"homesickness" poems
Peter Pan once took me home
To Neverland
I met everyone
From Captain Hook and Mr. Smee
To Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell
For as long as I could
I stayed with the Lost Boys
But I soon had enough
Of the homesickness
Swelling within
So I left Neverland
But once I returned
I saw that the home I had
Was gone
And the world I knew
Was hidden deep in smog
And metal
"Time passes quick on Neverland,"
Peter told me
"Home is gone,"
Then we flew back to Neverland
Where children came
But never left
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
as an astronaut, I spun on a rotary around the core of your existence like
you were the gravity that held me to the ground but kept me on my toes
if home is where the heart is, i'm coping with this unbearable homesickness
and I know my heart has an anarchy government, living a steel toed rebellion
but these relentless thoughts about you have gotten bad again, i don't sleep
my reckless behavior let loose, like a dog off his chain and collar and i
revisited the places you always talked about, how i dreamed to be there
with you recovering those lost feelings, and rebellion was assisting me
in the mind of my teenage angst, no autobiographies could be more
authentic than the hatred for this unrequited swelling i held in my heart
without a doubt, you're featured in my dreams more than nightmares
you couldn't be more real than the books that I hold in my hands
i'm sleeping in water filled with sharks calling me a tedious terrorist
entering their territory, leaving me with absolutely nothing
just build a bridge, get over it, if you have to, revisit my mind
maybe you'll see everyone is the enemy, not everyone is perfect
-kra
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
I feel comfort in the familiarity
Of being lost
Peculiar in its irony
Its definition reversed by my falling in love
With the freedom of not being found
Sometimes it's more peaceful
Living quietly without the sound
Of homesickness in your ear
Eyes wistfully on the clouds
Thoughts pondering in head
Soft promises vowed
To a place not seen again
It feels to me like exciting exploration
Sights locked in mind
All these complex illustrations
Of trees, streams, crumbling walls
That otherwise would of went unseen
All these beautiful kingdoms
Adorned by the falling leaves
Of this year's autumn
How could I not fall for that?
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
The tarmac rushes beneath my feet,
But my body is sitting still,
Pulled back by the seatbelt so tight,
The journey feels so unreal.
Speeding cars and motorbikes,
The smell of fumes and city lights,
My home is getting closer,
I can feel it. I can feel it.
I miss the house I called a home,
I miss the friends I call my own,
I miss the place I used to see,
Of happy lives, a family,
And now my heart feels heavy.
I feel just a little homesick, tonight.
Catch a coach from the airport,
I’m tired of waiting around,
Suitcase in my left hand,
The sound of the engine’s so loud.
Vehicles will pass on by,
Lost in the dark and the city lights,
My home is even closer,
I can see it. I can see it.
I miss the house I called a home,
I miss the friends I call my own,
I miss the place I used to see,
Of happy lives, a family,
And now my heart feels heavy.
I feel just a little homesick, tonight.
Smiling faces will guide me,
The signs on the road will guide me,
The hope of going home will guide me,
To cure my homesickness, tonight.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
I hate this feeling of dread
knowing that no matter how I prepare myself
I won't be able to stop it
No matter who I surround myself with
I cannot stop the inevitable feeling
that I will feel
When I am away from my family
even for a single day
I can't hide from the feeling
of homesick
and I don't think it will change
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 1:22 AM UTC
n. A homesickness for somewhere you cannot return to, the nostalgia and grief for the lost places of your past, places that never were.
insatiability makes its burrow
in my gall bladder,
wringing bile from the *****
craving toxins to purge.
i thirst for sweet lexical gaps,
holes in patterns,
dots that don't make shapes
but still gladly connect
komorebi
n. The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees
loveliest in the distinction
it is only komorebi
once filtered, green soul
bleeding through
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Warmth,
Sunshine,
Humidity,
Filling the days.
Monkeys here,
Snakes there,
Geckos everywhere,
Finding them throughout the day.
Homesickness pulls at my heart.
Birds tweeting,
****** of a foreign language,
Small things caught throughout the day
Reminding me of home.
Cold,
Clouds,
Wind,
Filling the days.
Raccoons here,
Seagulls there,
Buildings everywhere,
Spotting them throughout the day.
Homesickness pulls at my heart.
Foreign things,
So different from home
Making me long for the past.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 7:30 PM UTC
The next time you go home,
don't let your palm linger on the doorknob on your way out.
