We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love... and then we return home.
Australian Aboriginal proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love; and then we return home.
Home
Home on a kite we fly,
Home on a breeze we blow
Eyeing the folks below and
Watching everybody run,
Each one heading for a different place
Watching everybody hide,
Each behind a different face
Home where the days are long
Back where the people are free,
Home where all sides agree and,
Everybody has a friend, oh
And no one ever has to grab
Everybody shares the love,
Giving everything they have.
Forever forever your lamp will burn
Forever home forever would that youd learn
That you came with nothing
So with nothing youll return
Home
You know youre not alone
Its only cause youre not a home
That you feel so out of place.
Forever forever your lamp will burn
Forever home forever would that youd learn
That you came with nothing
So with nothing youll return
Home where all the mums can sing,
Back where the children dont cry,
Home where you never ask why and
Everybody has enough, and ydont have to put on clothes
Nobody has to hide case everyone already knows.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through.
Visitor Clever Theme Words
my visitors are voices clever words
my visitors arrive anywhere anytime
my visitors script film opera words
my visitors mirror parody depths mime
my visitors initiate connect life dots
my visitors represent patterns to define
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Return Trip
I will return to my place of Birth
To that place before Mother Earth
I will return to that Day of Awakening
To that Day of a New Beginning
I will return to my very first Sun
My very first Moon, my very first Star
I will return to that place that never was far
I will return to the land of the Beautiful,
the Good, the Grateful
Where there is nothing to forgive
For there is no sin
Where there is no regret
Life is what you dream
Where Innocence is never put to test
Where all is Sacred and blessed with Happiness
I will return to my place and time of Birth
I will return
I am not Cursed
poem by Sonya Florentino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Have All The Flowers Gone
P. seger
Where have all the flowers gone
A long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone
A long ago
Where have all the flowers gone
Girl, theyre picked up, every one
When will they ever learn
When will they ever learn
Where have all the soldiers gone
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone
A long ago
Where have all the soldiers gone
Theyve gone to graveyards every one
When will they ever learn
When will they ever learn
When will they learn, ever learn
When will they learn
When will they learn, ever learn
When will they ever learn
When will they ever learn
If you dont know what were talkin about
When we say this
Theres too many starvin children
If ya dont know what were killing each other
And we just aint got time for ya brother
No no hey hey ...
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do any of you know
A man and a woman
Came to my place one evening
I was playing with my dad
In the lawn in front of my home
These people got down
From the car
And my dad helped them
Unload a number of luggages
They approached me and
I was able to recollect
I have seen them somewhere
But quite long back
Not an issue
They were all kind to me
And they missed not an opportunity
To hug me and hold me on their shoulders
They did a lot to my mom
Especially while she was feeding me
As I was fussy about eating
They were with us for long
I started enjoying their company
And there were a number of evenings
When my mom and dad
Would silently disappear
Leaving me under the care of these visitors
I developed intimacy with them
They, for that matter, enjoyed
Taking care of me
I used to even feel that
These guys are better than my parents
These elderly people
Never scolded me nor threatened me
It looked to me they love me
The same way my parents do
Gone a number of days like that
I am in comfort
With all the love, care and attention
Of my mom, dad and these people
Despite repeated training
And insistence from my parents
I was not able to call these people
Grandma and Granpa
These people accompanied
me and my parents
Wherever we went in my dad's car
One fine day
There was a lot of discussions
Between all the elders at home
And there were preparations
As if some people are going somewhere
We all boarded the car
With huge luggages
And my dad was driving
We reached a place
These luggages were unloaded
I was put in a stroller
And the elderly woman
Left the scene pushing me in my stroller
And the other visitor
Came along
A number of things happened
I just then noticed
None of my parents
Went with us
It is now a week's time
I have not seen my dad or mom
But I hear them talking to me
Over the phone or the computer
It is sure I am not going to see them
For quite some days to come
Why worrying or crying
Over the absence of my parents
I am now settling with these visitors
Who took me away from my parents
But for what purpose
I do not know yet
Why me to be separated
From my mom and dad
Do any of you know
helping my mom
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Villanelle
A dainty thing's the Villanelle.
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A doublc-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
You must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime-
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And, filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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A Dainty Thing's The Villanelle
A DAINTY thing's the Villanelle,
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A double-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
You must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime--
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And, filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Home
It is not a house, and so it is not a piece
Of structure, not the roof or
The floor
Or the kitchen or the living room,
My home is where I grow
Wherever it is
Where I become fully myself
Alive &
Prosperous in my endeavors
It is where my most important
Work is started
And finished and
Appreciated
In this sense my home becomes
A certain place
Where I am accepted
& affirmed
& appreciated
Where I have self-esteem
Where I
Do not feel this sense of
Sickness & death
This alienation
It is when I travel so far
Searching
And it is where
I must return and always desiring
& dreaming
To be back
And find it again
With all anticipation
This is also my home
My home is not what I buy
And pay
It is what I made
For myself
My personal touch
My own way of showing
What I am
And can be
And as one what one writer once wisely puts it
My home is not a house
It is me
It is people
It is the people around me
It is the love that I give
And they give in return
That makes
My home and it is where
Despite everything
That I am truly
Always
Homeward bound.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My First Time
My first time I have my own place, ever.
