3LIGHTS | Way Back Home (Oct

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evening train -
bound for the space
behind one small window

DIANA WEBB

heading home
her face brightens
one window at a time

MEGAN ARKENBERG

home going -
at some point
my feet take over

GEORGE G. DORSTY

back home...
digging the key
out of the plant

PETER JOSEPH GLOVICZKI

Thirteen keys
on hooks in the kitchen
a locked gate

DAVE PRISK

My front door key is
Passport to peace and quiet,
Subject to grandkids

ALAN MCKEAN

shouting I am home
after first term freshman year—
the green shag carpet

REN POWELL

home late
only the baby
rushes to greet me

DAVID SERJEANT

in suburbia
hanging out diapers
flapping prayer flags
over the brushwood fence
she stops to say g’day

BARBARA A. TAYLOR

after a long trip
trying to retune my ukes
impossible –
the new neighbor’s lawnmower
an annoying C-flat

BOB LUCKY

just home
making mac n' cheese
without the milk

MEGAN ARKENBERG

our first
Sunday dinner—
rising
in appreciation
the Yorkshire puddings

LIAM WILKINSON

endless silence
on doorstep -
blueberry pie stain

ALTHEA ROWE WATSON

late Spring...
leaving my coat
there on its hook

PETER JOSEPH GLOVICZKI

back home at last.
what a reward to see you,
my garden, blooming!

NATALIA KUZNETSOVA

after rain
the crow's song
lifted me from bed
autumn morning
home brewed coffee

LUIS CUAUHTEMOC BERRIOZABAL

a salad lunch
a garden seat
spring sun

CLAIRE SEAMAN

communal gardens
young cats pounce on leaves
this new year's day

MATTHEW PAUL

grandpa's orchard
the old apple tree
leans on the ladder

RAFAL ZABRATYNSKI

My nest is held high
Precariously perched
Held by brittle sticks

CAROL SHEPPARD

summer rain
the clank of a ladder
somewhere outside

MATTHEW PAUL

Reparing my home...
a cherry tree
is shadowing me

VASILE MOLDOVAN

at home reading
Homes & Gardens
--summer's end

HELEN BUCKINGHAM

tips of apple leaves
touch my hair from behind me
like my wife, teasing

SIMON WILLIAMS

saxophone
everything you meant to me
and all that jazz

BOB LUCKY

our new home -
neglected in and out
but for white lilacs

ADELAIDE B. SHAW

adobe homes
high in dusty corners
I can’t reach

BARBARA A. TAYLOR

backyard birds -
if only I could join
their conversation

SUSAN CONSTABLE

steam from my teapot
the words of that song

IRENE BROWN

each year
the paint peels
the grass fades

there is no place
like home

LUIS CUAUHTEMOC BERRIOZABAL

home from hospital
joy of rediscovering
the familiar

ANDRE SURRIDGE

roots entangled
above the surface
noise of underground rails

RAFFAEL DE GRUTTOLA

the sun, this
gloss-white disc
on my forehead—
how long the slog home
this July afternoon

LIAM WILKINSON

vacation plans
on the brochure cover
a garden like mine

MEGAN ARKENBERG

off the path, wondering
where butterflies go
when it rains

ROSIE ROUMELIOTIS

window-boxing--
her neighbour first
to shoot

HELEN BUCKINGHAM

bracken fern,
thimbleberry, and beer can --
home at last!

RICHARD STEVENSON

locked out—
watching the dog
eat my dinner

DEBORAH FINKELSTEIN

to-do list --
the sound of one hand
tapping

LARYALEE FRASER

spring bulbs
scenting the room
my mother's blue vase

CLAIRE KNIGHT

cast off the sill
windswept pebbles
from the homeland

ROSIE ROUMELIOTIS

house clearance:
an empty
babushka

HELEN BUCKINGHAM

spring cleaning-
all the junk in the cellar
suddenly worth keeping

CLAUDETTE RUSSELL

spring breeze
a fresh coat of wax
on the kitchen floor

SUSAN CONSTABLE

box of old thimbles-
from a few doors off
the lighted window

DIANA WEBB

new years eve
the crack in the ceiling
continues its voyage

JON BALDWIN

i miss the boat
crave it
the water
the herons
and the world

M. KEI

talking about home
she turns and
points to Africa

SANDRA SIMPSON

a sweep of sunlight
outstretching the estuary
oystercatcher cries

JOHN BARLOW

my cat
across stepping stones
too far apart

CLAIRE KNIGHT

brand new house
still so far away
from home

RAFAL ZABRATYNSKI

late summer -
a flock of gulls
fills the sky
so many restless hearts
in search of a home

PAUL SMITH

End of fishing season-
the cormorant
are coming home too

VASILE MOLDOVAN

between islands now
wind softer, the lapping waves
re-tune my breathing

RICHARD STEVENSON

almost midnight
the sound of waves
turning in

SUSAN CONSTABLE

we spent
the loneliest two years
landlocked
a thousand miles from the sea
battling our separate tides

CHERIE HUNTER DAY

I've spent
most of my life on these
volcanic isles
think of them as home
my beard now ashen

ANDRE SURRIDGE

home is
where the heart is
so they say ---
and if this heart
is divided into three ?