Just throw out the old toothbrush she hasn't come to use in months
and take down the painting above your bed
coated in colors that reminded her of ***** grass-stained knees and dandelion bracelets;
and don't pretend that homesick
is something you could ever feel without her shoes at the door.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Vania Konstantinova was born, lives and works in Sofia. She graduated Classical Ballet in her native town and in Petersburg as well as Polish Philology in Sofia University and Jagiellonian University, Krakow. She's co-author of the poetic book Four Cycles (along with Bozhidar Pangelov). Her collection of short stories Thank You Mister One is published in autumn of 2008.
http://www.public-republic.com/vania-konstantinova
With all the Homesickness of the Foreigner
"You'll present me one Paris
with all the homesickness of the foreigner"
Vania Konstantinova
He's looking for a job,
but has no shirt,
Rose,
and expectation even in the pocket.
Whether sometimes he doesn't bend
to look how the Seine passes slowly?
Whether it's cold
(that's an author's thought)?
In this circus gleam only
the blue glimmer of the knives
(which yesterday were pawned).
It's a French movie.
Paris is somewhat little
for one grief
and nothing.
Compared with your arm.
The original:
Ваня Константинова е родена, живее и работи в София. Завършила е класически балет в родния си град и в Петербург, а също и полска филология в Софийския университет и в Ягеловския университет в Краков. Съавтор е на поетичната книга “Четири цикъла” (заедно с Божидар Пангелов). През есента на 2008 излиза сборникът й с къси разкази “Благодарим ти, мистър Уан”.
http://www.public-republic.com/vania-konstantinova
Със цялата тъга на чужденеца
"Ти ще ми подариш един Париж
със цялата тъга на чужденеца"
Ваня Константинова
Той търси работа,
а няма риза,
Роза,
и очакване дори във джоба.
Дали понякога не се привежда
да погледне как минава бавно Сена?
Дали е хладно
(тази мисъл е на автора)?
Във този цирк проблясват само
сините отблясъци на ножовете
(които вчера са заложени).
Това е френски филм.
Париж е малко
за една тъга
и нищо.
Пред ръката ти.
*Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved.
Dec 22, 2010
Dec 22, 2010 at 11:37 PM UTC
Through lines
attach themselves to me
I'm a zip line zipping through the canopy.
Zip lines
through lines
My life in dots and dashes.
There was that darkness
before I was born
don't remember much about that.
Parents were through lines
for a long while
then they died
grandparents before
they all had their time
through lines
zip lines
strings
the true string theory.
Homesickness, school, bullies, too
the Sunday Night Blues
riding those zip lines
through lines
what are you gonna do
they aren't leaving you.
************
Resignation
private fantasies
too private to tell
through lines too
on the old zip line.
The voices in your mind
that's been a through line
through and through.
Poverty that was true too
that's what happens when you
peak too soon
and
you're a late bloomer too.
Children, the through lines
children of children
and you too
through lines zipping through
along the old zip line.
Poetry, a through line
sharing secrets
sacred circles
those are through lines too.
Body parts
hearts, limbs, lungs, guts and toes
though those tonsils
had to go.
Every breath
Every heart beat.
My through lines
your through lines
we all got'em
parallel points on parallel lines
I can't say
I know we sometimes together zip
along that same highway
then one will fade
and one will go away.
But where we all meet
each day,
I can say,
in the molecules
of every breath we take.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
*stepping back into the west
chills reverberate up and down my spine
chiseling open obsolescent padlocks
dangling with dust
on ancient treasure chests
pallid colors in the attic release
a blossoming familiarity
faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper
granting me access to roads
where no map is needed
as i peruse the streets
my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity
caressing each detail i transform to fluid
and fuse with the past
through fresh strokes of watercolored memories
recollections flash before my eyes
revealing antiquated stories
though thought forgotten
an etched history endeavors to define me
renewing itself as i turn each corner
i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others
through synchronicity realization hits
that I am all of it
yet none of it
at the same time
familiar faces paint meaning onto me
no longer do they know me
yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear
and coat me with connotations
i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine
i morph into their canvas temporarily
then break free in multi-dimensionality
they don't hear me with a new listening
no longer invested in their projections
once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus
an auspicious mist lies around the edges
of my former life
it is as if i never left
yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me
a maturation commingles with my former self
flushing out on my skin
tethering newfound emotions
a gentle gratitude for home territory
nestles softly
inward
i listen to the clicks
of my scuffed cowboy boots
on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks
the echoes layering multiple impressions
glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain
as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains
drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges
interfacing the evergreens
hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest
juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind
an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents
dance in open wounds
dazzling
homesickness cured
a wholeness returned
as winter's crystal dawn blooms
i realize the depth of my growth
for in leaving here and returning
i cherish the west
my home
©2016 janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
My heart is so heavy over losing you
I have not been able to make sense of this
I just know that this is all wrong
My existence craves you like no other, and to think I might have lost you
Is grievous
I am completely and utterly lost
I am open bare as each day passes and with you I have lose myself whole
I am filled with insurmountable grief
Over you…over us
I clutch to my very bed you stray so far away from
I have woken up dismayed
plagued by homesickness in my very home
I am turning on myself over the loss of you
My heart is no longer my own
Appalled and vengeful over my soul
Every beat of my heart belongs to you as if you were the very essence that gives life to my being
My heart is with you
In your name, blazing full of you
And I too, my love
Oct 2, 2023
Oct 2, 2023 at 10:33 PM UTC
MAE HIRAETH ARNA AMDANOT
( THERE'S LONELINESS ON ME FOR YOU )
Her shadow is
laughing.
Her shadow is
taller than a tree.
She is a key
for which there is
no door
a Polaroid photograph
dying in the sun
( fading into the nothing
from which it comes ).
My mind slashes through time
grasps this memory
of her
clutches it to itself
until once again Death
orders it to
. . .let go.
It...does so.
Her shadow
laughing.
Her shadow
taller than a tree.
***
Hiraeth, pronounced "here eyeth" is a Welsh word that has no direct English translation. It is defined it as homesickness tinged with grief or sadness over the lost or departed. It is a mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, or an earnest desire...a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or that never was.
Hiraeth is best buddies with the Portuguese concept of saudade (a key theme in Fado music), Brazilian Portuguese banzo (more related to homesickness), Turkish gurbet, Galician morriña, Romanian dor.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
A Granny Smith
a day etc.;
pears left to ripen
on a window sill
are worth waiting for;
1 kiwi = 4 oranges
in vitamin C -
do eat the skin!
Fruit for the eating -
elliciting a little homesickness
for our lost Garden of Eden.
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 7:07 AM UTC
suffering from homesickness
he returns to his homeland
returning to his homeland
he suffers from homesickness
there’s nothing he can do about it
there’s nothing he can do about it
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 10:27 PM UTC
Here between these walls
The world is intoxicated
And you and I are the only ones sane
As we negotiate each others pain
And compensate it with blissful pleasure
Only we can fix all that is wrong
Beyond steamed windows
Outside where the world drowns in rain
Bit by bit
We discover the secret of happiness
And peace
As we fulfill the hunger within us
I swear we are half way there to ending poverty
We are overcome within ourselves
We are not you and I
But one
I'm wearing your old sweater
And we snuggle propped up against the wall
Or each other
Our arms wound around and palms pressed close, fingers knitted together
Your fingers stroke my hair
As we listen to the different heartbeats
And voice our own dreams
With words we build separate versions of an ideal world
Cora you say
How come we're here like this
We're both so different
And I reply that it doesn't matter
We both have too much respect to let differences matter
Respect for the right of others
To reach for achieving a utopia without harming another being
The secret is to never see yourself as superior
And balance it with never seeing yourself as inferior
It doesn't matter what the colour of your envelope is
Or what factory you were made in
Your brand is not the name of your religion or the soil you were born on
The essence and material are the same
I can feel your smile tickling against my forehead as you whisper
I think I know what you mean
Let me show you
And a foreign sound reaches my ears
It's a slow rhythmic tune
With soft vocals
I have no idea what the words mean
And at that moment
Not for the first time
It crosses my mind
That if everyone spoke the same language would we still be like this
But it doesn't matter
As I listen like a blind man with no sense of time
I understand the song is about love
And there's a touch of longing
I can feel the melancholy in her voice
And the nostalgic homesickness in his
As the song plays on
I imagine the two lovers were reunited
I can feel the gratitude
And relief
I can see their future
And its everything I've always dreamed of
My kind of utopia
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
the poem had started with that lump in my throat, so small at first but it grew and I thought it would stop eventually but the more I thought the more I gave it power and it was horrible.
it was a homesickness that crawled under my skin, screaming to escape....
like some sort of lovesick sailor alone at sea begging for someone to hear him but the only thing there was was the lonesome breeze
It's so hard to explain why it started but I know it had something to do with you....
the words were building up and up and up until I couldn't breathe I felt intoxicated, everything was fuzzy, getting dizzy
that little lump that started in my throat was now killing me
it was all because of our ending
such a lack of commitment and it broke my heart
there was no voice to scream anymore just the hallowed out lungs of someone who was forced to forget how to breathe
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 7:09 PM UTC
In Welsh
The word "Hiraeth" means
A homesickness for a home
To which you cannot return.
