sea
happy birthday to me
birthday cake taste like a musty wake
when layered with day-old whiskey breath
and somber advice for the future
shared by older souls
my best-dressed celebration turned death-day contemplation by the ill-fated sands of time
i'm getting way too old for this shit