Coming Home
It’s forty years since I’ve been in this house,
mum sold it soon after father died.
The owners changed it into a Chinese takeaway
which grew bamboo shoots outside.
Since then I’ve moved about like a gypsy
journeying from place to place.
Recently I returned to my old neighbourhood,
and yet to see a familiar face.
And now I’m standing in the Chinese takeaway,
the place where I was born and bred.
When I left here it was my mum and dad’s café,
with an alley, back yard, and shed.
In 1944 they bought this bomb damaged house,
with its old bicycle repair shop,
but they changed it into a ‘second hand’ business,
selling clothes, boots, and what not.
In 1949 it became an ice-cream parlour,
which evolved into a transport café.
For almost thirty years that’s how it remained,
until the year dad passed away.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Related quotes
I Just Drove By
I always go the other way
But my car drove me down today
To a little house on the older side of town
Back when things were never hard
I used to play there in that yard
And I just drove by to see if things had changed
Cokes were just a nickel then
And across the street at the five and ten
A lot of things were cheap and square and strange
And the life we had might have been
But it was one we loved believing in
And I just drove by to see if things had changed
I wondered now
If love is still the way it was back then
I need to know
That life is still a place worth living in
There it is, just like it was
A house where there was always love
I just drove by to see if things had changed
In a world thats seen its better days
Its good to know some things remain
The same, though standing still is not times way
Take to heart while in its spring
That love is just a fragile thing
I just drove by to see if things had changed
song performed by by Wynonna Judd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Parrot
The Parrot.
The café in our village has shut. The couple who ran it left
when their parrot died. They had kept the place open for it,
since it was a genial bird. The parrot called everyone who
entered idiots; people laughed no one took offence, or so
we all thought. But someone must have taken umbrage, it
was shot through the window when the café was empty.
Feather everywhere the village was shocked, who could do
such a shameful deed? The culprit, was a farmer, who had
drunk his coffee at the café for twenty odd years, and had
enough of being called an idiot. The moral of this sad tale,
if there is any: if you call a man an idiot long enough he will
end up being one.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Defeated Story poem for M lady Ernestine
A yellowed skull, still on display
above the oaken fire place
A relic from a by gone day.
Which it is possible to trace
back for five hundred years or more.
I hate the thing my host explains
grotesque against modern décor.
It can’t be moved or it complains.
The house re- echoes to its screams.
Until its back in place once more.
It’s been a fixture now it seems
Since fifteen hundred sixty four
Although it has been exorcised
and given Christian burial.
It’s very quickly recognised
there’ll be no peace until the skull
Is returned to its proper place
upon the panelled chimney breast
. A fact all owners have to face.
Though some have put it to the test.
It’s not a conversation piece.
Although subject of fierce debate.
If it is moved its screams won’t cease
until it hangs above the grate
The legend says he was betrayed
and murdered by an enemy.
Who had seduced a serving maid
who had allowed him free entry.
This story can’t be verified
No written records still remain
But I for one am terrified
and will not try to move again.
This yellowed skull from long ago,
which hangs above the fireplace.
That’s why it is there still on show
The passing years can not erase.
The skulls determination
to rest in peace just where it is
on open exhibition.
No power on earth can alter this.
The skull remains though owners change.
This ugly object quietly
defies attempts to re-arrange
ideas of where it ought to be.
In time it will disintegrate
into a pile of brownish dust
But until the we have to wait
It is quite obvious we must.
Although you think to humour me
by listening to this eerie tale.
I will admit quite openly
That’s why this house is up for sale.
I can no longer stand the skull
which grins above the mantel piece.
Although the house is beautiful
I never have a moment’s peace.
Because I’m not the master here
It seems the skull has laid its claim
allows no one to interfere.
The previous owners felt the same.
I bought it a discount price
Although I knew its history
I thought my knowledge would suffice
to solve the mystery easily..
I’ve had enough I must confess
The screaming skull has won again.
Now I would sell the house for less
than what I paid: I would regain
the peace of mind I used to know.
Before I bought this residence
that housed a skull from long ago.
I should have used my common sense.
I dismissed as an old wives tale
The legend of the screaming skull.
I little thought my dream would fail.
I thought the house was wonderful.
