New Home Poems
A housewarming card usually says "Welcome home!" which is warm and which says nothing at all about the particular home, the particular people, or what it cost to get there. A poem written around this move — who they are, what they left, what they're walking into — is a different kind of gift.
Below are five examples of new home poems written through this process. Each started with a few details — who's moving, what the move means, what tone the giver wanted. The poem was built around those things.
If any of these feel close to what you need, you can commission a poem for your person — same process, written specifically for them, delivered within 24 hours.
Written for a couple receiving the keys to their first home. A family friend commissioned the poem as a housewarming gift.
The key is a small thing. It fits
the lock. And then: the whole house submits
to you. The light is yours to choose.
The walls are yours to use.
First home: the first time the sound
of your own door, on your own ground,
closes behind you. That's the shift —
not the house. The having. That's the gift.
You'll change things. Paint. The drawer that sticks.
The shelf you'll move. The light you'll fix.
In time the house will hold your choices
in its walls. Your silences. Your voices.
Come inside. The house is wide.
Each room is waiting to be tried.
You'll know it soon. And it will know
the people you become here. Go.
Written for a woman who left Montreal for the suburbs twelve years ago, when her children started school. They've finished. She's coming back.
She left it for the schools. The right schools.
The suburbs, and the swimming pools,
the yards. The bus route. She made the call.
She gave the city up. She gave it all.
Twelve years. The children finished.
The reason for the suburbs diminished.
She packed. She came back. At the door
of her new place: the same streets as before.
She noticed it. She noticed every block.
The corner store. The old familiar clock
at the church on her old street. Still there.
It rang while she was gone. Still in the air.
She wanted something for herself: the sound
of it. The corner. Her particular ground.
She's back. That's enough. Some things you leave
and carry. Now she's back. She won't grieve.
Written from grandparents to their daughter's family, who are moving from Montreal to Vancouver. The grandparents are staying behind.
They're going west. The whole house, boxed.
Three thousand miles. We'd never coaxed
them back — it's not for us to hold.
We're learning that. We're getting old.
We're getting old and they are going west.
That's how it is. That's probably the best
for them — the job, the coast, the air.
We know that. It's still hard from here.
Call. That's all we ask. The Sunday kind.
The children on the screen. We'll find
a way to still be in it. We will.
Go west. Come home. The door is open still.
For anyone who wants something small but real for a new home card. No particular backstory required.
You have the keys. The lock is yours.
The light, the walls, the floors.
The address changes. So do you.
Welcome home. It's waiting. Walk through.
Written for a woman who moved into her own apartment after the end of a long marriage. A close friend commissioned the poem as a housewarming gift.
You picked the place yourself. The light
came in from the east. You said: tonight
I'll sleep here. Yours alone. No vote.
That's how it starts. That's the first note.
The boxes came. You put things down
the way you wanted. This new town
of one — entirely yours — will show
itself in time. You have time. You know.
That's not loneliness. It's the first room
that answers only to you. The bloom
of that takes time. But: yours. First thing.
Your space. Your light. Your key. Your spring.
What makes a new home poem land is specificity. Not "welcome home" — but the particular home of this person. The first one they've owned alone. The return to a city they gave up for a decade. The move that was also a beginning. The three-thousand-mile distance that nobody wanted to name.
The commission process takes two minutes. You write what you'd say to a friend: "She finally got the keys. She's been trying to buy in this neighbourhood for three years and she's not going to believe it's real until she's slept there." That's enough. The poem arrives built around that, not just attached to it.
All tiers are free during the launch period. A Custom poem (three stanzas, fully bespoke) normally costs $45. The Signature tier (four stanzas, crafted for audio — rich rhythm and cadence, written personally by Luc Bonnell) normally costs $85. Both are available at no charge while the platform opens.
A poem written for your person specifically.
Tell Luc who they are. Get the poem in 24 hours. Currently free.
Commission a New Home Poem