"homecomings" poems
There will come a day
When all of the colors fade
to grey
When all of the flowers
In the garden start to wilt
When everyday is cloudy.
The headlines hold names
Of kids you grew up playing kickball with
Being killed by people who thought
That one more drink wouldn’t do any harm.
People who thought that a party
Was more important than
Everyone else on the road.
Now,
We have a four year old boy whose mama
Won’t see him graduate preschool
We have an eighteen year old girl whose daddy
Won’t see her graduate high school.
We have teachers
Who don’t know how to educate
To a classroom full of students
Who have so many questions.
But the legal limit isn’t taught in textbooks.
This isn’t whether or not you feel
That the law applies to you.
This is life or death.
This is Russian Roulette with a bottle.
This is driving blindfolded
With the music on too loud.
This is a four year old boy
Who still doesn’t understand
What Heaven is.
This is an eighteen year old girl
Who’s wearing her graduation dress
To her father’s funeral.
The dress that her father helped her pick out.
He said,
“You know, sweetheart, I always loved you in black.”
This is crying for someone
You never met.
This is military homecomings or
Babies smiling for the first time.
Except in reverse.
This is military homecomings in a box.
This is babies crying for a mother
Who cannot comfort them.
This is empty spaces in a poem
Where words should be.
This is “I just saw them yesterday.”
This is “I’m sorry for your loss.”
This is...
not knowing what the right thing to say is.
She still had clothes in the washing machine.
He had a T-Time for next Thursday.
We had a dinner reservation next Friday.
This is knowing that he will never have a birthday again.
This was not something I was expecting
I mean, who would?
Photographs can’t capture a lifetime.
They may be worth a thousand words,
But you my dear are worth so much more.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
1. Every time I look you in the eye, I see thunderclouds. Yes, your laugh is silver bells on a spring day and your smile could have caused Mona Lisa to grin all the way in, but they’re right. Your eyes are the behind the scenes and your body is a movie. I don’t enjoy watching movies.
2. I can’t keep up with the storyline. Chapters fifteen and sixteen were about homecomings, and now the main character’s digging his own grave again. You never explained to me how he went from dancing in the moonlight to rubbing ash on his head, just when I thought we were getting already to the ******
3. The wounds are reopening. I thought you knew better than to pick at the stitches.
4. Your heart must be handcuffed to mine. I feel it every time you hurt, every time you pull, every time you cry out and ask God, “Why?” The only difference is that every inch you move away is a sucker punch in my gut. I’ve never had a high tolerance for pain.
5. Do you know how many poems I’ve written about you? Try walking outside at night and count every street lamp from here to the opposite side of the sea. My words burn too, but they never seem to be bright enough for you to see. You’re still tripping in broad daylight.
6. I’m tired of standing behind you.
7. Hope is an anchor, but I’m starting to drown.
8. Sometimes I scream in frustration because the seeds are taking too long to grow. It’s so easy to forget that they will. It’s even easier to forget that I’m not the savior. But I try to be, so I’m putting down this yoke, little by little.
9. Seeds do grow and their trees make enough rings to tell stories to last generations.
10. I heard in a song that love alone is worth the fight. Maybe I’ll continue this battle long enough for you to see that we’ve already won this war, so that the next time I look at you in the eye, I’ll see the northern lights.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
I am a ******
That is a powerful word
a putrid, painful word
a psychotic thing to say
out loud
to know
about myself
to admit
to You.
This is the worst thing I know
about myself
that I ***** a girl once
without even realizing what I was doing.
I don't know why I'm saying this now.
I know a lot of people will hate me
for saying this
for admitting this horrible thing I did
for displaying this
repulsive
repugnant
piece of my personal history
like picking up a piece of my ****
and showing it to You.
I don't know why I'm saying this.
I don't know why I'm telling this.
I guess because
after all these years
more than half my life later
I still haven't forgotten
I can't forget
I still regret
so I guess it simply
needs to be said.
So call it a confession.
And now the bargaining begins.
The inevitable qualifications.
Because while it is true
I am a ******
that powerful, putrid, painful, psychotic word
calls forth to mind an image
of violence and brutality
that is not me
and is not what I am trying to say
and is not what happened that night.
We were very young
not even twenty
and stupid
clearly stupid
and we'd been "going out" for years
Homecomings and Junior Proms
we'd taken each others' virginity
many years before
this was not our first dance.
And we were drunk.
Blind drunk.
It's not an excuse
but it's a fact
and it's relevant
and it needs to be said.
We had rented a hotel room
away from our parents
alone
free
and we were *******
joyously
terrificially.
Young
Free
Drunk
*******
It was a glorious night.
At some point
she said,
"Wait, stop."
I don't know why.
To this day, I have no idea
what happened
what was wrong
why she wanted me to stop.
But I remember
what I said.
I'll never forget
never be able to forget
what I said
what I did.
She said, "Wait, stop."
And I said,
"No,
I'm almost done."
There is no apologizing
for that
no accepting it
no getting over it.
Not for her
or for me.
Some things just become
a part of you
forever
and you can't hide them
no matter how much you want to
or how hard you try.
Some words weigh on you like Marley's chains
and you carry them for the rest of your life.
And you should.
I'm not seeking sympathy
or solace
I deserve neither
and I wouldn't want them
even if I did.