I’ll have to leave I cannot bear
to stay another single day
I fear the yellowed skulls cold stare
Has driven many men away.
The house has stood for centuries
Had many owners in its time.
The house itself is sure to please
but for the skull would be sublime..
This grinning relic from the past
Is the real ruler of this place.
His reign it seems is sure to last
A fact I can no longer face.
11-Mar-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Place From Our Childhood
There is a place from our childhood;
we like to visit now and then,
to recapture our youth,
through the years that has slipped away.
A place that has a magic touch,
even through the years it has changed.
A place where sunshine,
still dances on the water
of rippling waves.
Where the wildlife still gather,
free from harm.
A place of solitude,
where you can find
a little peace of mind.
A place within a city that has not
been strangled by any human hand.
Somewhere you can while time away,
with dreams of another day.
poem by David Harris
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A Home
no matter what there is
always a place called home
at least you finally decide
to call it that way,
you have been away from
this home
for many years
those were the years of the
struggle of
what you are and what they think you are
which is the place
and this is not where
you want to die
you want to live somewhere else
though you do not really know
where
but it has always been a dream
of somewhere
a house by the river
a place where hills grown into
mountains
your hair turns white
and ankles ache and names become
haze and places become
smoky
you stop, right here, you declare
this is home
this moment when you do not
give yourself the right to choose anymore
it is here
right here
you place yourself like a backpack
and mark a spot with
your bamboo cane
and then
you claim the right to be here
your home
yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Home (revised)
no matter what there is
always a place called home
at least you finally decide
to call it that way,
you have been away from
this home
for many years
those were the years of the
struggle of
what you are and what they think you are
which is the place
and this is not where
you want to die
you want to live somewhere else
though you do not really know
where
but it has always been a dream
of somewhere
a house by the river
a place where hills grow into
mountains
your hair turns white
and ankles ache and names become
hazy and places become
smoky
you stop, right here, you declare
this is home
this moment when you do not
give yourself the right to choose anymore
it is here
right here
you place yourself like a backpack
and mark a spot with
your bamboo cane
and then
you claim the right to be here
your home
yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Find A Friend
In the mid dle of his life
He left his wife
And ran off to be bad
Boy, it was sad
But he bought a new car
Found a new bar
And went under another name
Created a whole new game
And the days went by like paper in the wind
E verything changed, then changed again
Its hard to find a friend
Its hard to find a friend
Meanwhile then
His wifes boyfriend moved in and
Took over the house
Everybody was as quiet as a mouse
And it changed their lives
Changed their plans
Slowly they grew apart
Boy, it woulda broke your heart
And the days went by like paper in the wind
Everything changed, then changed again
Its hard to find a friend
Its hard to find a friend
A nd the days went by like paper in the wind
Everything changed, then changed again
Its hard to find a friend
Its hard to find a friend
And the days went by like paper in the wind
Everything changed, then changed again
Its ha rd to find a friend
Its hard to find a friend
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Give Up
Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel with KaTe Bush
In this proud land we grew up strong
We were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail
No fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I've changed my face, I've changed my name
But no-one wants you when you lose
Don't give up
'cos you have friends
Don't give up
You're not beaten yet
Don't give up
I know you can make it good
Though I saw it all around
Never thought that I could be affected
Thought that we'd be last to go
It is so strange the way things turn
Drove the night toward my home
The place that I was born, on the lakeside
As daylight broke, I saw the earth
The trees had burned down to the ground
Don't give up
You still have us
Don't give up
We don't need much of anything
Don't give up
'cause somewhere there's a place
Where we belong
Rest your head
You worry too much
It's going to be alright
When times get rough
You can fall back on us
Don't give up
Please don't give up
Got to walk out of here
I can't take any more
Going to stand on that bridge
Keep my eyes down below
Whatever may come
And whatever may go
That river's flowing
That river's flowing
Moved on to another town
Tried hard to settle down
For every job, so many men
So many men no-one needs
Don't give up
'cause you have friends
Don't give up
You're not the only one
Don't give up
No reason to be ashamed
Don't give up
You still have us
Don't give up now
We're proud of who you are
Don't give up
You know its never been easy
Don't give up
'cause I believe there's a place
There's a place where we belong
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As It Was
Ginny loved it
when the time came
For their annual trip
to the seaside
And her father rented
the house with the big garden
that lead onto the sea.
