Home

 

Sanctuary, four walls or more.

Scent of candles, low light.  
Encapsulate nature, continuation
of home.  Palm trees catch every breeze,
soft seats for writing and thinking,
oaks sturdy and magnificent overhead,
native grasses, fire pit lined by boulders,
natural seating from storm
downed tree. I flourish.

(Home in less than 48 words)

Forest Home

Forests in the Western North Carolina
mountain range gives me shelter
from the rain, and tempest winds.
The serenity quinches my thirst, 
fills me with sustenance--
with spirit that is nature, and a vastness of  life.
I can live in dense growth of  underbrush
and in  mists of  clouds. How small I am standing
there, how huge my heart grows as I see what is real.

The forests of the Smokies ground me as fast and hard

as the old time revivals of my childhood.  The creeks
cleanse me like baptismal waters until I am new.
The forests there give me strength I long for,
make me stand tall next to the elder oak
until I can stand alone without it’s shadow.
I’m a wanderer until I reach the foothills,

a seeker until I am home.

Note*: Forest Home was written for Peggy's prompt "Forest" over at Poetry Jam.

I Want To Go Home

I want to go home I said at the funeral. I don't know why.

I said it at home with husband at my side. You are home,

he said over and over. I didn't believe him. I've said the same
thing for over ten years.I really do want to go home. I

remember how warm, how full, how happy and carefree
my home was. This is our final move he tells me now.

This is home till we die.
I don't believe him.