I want to carry this chain.
I have to.
Because it is the only way
I can attempt to
balance out the equation
and even have a hope
of trying
to begin
to make up
for what I did
to her.
I guess I just needed to
acknowledge the chain
admit it
make it real
so that I could keep carrying it
a little longer.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
It’s not easy being a girl.
Guys walk around thinking life’s a bowl of lemons for girls.
It’s not.
We girls have to do our makeup perfectly.
Have the trouble of running with ***** bouncing all the time.
Careful not to let our nail polish chip,
We worry about wearing shirts that show too much.
Have to make sure our bra straps don’t show.
Dreading what to wear every time,
We dread wearing the same pair of pants too often.
Always braiding, curling, and straitening our hair.
We have to shave our legs and armpits.
Always tweezing our ****** hair daily,
We’re always insecure.
We have to buy dresses for proms and homecomings.
We become sad when our guys don’t text us back.
Always on our periods,
Massive cramps.
Getting our first kiss is a big deal.
Missing your ex,
Breaking up or fighting with your boyfriend.
We wonder what we did wrong.
Hate being lied to.
We go through fighting and losing best friends.
Being cheated on,
We’re always misunderstood.
Wanting different hair color or eyes,
We go through liking a favorite shirt but it’s never in our size.
Never feeling good enough,
Being called a ***** when you’re a ******
We suffer secrets getting out.
Being dumped,
Making mistakes,
We have people letting us not forget our mistakes.
Bad hair days,
Swearing too much,
Always smelling good.
And the hard part of being a girl,
Is that we have to go through this for the rest of our lives.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
The pressures are rising but also falling on my chest
I can’t get out from under the tide, I need a rest
Mistrust, miscommunications, misconstrued words send me over the top
The anger continues to build inside of me until it feels like my heads going to pop
Working it out through weights, sometimes that can help
I am losing control of everything, how do I deal with something I never felt
Money issues, past actions, future homecomings, it’s all a part of this course
Lost at sea, feeling like I am drowning, I am struggling back and forth
Can I keep my head afloat until help has arrived?
Can I retrain myself and my brain? How am I to survive?
I used to be so happy, the joker in all cases
Now there is nothing to smile about, all I see are ******* arab faces
I can’t stand these people and we are put here and cannot do anything about it
They can bomb us on the road or shoot mortars to our chu’s and we can’t do ****
I’d rather be judged by 12 then carried by 6 is something I think of everyday
But all the red tape ******** we go through, these terrorists lead the way
If you are going to send me to war, let me do my job
Come out into the sunlight and get away from the fog
You tell me to give another year of my life away to you and wear the uniform proud
I can’t even look you in the face, you’re a fake and ******** is all you allow
You send me out on missions every day and you sit there comfortable behind your desk
You come with us when there is a photo op so that you can get medals pinned on your chest
You won’t tell us when we are going home; it’s this big secret you like to hide
Think about the well being of the soldier and family, take a look down deep inside
Maybe you will find some integrity, some actions that match what you say
Maybe you can remember what it’s like to live the code of a soldier, now get out my ******* way.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 12:45 PM UTC
It is almost refreshing to sink into what I once was
To feel myself stagnate and lose interest
It's somehow relieving to meet my old feelings again
To feel both exhausted and restless
I am not doing enough yet, have not achieved
I am not trying hard enough, haven't put in my all
I am not reaching far enough, am not throwing my weight
I am not enough to climb over this wall
A wall between myself and motivation
Between creativity and creative endeavors
Between myself and my dreams and wants and hopes
A wall between stagnation and corrective measures
It feels like coming home to a house I never intended to buy
Like opening the door to dust and checks to pay off bills I forgot to write
Like finding my bed a collection of moths and holes
Like seeing where I was and intended to be until I was old
However
It is also like entering an old home never put up for sale
A space that I know but a space I dislike and won't return to as well
Like feeling the nostalgia from a bitter memory in some bastardization of regret
But moving on because you have moved on and don't plan on turning back yet
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
returning is bittersweet, full of that madness of longing and relief...some homecomings are indulgent and pacifying...you really can't ever go home again...mumbling among the ruins of a childhood you are reluctant to belong to...pouring over the pieces of life that you once owned...culling the crowd in search of that one face that you need to see...and it is enough because it is all that's left you...
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
When the Ambulance Arrived
When the ambulance arrived the medics
Pushing and pulling the gurney in and out
Knocked the latch from the jamb, which no one noticed
But later someone else found the door open
I walked across the road with a bag of tools
And fixed the latch with a couple of screws
Easily enough, a wooden door that opened
To Christmases and homecomings and life
The door is now secure, but I don’t think
The owner will ever walk through it again
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 8:20 AM UTC
A man for seasons
Vivaldi played this tune
Neil Armstrong looked down
As he walked along the moon
Noah was very clever
When he sailed around in his Ark
Spielberg scared us witless
When we saw his man eating shark
Roswell holds a lot of secrets
When aliens crashed under the sun
Cleese and all his pythons
Gave us laughter and tremendous fun
Pinter wrote dark little plays
About homecomings and a dumb waiter
Van Gogh put paint onto his canvas
I guess it's sad what happened later
The Beatles destroyed America
As they rode the musical jackpot
And finally one Adolf ******
Sadly remembered for be a crackpot
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC