“Home, sweet home. Part two.
Home, sweet home. Part two.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Just words.
Home, sweet home
(For Port Austin)
Sun and heat, heat and sun. The Iraq days slow and not easy.
No booze, no woman, bad food and we have read every book available.
I left home in great haste, thinking my life was sour and worthless. I needed adventure and war. Poor visions of salvation given to me by my father’s tales of war.
Friendships are made, card games are played and the soldiers doing their duty and assigned tasks. The long hot days make men learn. Home, is the sweetest word.
I told my friend Bill: When I return home in the late Spring, I will go to Port Austin, bring a lawn chair, a cooler of beer and a radio. I will put my feet into the cold Lake Huron. I will dance with her till the stars appear.
I will never complain about the Michigan cold Winters no-more. I will stay ten days to gather my mind and my thoughts.
I’m tire of the heat, I’m tire of the 15,000 soldiers with me. I need a restful place, where all I can hear is the birds singing and the Lake Huron waves moving. I need you, Port Austin.
Home, sweetest words to a wondering soldiers, learning. The green grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the fence. Maybe you had what you needed near.
Johnnie/Coyote
Hold Me
Take me to my home.
Home is where my heart is.
Home’s on that windy hill.
Above a secret valley.
Hovering, a heavenly cloud.
Take me to my home.
I’m waiting here alone.
All packed ready to go.
Vacating this old place.
Leaving this world behind.
Take me to my home.
The beyond will be greener.
I know you’ll be there.
You’ve been waiting so long.
I know you’ll hold me again.
Hold me in our home.
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Yes… the grass is not necessarily greener nor better, on the other side of the fence……
This Fence
I am quickly nearing this fence.
An obstacle of a lifetime I see.
And from my side of this fence,
The hurdle is too high for me.
And on the other side of this fence,
There seems nowhere to land or flee.
I have arrived at this fence,
Above the pickets, just grey sky.
And on my side of this fence,
The grass is brown and dry.
On the other side of this fence,
The grass is green, but still I cry.
How am I to clear this fence,
There seems nowhere to go, or get by.
This fence, all built of stones,
Breaks my spirit, and all my bones.
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When you are surrounded by the sand. The trees, the river and the flowers. Home become a blessing. Thank you for the poem my friend.
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Yes… There’s no place like home……
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