HOME

The Off Grid Life

the off-grid life.

untied from the shackles of strife,

2017, the modern existence,

getting on the property ladder, how does anyone have a chance?
20, 25 or 30, forced to work to pay every bill,

going to work all hours, struggling to find a way, a life against our will,

needing the money from any form of work, mostly unprogressive, unhappy 
life passing by, frustrating, anger, decreasing self-worth, causing individuals to be snappy

unfulfilled, potentials are not met, working a job all day, unable to progress,

money is the key factor, for bills to be met, let me digress.

often they still aren't causing pain and suffering, stress and depression,

homelessness is rife through the country, a feeling of regression,

a feeling of being stuck, how to retrain and improve your careers?
speak to friends or family and the same conversation, doubts, and fears
if only another option was available,

one that was accepted and not just for the vulnerable,

the homeless, the people with nothing,

but how is this existence different? it is truly crushing,

once you can see that your life is consumed with working for money,

the soul has passed, your energy too, it can get so hard it's not even funny,

but who understands? in the face of consumerism, higher purchase, loans, and debt,

who is living a life, truly satisfied, and their dreams are met?

Not all people living off-grid are rich in cash!
but they aim for other needs; security in food & energy, it's worth a bash,


 

a growing transition for many people too,

it's not just for the hippies, the spiritual, it's for people like me and you,

think about it for a moment or two...

who would you be without your car, house and your possessions?
is that person you portray the real you? or do you blend in so people don't ask questions?
are you honest with your family and friends?

or do you sit behind a desk wishing it would end?
there is a wealth of knowledge of old traditions,

from a time when they lived without these conditions,

the conditions of social media, advertising, marketing ads or vlogs

when screen time didn't consume every waking hour, and children were fascinated with tadpoles transforming into frogs.

hours spent outside, climbing trees, playing at the park,

not allowed home unless it was tea time or had gotten dark.

 

a shift is happening, ecotherapy, wild schooling, bushcraft, and hikes,

forest schooling, homeschooling, people walking and out on their bikes,

scientists are noticing the effects on children's behaviors, reduced health issues,

ADHD,  also a boost in self-awareness, positivity, confidence and mental health issues

is it easier to sit a child down to hours in front of the tv, or ipad?

than it is to spend a few hours playing down the park with dad?

or baking a cake with mum, the importance of these skills are being misplaced,

in this consumerism world, with employees a number, in a life so fast-paced.

 

Off-grid living, the communities hidden away,

all they want is a parcel of land to look after their needs, but hey,

that's not possible, 'cause where will the local council get their tax,

with the community, living off the land, growing food and chopping wood with an axe,

the need and usage of government-owned services would become minute,

living simply and within your skills of the land, renewables used, an abundance of fruit,

food preserved in many forms, jams and chutneys, frozen meat,

enough food to last year-round to survive through winter, or in the heat,

the food produced off the land, tending the garden, and grown for nutrition,

the most important for life and health also said to aid in remission.

off grid homesteaders, don't need to take the flack,

with health as the focus, working outdoors to provide, lowering the need for prozac,
comments from shallow minded people need not be said,

the power of community, working together, I want to spread,

to include children in the transition, of conserving nature and our wildlife,

 

the tranquil setting amongst the seasons, watching the stars, that's my type of nightlife.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my first time sharing my poetry, (after a few friends encouraged me that I should) please be kind and send your thoughts.

Also all words are opinions of myself in the modern world that we live in. 

This is not meant to cause offense, harm, upset to anyone, and if it does please understand that is not my intention.

 

Many thanks,

Like Me Better

Folder: 
2017

Waiting for you I am standing like

slowing down to get a better view of the ground under our feet,

waiting for the snow in July.

 

I like me better when I’m with you,

I can’t seem to create as much as I cry

but I still love the ache because it’s something.

 

Here I can trick myself,

I’m brave and bold and bulletproof,

I’m more than counting dimensions like falling asleep

and I run out of spaces to call home.

 

Home.

We can hang so much from four letters.

 

Sometimes I forget to say I’m coming home.

I just want you to know that I am halfway there.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 9/27/17

What is Home?

I’m home, but not really

I know, that sounds silly


There is a roof over my head

In which where I am fed


This building that I am in

Is where my whole life has been


But despite all of that

My heart feels flat


I am home they say

But my heart is gray


The heart knows when its home

Right now it feels like stone


Where will I find home

How long do I have to roam


Maybe home is him

I might be going out on a lim


But when he’s with me

Home it could be


When his hand in mine

Everything seems so fine


With him I smile a lot

More than I ever thought


Could home be a thing

 

That makes your heart sing


Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a poem I wrote while missing someone that I love.  

View kylieplouff@gmail.com's Full Portfolio
tags:

I am scared of my hoover

I am scared of my hoover

By jfarrell

 

 

I am scared of my hoover.

I bought it about nine months ago,

A “vax” power nano,

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh

Sounded so coooooooooool.

 

Silver grey handle and base.