She and her brothers and sister
Looked forward to it
every year and it seemed the sun
shone almost constantly
And the house seemed
as it was the year before
nothing changed nothing new
just the same rooms
and outlook and young Lily the maid
who came each year too
to help their mother
around the house
and watch
the younger children.
Her mother
Was the organiser
the one who seemed most near
to the children who seemed
to know the children’s needs
and wants and tried to keep
her husband happy
and allow him
his space and quiet
which he valued most of all.
Ginny liked it
when the sea was out
and there was plenty of sand
to play on to make a sand castle
with a moat and drawbridge
made from small pieces of driftwood
found on the beach.
But once her mother died
the seaside house
seemed less welcoming
the sea seemed
hardly ever to go out
than it was back again
the sun was less warm
less friendly
and her father
would mope
around the house
moaning and groaning
In his grief and bellowing
at Lily the maid
to do this and do that
making her cry
and only at night
when all were asleep
and Ginny was snuggled
Down in bed did it seem
as it was when her mother
would enter the room
and sit on the bed
and smile and whisper
the words she used to
placing a ghostly hand
on Ginny’s brow
and kiss her cheek.
Ginny remembered the house
By the sea years later
with the yellowy sand
And walking with Lily
the maid
hand in hand.
poem by Terry Collett
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Sad Cafe
Out in the shiny night the rain
was softly falling
The tracks that ran down the boulevard had
all been washed away
Out of the silver light the past came softly calling
And I remember the times we spent
inside the Sad Cafe
Oh it seemed like a holy place
protected by amazing grace
And we would sing right out loud the
things we could not say
We thought we could change this world
with words like "love" and "freedom"
We were part of the lonely crowd
Inside the Sad Cafe
Oh, expecting to fly,
we would meet on that shore in the
sweet by and by
Some of their dreams came true,
some just passed away
And some of the stayed behind
inside the Sad Cafe.
The clouds rolled in and hid that shore
Now that Glory Train, it don't stop here no more
Now I look at the years gone by,
and wonder at the powers that be.
I don't know why fortune smiles on some
and let's the rest go free
Maybe the time has drawn the faces I recall
But things in this life change very slowly,
if they ever change at all
There's no use in asking why,
it just turned out that way
So meet me at midnight baby
inside the Sad Cafe.
Why don't you meet me at midnight baby,
inside the Sad Cafe
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House On Centerville Road
We stopped beside the highway
And gazed at the old house
I told my wife, “That’s where I lived”
When I was just a little sprout
It looked smaller than it once did
Back so many years ago
Even then it was old and creaky
But, as a kid, I didn’t know
Weathered boards were loose and falling
Saplings grew up through the porch
The old tin roof was rusted orange
And the yard looked like a forest
Here dwells my oldest memories
From so many years ago
When our young family lived here
In the house on Centerville road
Those walls once rang with laughter
And the energy of two young lads
Riding stick horses all around the place
Trying to “herd” our collie, Pat
But, Pat knew more than we did
When she’d hear Mama shout
She’d turn us back from the road
And herd two boys toward the house
Dad got a job and we moved to town
Well before I started school
So, my memories are short and sketchy
But, I’ve found there are quite a few
My wife retrieved her camera
And as I turned the key to go
Snapped a picture from her window
Of the house on Centerville road
10/07/07
poem by C.R. Clark
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A Country For Old Men
A Country for old Men
I have been into town bought a paper and drank a beer,
in the café where the old men sit in the afternoon shade.
I feel more at ease here amongst other wrinklies.
On the other side of the road, near the pharmacy,
the big clock on the wall tells us it’s five and the temp is
41 Celsius, but in the shade and with a breeze blowing
it feels fine. In a few years the big clock will tell us that
time is up, but others will come and take our place.
There is a vast pool of us in deaths ante room; we are
but tiny ants on a window pane so easily squashed by
a child’s thumb. I sit in the shed, see how cigarette smoke
spirals up and out before dissipating in still hot air, and
thought of the silent sighs I heard when a beautiful girl
walked past our café. We shall never possess anything
as lovely again.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Edith Conant
We stand about this place -- we, the memories;
And shade our eyes because we dread to read:
"June 17th, 1884, aged 21 years and 3 days."