A home which maybe never was.
The nostalgia,
The yearning,
The grief for the lost places of your past.
In Russian
The word "Toska" means
A dull ache of the soul.
A longing with nothing to long for.
A sick pining.
A vague restlessness.
In Yaghan
The word "Mamihlapinatapai" means
A look shared by two people,
Each wishing that the other will
Offer something that they both desire
But are unwilling to suggest or offer themselves.
You say that you love my words
And wonder why I have such a passion for them.
It's simple, really.
I'm merely trying to put a name
To everything you inspire me to feel.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
...
Spare me, if you would
It's a foreign land but a familiar street,
red broken teeth and alabaster snow;
I remember it fondly.
Sober winter and blue cloth;
I still see us there.
I'm almost certain, that
St. Petersburg questioned our youth.
just a little closer
"Dance with me, Kirusha?"
Always
All those years ago,
and we still drink up this disease.
The sour love of iron and wine
with shots of homesickness.
Russian rouge
American Dream
"Why did you have to leave?"
I ache to recall it,
because those gates still leak with cold.
This value withers in the white noise;
"Don't you ******* dare say that his death was just an experiment."
'You failure'
I sought it,
the ribbons of old confidence
while the stars looked on from their chairs.
I never found what I was looking for.
Go ahead and criticize;
the way we baptized my betrayal.
Knot up all the love you wasted
and send it overseas.
All that matters to me, Romichka
is that Death paid no mind to you.
Ruby apples at my doorstep
flowers that need blood instead of water.
A sense of hunger in this forsaken city
does not comfort me.
I just suppose
I've been thinkin' too much
And the bitterness let itself in again.
So when you find the time,
*Write whatever's left of me in the fire;
along with all the other things.*
...
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
The West End wanders in my recollection
like a quiet madman. All the times we were
reminded of the War, pointed out the bullet-riddled
walls of the Old Tate, the Arch, guided through the
rooms where Churchill walked. All that aside,
we looked to keep homesickness in its box with strong
black beer or red, by wandering Regent's Park strewn with
fallen gold, or the Garden's rioting roar of flowers, apples, oranges, potatoes and
all of it turning to the ceaseless industry of men and women.
Mystery was the grey-haired Underground men, grey clothes
stuffed with crumpled paper. Once, I stumbled on a scrap
of unreclaimed, timeless London: shattered glass and rubble
carpeting the dull ceramic tile. Ghosts and dusk entered
where ceiling once had been, the silence of a grainy,
blackandwhite Blitz echoing.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
I woke to find
Everything packed away—
Carpets rolled up,
Bare floorboards
Revealed for the first time.
No one around,
My footsteps made
A strange
Sound
Then Gran came in.
"Your mummy and daddy
Aren't getting along."
This truth,
I learned too late,
Kept from me
Until this morning.
A day my mind
Will never forget,
A secret now
Unfolded.
We traveled to the new town,
My face
Wore
A
Frown.
The door slammed shut
Too quickly,
A bad case
Of homesickness.
What was severed
Now crystallized.
Now,
I never fail
To remember
Every
Detail.
Dec 12, 2024
Dec 12, 2024 at 6:03 AM UTC
No Inspiration
"Throw me a word. Any word. I need some inspiration."
"Bleeding strawberries."
I thanked them.
it was nothing earth shattering, mind blowing, or beautiful.
I wanted to ask for a another word.
I wanted a second toss at this word scrabble.
I didn't ask.
so I just used it.
I needed inspiration.
Bleeding made me think of crimson. and crimson made me think of colors.
colors made me think of pain.
strawberries made me think of The Beatles.
Strawberry Fields.
strawberry fields forever.
'let me take you down…'
I thought of endless fields back home. before I
moved to New York.
endless prairie's
fragments of sunlight
colored the masses of moving, breathing grass
my fingertips traced them
I climbed the tall tree
the tree in which I had laughed in.
cried in.
carved my name in.
the tree felt my presence
and remembered me by name.
I asked the tree if I was living was alright.
the tree responded.
The thought of home made me feel empty. so I purged the thought of it from my mind.