Transparent bagless chamber,

With a red hat to empty it.

And a bunch of tubes.

 

I’ve used it twice.

The second time I used it

I think I broke it

And I am scared to confirm that fear.

 

If the hoover I spent £120 on nine months ago

Is broken

It means I have six months worth of cat hair

To sweep up with a dustpan and brush.

 

And that ain’t gonna be fun :(

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i broke it, what a donut, eh? :)

View suicideslug's Full Portfolio

Brash

Folder: 
Personal

"This is it,

the last time.

Not my last time,

for there will be many more,

 

but before I go,

take a second.

Or two.

As though leaving a humble abode

 

for the last time.

Or realistically,

one to be proud of,

one no need for humility.

 

A tendency to be crass, 

the one-stop coffeeshop 

that was the first building

foot stepped in,

 

the exact final destination

of a journey

across from

one Ocean to the next.

 

First impressions,

wild differences between

vernacular and tone,

'shaka brah', 

 

and an immediate inquiry

as to where the hell

I come from.

Brash,

 

but immediately warm

the very first contact

turned out to be,

only to observe

 

more than a year of stumbles,

pieces scribbled,

baristas in and out,

one to be a brother

 

calling this location

headquarters,

locomotives blaring by

in a flash of red

 

everyday.

Bicentennial

the count not of years,

but of poetic conveyance,

 

written in the soft glow

of this shop,

this shop the subject

times so often giving

 

detail to who,

what, where,

and how that one girl,

that one time,

 

smelt as she walked by.

Edited,

the time spent 

since the Spring,

 

but some things never change,

and that's how at home

I feel in this booth.

Bottoms up,

 

here's to you,

one last brew,

one last time. 

No more lines

 

to be written

here,

skate to the next place,

though it won't be the same."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Home, closed down... I'll be wandering around town on a longboard for awhile. Two books written here at Brash Coffee, the local coffee shop I walked in the first hour of being in Chattanooga.

 

Cheers, Brash.

Portland THE Oregon

PORTLAND OREGON

My streets were paved in yellow dreams and setting suns over bodies of water

and blues music followed by the smell of cigarette smoke that I find comforts me now as I’ve moved away.


My angels were bridges that enveloped the sky and my heaven was the blurred lights off of tall buildings that were the stars in my city.


My canvas was the Gorge and my painting was the sweat of summer adventure committed by a coniferous childhood.


My happiness was shutting my eyes and taking in everything I couldn’t see. Smells of campfires, songs on guitars, gasoline burning behind our rocket to the memories I cherish most.


My freedom was escaping into the night to sit on the shoulder of green giant and have conversations with her but never needing any words.


My relief was to exclaim all my furiosity to the water, and take it out on the rocks by the dock. To mock back at the seagulls who first mocked me with their judging eyes.


My guidance was light posts that flickered and signaled my return to home.

and still today I reserve a section of my heart and mind to Sauvies island, with its bushes painted red in the summer and its ground splattered with orange in the fall and its pine scented traditions growing in the winter.


And my childhood romance was with a City whose outer beauty was comprised of skyscrapers and waterfronts and inner beauty was the acceptance of the people who resided there.


And I bought her love in return, not with money, but with hours of my life spent roaming the trails, and the tracks, and with all the times I got lost in a City that I know like the back of my hand, and with all the times I loved underneath those rain clouds, and smiled at a bus stop, or let my arms get slapped with wind on a long car drive while blaring billy joel in the back seat of my mother’s minivan.


I earned her love.

and the problem with moving away is that you leave different parts of your heart in different cities, which never allows you to fully feel at home ever again.

Yet the price is worth paying a million times over.

But what I know today is that I left

my untamed spirit,

my wild abandon,

my insatiable hunger for color,

the smell of rain and lavender,

the jumps to the trees

the mowed grass

the smashed cherries on the ground

the feeling of being small and big all at the same time

the finite and massive details that I captured with my blue eyes

in a city that flies with her own wings

and will forever be my start


P.S Suck it Seattle

View unfortunatelyreneemorton's Full Portfolio

Car Keys

Folder: 
Beauty

 

There they sit

At the edge of the table

Worn and heavy

Resting in fables

 

Tales of adventure

Of sweet smelling summer

And self-discovery roads

Planted in autumns comer

 

Roads connecting

To everything and everyone

That’s touched my life

And left the sun

 

Of star seeking nights

That stain that back of eyes

Of heart clenching moments

Lost in music, so high

 

These keys to life

Life’s twisted streets

Bring me back home

To dust my feet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

View truthintragedies's Full Portfolio

Home Sweet Home

Folder: 
You, We Me
Home is where the heart is
And I feel at home with you
My comfort place
It is
Secured in your embrace
A feeling so true!
Home sweet home
And that's only you!
 
View jgupta's Full Portfolio

84116

Folder: 
2015

 

 

Small diverse community in rose-shaped streets near downtown

In Salt Lake City

West

Pride 

Rose Park - hugging the Wasatch Mountains








View onevoice's Full Portfolio