And all things are changed.
And we -- we, the memories, stand here for ourselves alone,
For no eye marks us, or would know why we are here.
Your husband is dead, your sister lives far away,
Your father is bent with age;
He has forgotten you, he scarcely leaves the house
Any more.
No one remembers your exquisite face,
Your lyric voice!
How you sang, even on the morning you were stricken,
With piercing sweetness, with thrilling sorrow,
Before the advent of the child which died with you.
It is all forgotten, save by us, the memories,
Who are forgotten by the world.
All is changed, save the river and the hill --
Even they are changed.
Only the burning sun and the quiet stars are the same.
And we -- we, the memories, stand here in awe,
Our eyes closed with the weariness of tears --
In immeasurable weariness!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Gasoline Alley Bred
Woman, get your head out of curlers.
Time get your butt out of bed.
Get down your hats and baggage, my child.
Going back home,
going back to the homestead.
I'm a-gonna heat me some water,
and put a shine upon my shoes.
Telephone my ma,
Keep the room above Joe's
'Cause we're coming back,
coming back to the homestead.
Everything is packed,
getting back to the homestead.
This time, this time we'll stay.
I know that we could have made it;
we had ideas in our heads.
And I wish somehow
we could have saved it
but we're Gasoline Alley bred.
Yet the years haven't really been wasted,
and I know it in my head.
We did good for the life that we've tasted
'cause we're Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley bred
Woman, you can really believe it,
I did everything a man could do.
Breaking my back just to make us a dime.
That won't mean a damn
when no one wants to know you.
Woman, I know how you're feeling.
I've seen the hurt upon your face.
How many time do you think that I've cried?
Knowing every day that your heart was getting broken,
holdin' back your pride til you were nearly chokin'
Oh let's get away.
chorus
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm An Old Tree
Here is my beloved home
I'm an old tree
I grew up here
Here's where I belong
Here's the only place
Where I can face
In rough human race
Inspite of all difficulties and aches
Still I'm standing here
Here I've planted love seeds
I'm like an old trees
Don't take me off my root
My branches revive and sigh here
Since thousands and thousands of years
I'm an old tree that's living here
Inside these fields I've grew old
My branches and my leaves
Once they've born here
The only place they've been
How can I leave
I have memories here
All my childhood years
My desires and all my dreams
Are planted right here within
These fields I've born and ill live in
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sad Cafe
Out in the shiny night, the rain
Was softly falling
The tracks that ran down the boulevard had
All been washed away
Out of the silver light, the past came softly calling
And I remember the times we spent
Inside the sad cafe
Oh, it seemed like a holy place,
Protected by amazing grace
And we would sing right out loud, the
Things we could not say
We thought we could change this world
With words like love and freedom
We were part of the lonely crowd
Inside the sad cafe
Oh, expecting to fly,
We would meet on that beautiful shore in the
Sweet by and by
Some of their dreams came true,
Some just passed away
And some of the stayed behind
Inside the sad cafe.
The clouds rolled in and hid that shore
Now that glory train, it dont stop here no more
Now I look at the years gone by,
And wonder at the powers that be.
I dont know why fortune smiles on some
And lets the rest go free
Maybe the time has drawn the faces I recall
But things in this life change very slowly,
If they ever change at all
Theres no use in asking why,
It just turned out that way
So meet me at midnight baby
Inside the sad cafe.
Why dont you meet me at midnight baby,
Inside the sad cafe.