I focused in again on inspiration. I needed inspiration. though I had none.
A girl in the next room is playing the piano.
the piano is out of tune.
I wonder why she is playing.
maybe she needs to hear some sound
I need to hear words of inspiration
I begin a train of thought.
the piano is so out of tune.
I lose my inspiration.
I was alone in a room full of people. who threw me words of no inspiration.
colorless words.
that led to nothing inspiring.
bleeding strawberries
had made me think of color,
and The Beatles.
which had me think of music
or the place I had once called home
a piano player lost me
all to which led nowhere.
'Nowhere man, don't worry,
Take your time, don't hurry
Leave it all till somebody else
Lends you a hand'
Nothing inspired me.
no one inspired me.
I searched for inspiration.
yet found none.
I asked for inspiration.
I was thrown unusual words
which produced no inspiration
So I wrote completely uninspired.
with meaningless words
with deep feelings of homesickness
with the music of The Beatles
with an untuned piano.
All without an ounce of inspiration.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
Silent little boy
With those piercing blue eyes
Gorgeous and vibrant
As if I'm staring at the sky's
Dark brown locks
Curly and now dyed black
For a cosplay of kaneki ken
Now that was a throw back
Tall and lanky
Like most of my friends
The new student of the year
Fresh from New Zealand
Though you're longing to go home
As this place isint really your style
Homesickness I would call it
You've been feeling it for awhile
And to a girl you caught feelings
One that used you as a past time
While the other was genuine
Until she changed her mind
Silent around most people
But we have some good conversation
Sheep go meow I say with a smirk
You're a problem you say
While laughing at your declaration
You don't drink carbonated drinks
As you hate the bubbly fuzz
Its quite strange I think
Cause everybody else kinda does
And you're a good kid I reckon
Though you need to voice yourself more
As you dont allow people to know you
And so they think you a bore
But I know there's something more
Then the silence and those stares
As you can laugh and smile with me
I can feel that you truly care
But I won't fault you for your choices
Cause you may not want people around
But at least for another year
You're stuck on Australian ground
So make the most of your stay my boy
Have fun and open up a little
As you've done with me
that way everybody can see
That you're a good kid
Just a tad anti social
Thats why I call you
Silent E
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
I'm not a monster
But my teeth are sharp
And I've got a tendency to come out after dark
I found the old me wrapped up in a tarp
Half of me in my dads backyard and the other half in my mom's shopping cart
I asked for nastolgia and all I got was growing pains
It's been another year and my rage remains the same
Growing older and growing with me
She doesn't want to separate
Finding a home inside my veins
And I still remember the way it felt to jump into your arms
Wrapped in security I could never be harmed
The security you provided was never protection
I've met several versions of the same person
I always thought he loved me but he never had
And Over and over again I wonder who he is
Till I look into your eyes and
I want to seek comfort
I want to find peace
But when I look at your eyes I see every man I've come to meet.
You were suppose to protect me
I was your little girl
It was our world and you always kept me safe,
But I didn't know that keeping me safe meant from you, or all the other yous out there that exist.
The way you loved my mother
Taught me everything a man would do.
It was not a pretty love story either if you needed a clue.
I went to the infermery, the feelings you stick me with make me so sick only for the doctor to tell me
I've been diagnosed with homesickness from a home that was never real
But a place i Long and miss.
I've tried to read between the lines of who I was and who you wanted me to be
But I couldnt ever tell
I couldn't see what you wanted from me.
Now when I look into the mirror
And I'm reminded of who you are
I take a deep breath just to find we have the same scars
I wonder, am I going to be
Ignorant and violent and distant one day too
Or will I find all the good parts of you in me and show you who you could have been
If you didn't fall into the madness your grandfather perpetuated and your mother continued.
I don't want to be like you
At least the you, you are the one you became
But I am in every way
Maybe one day on your death bed you will finally tell me you are proud
But I know your pride eats at you and seeks for the parts of me that are apart of you
So I will burn down everything you've created me to be with gasoline
And I will rebuild each part of me with new parts of who I want to be.
Parts of me that will still feel the darkness
Parts of me who feel rage
Part of that little girl who still wants her father to be engaged enough to see her for who she is.
No matter who I become, I cannot hide that you will always be Ingrained into me.
One day you will find, you could have been who I have became all along.
And if I could go back in a time machine to change it for us
I would
To love you as a child
Just as they should
Just like you deserved
Just like I deserved.
Feb 19, 2025
Feb 19, 2025 at 12:25 PM UTC