Saturday, February 18, 2017


by Edward Thomas

Fair was the morning, fair our tempers, and
We had seen nothing fairer than that land,
Though strange, and the untrodden snow that made
Wild of the tame, casting out all that was
Not wild and rustic and old; and we were glad.

Fair, too, was afternoon, and first to pass
Were we that league of snow, next the north wind.

There was nothing to return for, except need,
And yet we sang nor ever stopped for speed,
As we did often with the start behind.
Faster still strode we when we came in sight
Of the cold roofs where we must spend the night.

Happy we had not been there, nor could be.
Though we had tasted sleep and food and fellowship
Together long. 
                            “How quick” to someone's lip
The words came, “will the beaten horse run home.”

The word “home” raised a smile in us all three,
And one repeated it, smiling just so
That all knew what he meant and none would say.
Between three counties far apart that lay
We were divided and looked strangely each
At the other, and we knew we were not friends
But fellows in a union that ends
With the necessity for it, as it ought. 

Never a word was spoken, not a thought
Was thought, of what the look meant with the word
“Home” as we walked and watched the sunset blurred.
And then to me the word, only the word,
“Homesick,” as it were playfully occurred:
No more. If I should ever more admit
Than the mere word I could not endure it
For a day longer: this captivity
Must somehow come to an end, else I should be
Another man, as often now I seem,
Or this life be only an evil dream.

Home Fire
by Linda Parsons Marion

Whether on the boulevard or gravel backroad, 
I do not easily raise my hand to those who toss 
up theirs in anonymous hello, merely to say 
“I’m passing this way.” Once out of shyness, now 
reluctance to tip my hand, I admire the shrubbery 
instead. I’ve learned where the lines are drawn 
and keep the privet well trimmed. I left one house 
with toys on the floor for another with quiet rugs 
and a bed where the moon comes in. I’ve thrown 
myself at men in black turtlenecks only to find 
that home is best after all. Home where I sit 
in the glider, knowing it needs oil, like my own 
rusty joints. Where I coax blackberry to dogwood 
and winter to harvest, where my table is clothed 
in light. Home where I walk out on the thin page 
of night, without waving or giving myself away, 
and return with my words burning like fire in the grate. 

Home Again, Home Again
By Marilyn L. Taylor

The children are back, the children are back— 
They’ve come to take refuge, exhale and unpack; 
The marriage has faltered, the job has gone bad, 
Come open the door for them, Mother and Dad.

The city apartment is leaky and cold, 
The landlord lascivious, greedy and old— 
The mattress is lumpy, the oven’s encrusted, 
The freezer, the fan, and the toilet have rusted.

The company caved, the boss went broke, 
The job and the love affair, all up in smoke. 
The anguish of loneliness comes as a shock— 
O heart in the doldrums, O heart in hock.

And so they return with their piles of possessions, 
Their terrified cats and their mournful expressions, 
Reclaiming the bedrooms they had in their teens, 
Clean towels, warm comforter, glass figurines.

Downstairs in the kitchen the father and mother 
Don’t say a word, but they look at each other 
As down from the hill comes Jill, comes Jack. 
The children are back. The children are back.

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church
By Emily Dickinson

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church – 
I keep it, staying at Home – 
With a Bobolink for a Chorister – 
And an Orchard, for a Dome – 

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice – 
I, just wear my Wings – 
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, 
Our little Sexton – sings. 

God preaches, a noted Clergyman – 
And the sermon is never long, 
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last – 
I’m going, all along.

Going Home
By William Arms Fisher

Going home, going home
I'm just going home
Quiet light, some still day
I'm just going home

It's not far, just close by
Through an open door
Work all done, care laid by
Going to fear no more

Mother's there expecting me
Father's waiting, too
Lots of folk gathered there
All the friends I knew

All the friends I knew
I'm going home
Nothing's lost, all's gain
No more fret nor pain
No more stumbling on the way
No more longing for the day
Going to roam no more

Morning star lights the way
Restless dream all done
Shadows gone, break of day
Real life begun

There's no break, there's no end
Just a living on
Wide awake with a smile
Going on and on

Going home, going home
I'm just going home
It's not far, just close by
Through an open door
I am going home
I'm just going home

No comments:

Post a Comment