Home is like your fist,
an acorn waiting to spring root.
Home is not your prison of convention,
nor a migrant’s shelter,
it’s neither pillow nor the pavement.
Home is a special state of mind
that one day you will find
in the silence of your soil.
It’s fading heartbeats
and an oak tree growing.
Great Oak by Eyvind Earle
Linked to real toads Tuesday Platform.
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March 21, 2017
rejuvenatement - not retirement
words and scribble.
The Quantumverse
Poetry
About fantastical places and other stuff
Sharing my thoughts, poems, travel & art
Taotalk is a forum for the discussion of both the academic and pragmatic aspects of dao and Daoism, with participants expressing themselves on Daoist writings and pragmatics from their unique perspectives. It serves as a community for Daoists, and those interested in Daoism, to gather and talk dao.
living on the equator but longing for snow
Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Home is where our roots bloom… I love that.
Interesting. Yes, I think we do find it within ourselves – but perhaps only when the outward environment is right too. Or does it go the other way around, I wonder? (As perhaps you suggest.)
“Home is a special state of mind
that one day you will find
in the silence of your soil.”
Truly my favourite verse
Much love…
Such a stellar closing on this one, Bjorn 🙂
This is brilliant, the acorn line bookended by the oak tree. Love this.
This is like Robert Frost without the rhyme! Lovely!
home is an oak tree growing…like that!!
Really like this line “in the silence of your soil.” Wow.
The root of our home is the home of the heart. Beautiful. 🙂
Such a beautiful definition of home. To feel at home is indeed a special state of mind. I loved it. 🙂
Beautiful and the painting is amazing!
Ohhh… this poem just makes me feel good. Thank you.
I get that despite the past as home wasn’t a comforting place, home now is solid and strong. It seems like it is about someone as much as the “home” from the past – not being a nurturing space.
oh this is ❤ ❤ ❤
Even on a bad day, I know I will find some thought in your poetry to feed my soul.
Very nice, Bjorn. With the opening, “Home is …” you are leading us to stray into the places we’ve been, the places we’ve called home. Of course much, much more than simply where one hangs his/her hat. Broadly you covered those bases well.
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Home is like your fist, an acorn waiting to spring root … a fascinating simile, that sends one’s mind in a multitude of directions … some pleasant – some not so pleasant. Such is home, I suppose.
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“silence of the soil” – Made me shudder.