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dont Give Up
In this proud land we grew up strong
We were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail
No fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
Ive changed my face, Ive changed my name
But no one wants you when you lose
Dont give up
cos you have friends
Dont give up
Youre not beaten yet
Dont give up
I know you can make it good
Though I saw it all around
Never thought I could be affected
Thought that wed be the last to go
It is so strange the way things turn
Drove the night toward my home
The place that I was born, on the lakeside
As daylight broke, I saw the earth
The trees had burned down to the ground
Dont give up
You still have us
Dont give up
We dont need much of anything
Dont give up
cause somewhere theres a place
Where we belong
Rest your head
You worry too much
Its going to be alright
When times get rough
You can fall back on us
Dont give up
Please dont give up
got to walk out of here
I cant take anymore
Going to stand on that bridge
Keep my eyes down below
Whatever may come
And whatever may go
That rivers flowing
That rivers flowing
Moved on to another town
Tried hard to settle down
For every job, so many men
So many men no-one needs
Dont give up
cause you have friends
Dont give up
Youre not the only one
Dont give up
No reason to be ashamed
Dont give up
You still have us
Dont give up now
Were proud of who you are
Dont give up
You know its never been easy
Dont give up
cause I believe theres the a place
Theres a place where we belong
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Awful God
Richard Bryce was a mystery,
He lived on a back street lot,
The house was the old half-timbered sort,
Paint peeled on the old wainscot,
The blinds were drawn through the day and night
And the garden a neighbourhood moan,
Full of the bodies of rusting cars
And creepers, all overgrown.
We rarely saw him out in the street
But he'd peep from the side of blinds,
And stories were told in the neighbourhood
That were often more harsh than kind,
There'd been a wife and a daughter once
But they hadn't been seen in years,
Since the echoing raft of arguments,
Doors slammed, and a flood of tears.
Old Grandpa Bryce had lived in the house
Since thirty odd years before,
He'd worked in the woollen fulling mill
‘Til it closed, just after the War,
His son had drowned in the old mill stream,
Was caught in the paddle wheel,
And Grandpa Bryce was left with the child,
To raise, and be brought to heel.
For Grandpa Bryce was a steely man
Who lived his life by the book,
More like a Prophet, this Abraham
Believed, whatever it took,
That ‘spare the rod and spoil the child'
Would be how that his Grandson learned,
As he laid the rod across Richard's back
‘Til the flesh turned red, and burned.
There was never a ministering angel there
To offer the boy relief,
Only the hard-edged wooden pew
In the church, on a Sunday eve,
And Abraham led the final prayer
In a voice that would damn and blight,
‘Beware you sinners, the Awful God
Will come unseen in the night! '
Richard's mother had died in pain
In the blood of the afterbirth,
She never returned to her home again
But was placed, six foot in the earth,
He never knew of a mother's love,
But only a Grandpa's pain,
And Bryce had ruled the daughter and wife
‘Til they fled one night, in the rain.
The house was suddenly silent then
Just two of them, left alone,
Grandpa suddenly old and frail,
He never went out on his own,
And Richard boarded the windows up
So you couldn't see in from the street,
It looked like an old abandoned place
‘Til the police called round, last week.
We all stood out in the street and watched
As Richard came out of the house,
His hands were cuffed and his hair stood up
And he looked quite down in the mouth,
There must have been twenty cops in there,
All milling around the place,
And one threw up in a paper cup
As we strained to look at his face.
It all came out in a day or two
Just what they had found in there,
The place was sparse, but a giant cross
Stood gaunt in the putrid air,
The skeleton of old Grandpa Bryce
Had been crucified, up tight,
And nailed to his skull: ‘The Awful God
Will come unseen in the night! '
16 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Death of My Childhood Place
I miss the place so much
where I could climb trees
ate star apples and green mangoes
from fruit trees near our house
bath in the river
made a raft
out from banana or bamboo trunk
go boating with my brother
and enjoyed swimming in the river
Where we made a makeshift dam
got some catfish
or played with the tadpoles
and shooed away the frogs
and on rainy day
played with my childhood friend
creating pots and anything from the mud
forming clay vases and figurines
and enjoy the drizzles of the rain
But father sold the place
and we moved to an urban zone
where trees don’t bear fruits
and fruits are not on trees but in groceries.
and clays are beneath the cemented road
and during rainy days
people will not go out
and everyone seems so busy on
their business and their job
so in grief of my childhood place
and gone with it is my childhood stage
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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An Album From My Memory Store
Today I dipped into an album
from my memory store
as a place that seemed familiar
triggered off the memories.
The years then rolled back
and I was there again
some forty years ago.
Faces flickered passed
gone now but never forgotten.
The good and bad times
rolled by in unison.
For a few moments
while that album was open
it held a mystic I’d never known
and left me wondering
where were the faces I knew then,
and where were they now.
poem by David Harris
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