AMELIA FIELDEN

saplings sprout
from rusted roof gutters
faded blinds are down
I'm filled with sadness
at my old home's front door

BARBARA A. TAYLOR

the 373 slows ,
instinctively I hail it ---
but why,
I haven't lived at Coogee
for over forty years

AMELIA FIELDEN

home town...
waiting in a hotel bar
as a stranger

ALAN SUMMERS

in a winter moment,
snow falls
in a white veil,
“Für Elise”
plays on the stereo

M. KEI

a foreign land -
the winter, cold and drab,
chills my thoughts;
only memories of home
bring a thaw

ADELAIDE B. SHAW

winter gloom
outside the stadium
a lone drunk salutes
[Bramhall Lane, Sheffield, Dec 06]

DAVID SERJEANT

reluctant to dust
your footprint
on my doorstep

IRENE BROWN

in from the storm
searching for coins
and a vacant table

ROSIE ROUMELIOTIS

indian summer
seeping through
the change of drapes

HELEN BUCKINGHAM

school playground at dusk-
the closed curtains
of the Wendy House

DIANA WEBB

doll’s house -
miniature family’s
beady eyes

PATRICIA PRIME

return vacation--
treading on another child's
daisy chain

HELEN BUCKINGHAM

fall semester
my roommate tells me
she's an only child

CLAUDETTE RUSSELL

childhood
half demolished
the dandelion clock

SANDRA SIMPSON

childhood drawing
the dream house still better
than the real one

RAFAL ZABRATYNSKI

somewhere
wandering the streets
of Knaresborough
my boyhood ghost
still playing truant

ANDRE SURRIDGE

childhood memories---
fighting with my two sisters
over who will lick
the beaters, bowl
& wooden spoon

PAMELA A. BABUSCI

re-walking
my old school route—
ungathered walnuts fester

JENNIFER CORPE

my birthplace
is only a memory
but what I retain
is sharper in retrospect –
every detail clear

PATRICIA PRIME

another summer
living out of suitcases –
my son
gets my old room
and all its baggage

BOB LUCKY

tracking my son's footprints
this way ... and that ...
all the way home

SANDRA SIMPSON

coming home
she opens the piano
but the heart is gone

JANE SCOTT

old country school –
playing the piano gently
through the years’ dust

(for Diane and Ian)

RICHARD STEVENSON

autumn evening
wind streaks the browns
of the fox moth larvae

JOHN BARLOW

one year later...
mother's fingerprints
still on the spice rack

N.C. WHITEHEAD

November rain -
she calls home again
just to talk

ADELAIDE B. SHAW

ten years
since she married
someone else;
why does it bother me
to forget her birthday?

M. KEI

her questions punctuated
by the bang of pans
as if my cabinets hold
answers she likes
better than mine

MEGAN ARKENBERG

changing homes -
the spring sun
gentles the move

ADELAIDE B. SHAW

Hours later
I can still smell cedar bark
and wild rosemary

DAVE PRISK

moving home
a bookseller evaluates
old tomes

PATRICIA PRIME

elderly aunt --
the cold gleam of silver
and bone china

LARYALEE FRASER

moving day
the cat
still missing

CLAUDETTE RUSSELL

once again
we talk of moving
for a better job
these spring-green hills
my Kryptonite

CHERIE HUNTER DAY

autumn deepens...
she returns home
after the divorce

PAMELA A. BABUSCI

fearing the news
that would make me an orphan -
the kingfisher's blue

SANDRA SIMPSON

finally returning home
for the funeral
of her mother...
that recurring pain
of feeling out of place

PAMELA A. BABUSCI

wood-shaving wind
through the
renovated house—
my old memories
in this new interior

LIAM WILKINSON

back at home -
my bed
remembers me

GEORGE G. DORSTY

felt slippers waiting
near the fading ottoman—
evening’s snoring ghost

REN POWELL

two haiku from our bed

i

cool mid-autumn
seeps through even closed windows–
my wife is so warm

ii

how beautifully
my sleeping wife does not see me
as I watch her turn

MATTHEW LAFFERTY

bedtime
she tucks in under her pillow
a ball of lavender flowers
her secret aid to sleep
in lieu of lullabies

JANE SCOTT

dreaming of women—
sharing his bed
with rats

DEBORAH FINKELSTEIN

dimming lights--
nothing, but to touch the walls
with charcoal and pastel

RAFFAEL DE GRUTTOLA

back home -
a moth at the window
seeking light
and me looking out
into darkness

PAUL SMITH

creaking open
the attic skylight
my forbidden cigarette smoke
drifts into the dark
I don’t look at the stars enough

JON BALDWIN

I didn’t come home
to view this sickle moon
snagging clouds
but there it is
and here I am

BOB LUCKY

unaffected by the warmth
of the July night
there is urgency
to the on again off again light
of the firefly

RAFFAEL DE GRUTTOLA

the morning after
a dead moth floats
in drops of red wine
she begins to tidy
rain continues to fall

JON BALDWIN

through the fog,
the charred frame
of our home
rises up...
an owl's low hoot

N.C. WHITEHEAD