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by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

I want tears to form again
in the shriveled glands of these eyes
dried all these long years
by too much heated knowing.

I want tears to course down
these parched cheeks,
to star these cracked lips
like an improbable dew

in the heart of a desert.
I want words to burble up
like happiness, like the thought of love,
like the overwhelming, shimmering thought of you

to a nomad who
has only known drought.

Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, love, eyes, glands, tears, cheeks, lips, dew, desert, oasis, mirage, nomad, drought, words, happiness
Abraham Mar 11
Could you be here?
the street sign, trees, puddles of wet snow
murmur Yesssssssss
father and daughter playing a card game
with the woman behind the counter
whisper You could, if you tried
the drawing and origami birds
folded up inside an exhibition booklet from Krakow
urge you
to be here.
pa3que Aug 2019
Marie, took some fresh baked goods,
set her sail through blood-curdling  woods,
in search of a one who hearts can alter.
her heart broke a man,
and so with sedan,
she seeked the one who’d scrap her falter.

to prevail over cold,
she took some gold,
to pay the one who hearts can alter.
she traveled sad,
but reached a nomad,
who claimed “i’m the one who hearts can alter.”

he was a fraud,
very sharp-clawed,
he stole her gold and then he paltered.
took his leave,
with a thieve,
after saying “Marie, your heart is altered.”

“Oh, Marie naive,
do you still grieve?”
the nomad was actually a salter,
see in this ground,
there’s not around,
a single soul that hearts can alter.
Effie Rose Jul 2019
You may believe home to be an address,
You are wrong.
The co-ordinates I list as my place of residence,
Are subject to change.
As do the seasons,
As my health waxes and wanes,
As my job becomes a harrowing echo,

My home will remain,

As the night-sky,
Glistens and reminisces.
Its nostalgic ribbon intertwines with my soul -
My heart,
Recognises its home.

The waves,
That serenely lap against the shore,
Leaving, once elapsed,
A maze of its belongings,
Like a Nomad on his journey.
Demonstrative tides of exposure,
Against our profane human culture,
To jumble together
In definition,
Our home and our belongings.

Does this translate,
That home is sovereign
Of worldly corruption,
And is therefore
Safe from life’s unpredictability?

It is a state of mind.

Home is the essence which coats your soul.
Home is the promise of peace.
Home could never be my place of residence,
For between hospitals and the couches I have surfed,
Void of worldly possessions,
I have never once been homeless.
I possess more than the man who cannot see
That a fixed abode in this world is not the true interpretation,
Of a phrase so bespoke.

As I look into the night-sky,
And reminisce;
As the waves serenely lap
Against the borders of land and sea,
I accept that no matter where in the world I may find myself,
The moon will still shine,

The waves will still sing soft melodies to the sand,
And my home,
I forever hold in my hand.
'Home' explores life's uncertainty through the key issues of homelessness, ill health and our materialistic culture. They always say, 'Home is where the heart is.' - but what does that truly mean applied to our daily lives?
Allesha Eman Jul 2019
•I’ll take you home•
I know that’s where you’ve been dying to go
I’ll take you there, where the air fills your lungs
And kisses your breath with it’s tender chill
I’ll take you where the fire rests all day
Waiting to be accompanied by your igniting flame
And where the birds sing to the wind, welcoming tales to let you in
I’ll take you home, wherever it is you want to go
As long as your fingers are wrapped in my hand
And your head rests on my shoulders
I promise to keep the fire going, until I have to let you go
But remember when that day appears
You’ll have forgotten me, and all your fears
•And You’ll be home, where you belong. •
Ece Ozkan Jul 2019
You know the first few questions one asks, when they meet someone new:
What do you do? Where are you from? Where do you live?
Then they eye your clothes, how do you dress up.
They give a verdict based on what they hear, what they see.
That's who you are.

I don't have an answer for these anymore.
I gave up on my previous identities.
Left my job 2 weeks ago.
A job that gave me a certain identity for 8 years; a brand name, a comfort zone.
Left my clothes behind, donated or gave some to friends.
Clothes that defined me; my hippie skirts, my tweed professor jacket.
And finally, leaving the country I lived for 8 years.
In just 2 days.

Who am I now?
I am ME.
More than ever.
Some homes don't let go of things
And their floors become unclear
Behind their blinds
It's hard to find
But the reason's always fear

Closets full of little things
A sweet sentimental Salve
Various keys
To Memories
Rather re-lived than had

kitchens gathered up with things
As if clutched in jaws most grim
It's all about
Not running out
False anticipation

Bedrooms full of silent things
Like a promise never kept
The sheepless wool
That's ment to cull
The sight from dreams once dreamt
Home is where the heart is, but what if your heart is broken?
Chris Saitta May 2019
Love is a Phoenician breeze,  
Purest abjad of Tyrian purple and royal blue,
Pillow bearer of golden consonance between kings.

Love is a Phoenician trader over deepest-sounded seas,
Far-blown nomad that still wants for the thunder of golden drums
And the rain that comes in rounded vowels of water.

Because love has no tribe but is the purest nomad.
Note: “abjad” refers to the Phoenician alphabet that had only consonants and no vowels.  It is considered a pure abjad and was one of the first alphabets spread through the Mediterranean.
He felt like home
The other half of my soul
My heart has always been homeless

I held a nomad's heart
Unable to take part
In settling for a love that was fruitless

Yet with him, time stood still
Leaving my fate unfulfilled
With him, I found no need to wander

Because of him, I stayed
He consumed more of my days
In him, I found safety and comfort

Then one day I realized
I became spoiled with vice
For I was a vagabond who stayed

What use are my wings
If I am not exploring
My heart was simply led astray

As though I was caught under glass
Because I had trespassed
In a home that was not meant for me

He felt like home
When I did not have my own
I was not looking for one initially

I explored love's territory
Leaving my own love's story
As I resume my journey again

There are times I still wonder
On those days of endless ponder
If I had made the right choice in the end
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