My first time I live alone, ever.
My first time I don't have to take care of
anyone but me, ever.
My first time I have to learn to shop
all over again, for one, ever.
My first time I bought a half of
a galon of milk, ever.
My first time I have to learn how to
cook all over again, for one, ever.
My first time I have to clean my
place up, for one, ever.
My first time I have to learn how
to live alone, ever.
My first holidays I spend without a
child, ever.
My first time I don't have someone
to tuck in, ever.
My first time I don't have someone to say
'Good Night Son or Love', ever.
My first time.
Ever.
poem by Sarah Stites
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Alone
Surrounded by people
But so all alone
Feeling so lonely
No place to call home
Does he love me
When he is so cold
Do I have purpose
Shall I let this go on
I have no purpose
I am totally numb
To think he loved me
I was totally dumb
Love doesn't exist
In this house anyway
Home is where the heart is
And I have none!
poem by Donna Nimmo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home:
Home…
Home is where you were born.
Home is where you were raised,
Home is were you grew up,
Home was what had shaped you,
Home is what gave you your foundation
And what help you grow into something amazing,
Home is what you left behind to become something bigger,
Home is what you remember many years after leaving,
Home is what you become missing for,
Home is where you crave to be when you're done with you adventures,
Even thought you left home, for another place,
Home has never left,
It's still there,
On the same old street,
With the same old lawn,
With the same old people,
Just waiting there,
For you and only you,
It is there for you and only you,
Because with out it,
Without a home,
You wouldn't have a place to go back to,
A place was you can call your own..well, home...
poem by Sherry Painter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Dwell In Me
You dwell in me my beloved
Ah and beyond
Inside me there's a heart, exists there just for keeping you inside
You're the reason that's why beauties exist and I believe in
Every time you'r there, In my soul
Butterflies fly to blue skies sway
Taking with them the soul within
Inside me lies love and colorful butterflies
Angels have caves covered with veils
No one can take away the love, love stray
While lovers return home angels cry home alone.
Return home beloved bring the love back home
Return home one time may angels stop their cry's
May peace once again comes home
Im here alone, afraid is my soul
Storms out there people's cry my heart can't more bear
Children's bare hands
Return back my beloved bring the love which is lost
Tell him here is his real home.
Ah beloved!
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coming Home
I - water of the sea,
I - vapor, I rise,
I - clouds above the mountains,
I experience, I learn,
I joyfully weep,
I return home.
*
I - body of the soul,
I live, I love,
I experience, I learn,
I - vapor, I rise
I joyfully
Return home.
poem by Ibrahim Ibn Salma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Passing The Time
By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing The Time
By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Building Bridges
I came from another place
I was born under a different star and
That is what I believe- When the rain fell, I did not grow,
In the sunlight I could not see what was ahead of me,
That sun was so far away- although far away from everyone,
I know and I believe- Building bridges in my sleep
Trying to get to a place where
I would grow and my thoughts would be in control-
Walking pathways in my wakefulness uphill and down
Trying to find a place where I would fit,
As would a piece in a jigsaw puzzle or
Perhaps just to be heard, or understood?
Here alone I can hear my thoughts as they speak to me,
Almost like far away voices echoing within the back of my mind-
My soul was snatched away at birth or I was born under a different star-
To where I wish I could return-
If I could fly with broken wings, I would,
If I could cry tears of joy, not sorrow, I would-
I am an angry spirit building ladders out of time-
That time I feel is running out-
Picking roses in vain trying to find a purpose here-
Building bridges when I sleep,
Where I would cross to another place in time,
I continue to walk pathways in my wakefulness
Until I find a place where I could grow with the flowers and
Find beauty and a purpose in this world
Because I don't know where that star into which I was born is to be-
Perhaps it was a shooting star traveling across the universe-
I got lost along the way and landed here -
A rare bird whose wings have broken and cannot fly-
So I will continue to build those bridges in my sleep and
Walk uphill and downward in my wakefulness-
Until my thoughts are in control and when my thoughts are in control, and
I become a flower or better yet a tree, just happy to be growing
Amongst nature- flowers and trees don't weep or feel the pain
Of being threatened or lost-I shall grow until I touch the sky and
Meet face to face with the sun which shall shine hope upon me and
Everybody knows that trees and flowers haven't a care and
Just stand looking strikingly beautiful- they have no wounded spirits-
They are loved by everyone and because they have no souls,
They are never misunderstood…
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home, Sweet Home
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly, that come at my call --
Give me them -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,
As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door
Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,
And the caress of a mother to soothe and beguile!
Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;
No more from that cottage again will I roam;
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet, home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
poem by John Howard Payne
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Irish Hill
Bury me at Irish Hill
a shroud of linen on my face
do not embalm my mortal flesh.
or box me in expensive wood
Find me a place beneath a tree
once I am senseless like a stone
return me to my mother's breast
return me to my quondam home
From dust to dust the preacher says
It's right and just what he intones
return me to my rightful place
beneath the rich and fertile loam
And when the sun shall shine again
I will make a flower grow
A flower with a fragrance rare
its petals joined in silent prayer.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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