Poetry About Home

I've been sitting online for a few hours reading poetry about home and sometimes I wonder if its all already been written. People's definition of what home is, the stereotypical "I'll be home for Christmas attitude" etc. All those cliches about fire places, Mom's home cooking, creaking, a clock sounding, and saying Grace at the kitchen table...

Recently I have been thinking about writing what home means to me, and I am a bit deterred by what I see on the internet...maybe looking stuff up is a bad idea sometimes. I don't want to write a stereotypical poem.

I suppose I should open up a bit about this: I have been very confused as of late about what home actually is. Having lost my grandmother in May, and my family experience several deaths and downfalls last year, we kind of lost sight of what family and home actually means. We stopped really talking to each other and just working on what needed to be done from paperwork to clearing out homes of old stuff.

I love my parents. I love my sister, and my cat, and my grandmother (rest in peace). But I moved into my apartment with friends and felt home there too, at least until my best friend moved out and my other roommate's girlfriend moved in.

I am curious about how you guys feel. If given a topic about family and home do you think you'd reflect on negatives? Do you think you'd write about a fireplace, and the sounds of your clocks? Do you think you'd recall your dorm? 

What do you recommend for someone looking to write about home and family? What do you think are your family's quirks? 

I'll share: We always drink pomegranate juice with breakfast at my parents' house, everyone has a down comforter, and all our furniture is old. We have a clock that sounds like a grandfather clock but really isn't. Our porch cracks loudly when it freezes under the weight of the snow, and my mom has more than 5 bird feeders that she fills 3 times a day. Every year, these pansie flowers grow back in greater numbers in every garden. My house has undergone construction in my time living there, and I miss being able to use my fireplace in my now unfinished basement. We have to carry my cat up and down any flights of stairs because she is old. The second step from the top to our rooms is creaky. I'd only know this because I used to sneak downstairs to write in the living room and finish any unfinished puzzles past my bedtime.