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A Call for Submissions about Home

headed out to find dry weather

Photo by Ryan LaChapell Willamette Valley, Oregon circa 1983

Home is always the impossible subject, multilayered and maddening.-Paul Theroux

We’d like your writing, photography, and art about the concept of home. A place that evokes joy or angst, or both at the same time. Filled with memories that knock on walls and patter on old windows. We’ll start publishing submissions on this theme beginning the middle of March but we will start scheduling them immediately so don’t wait to submit your piece on home.


6 thoughts on “A Call for Submissions about Home

  1. oh the memories of years gone by with thieteen kids and two parents all in a four bedroom flat ha ha hope you like the thoughts ha

    Sandwiches I could never recall why I was always sent to my room, Usually it was with good reason as I was often out of tune, I was always up to mischief of one kind or another, A constant source of torment to my poor old mother, In any case, locked into my bedroom and grounded for a week, While there I would constantly give her plenty of cheek, The father decided that I would sleep when he went to bed, And the only time I would eat was when he was fed, And so I arose each morning when he got up for work, Had breakfast and was given chores that I dare shirk, And put back in my cage for the rest of the day, Locked in there with nothing to eat drink or play, As the father would say you will learn your lesson, And stop all this mischief and mayhem and messing, He warned all the family I was to be avoided, a must, And dare one of them go against him, break his trust, So with nothing to eat locked in my room with a view, Sure I threw things at the neighbours I had naff all to do, One of the sisters had made toasted sandwiches that smelled fine And grabbed a fishing pole and tied them to the end of the line, But both windows opened in the same right handed direction, And she had trouble trying with me to make a connection, And the father would be due home as it was getting a bit late, If he saw her trying to feed me then both of us would be bate, Sure enough there he was watching from the side of the road, And she dropped the bounty and both our hearts slowed, He stormed into the house and his temper had flared, As she took flight I barred the door pretty scared, He caught her and made her sit on one of the kitchen chairs, And called me to join them from the room upstairs, What will I do with you for this act of transgression? As we both spoke in gibberish relaying our confession, His big army belt lay on the table that day, Get out he said with your fishing for sandwiches go play, And stay out of trouble and mind out on the road, Remember always test your line before you try to land your load. 06/02/12 My mother’s house It never happened in my mother’s house, She wouldn’t allow it not even for a mouse, All the rooms were tidy and everything was in its own place, Every child was shiny and had a nice clean face,   All the meals were on time and there was plenty there to eat, Feeding 15 people was truly no easy feat, And all the beds were single ones made up as we all arose, For breakfast we sat each side of the table in two neat tidy rows,   No morsel of food ever hit her clean and shining floor, No hinge ever creaked in her house from any kind of door, The fire was always lit and in winter kept us warm, No draft from open window which could be of any harm,   The cupboard was full and we never went without, The sun was always shining whenever we went out, None of us got ill and we never knew any pain, All our summers were fun and we never saw the rain,   Our clothes were always washed and ironed laid on our bed, Each of us had 2 fluffy pillows underneath our head, Christmas we had presents and a huge pine needle tree, So much so that we gave the poor some gifts for free,   Our lights shone so bright it lit the nigh time sky, Some pilots got confused by it but soon learned to pass it by, There were flowers in the garden and apple trees out the back, My mothers house had everything nothing did we lack,   Life was always cosy we neither had a worry or a care, We never had to look for things for they were always there, No rodent ever came to live unless he had her permission, Outside in the garden they would await for her decision,   But it was her house and she had the final say, Everything was cool for her it was her house her rules her way, She kept us all together all through the good times and the bad, And mostly we were poor but we were grateful for what we had,   As kids we all would ask her where do you live dear mother, Above would be the story the truth was something other, 24.07.2012  


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