Best Cabin Poems
Just as bees squeeze like watermelon seeds
Spit across apricot fields
My wife and I on Friday
Join the lines of highways up north
Pulled by hilltops to the Leelanau blue sky
Where lakes stir in the wind at the citrus rims
Of wine valleys below
And cherry orchards blossom in row after row
Like sheets of cupcakes spiraled with frosting.
Tonight we will sit tight around our lakeside fire
As petals closed upon this blaze of flower
With a Loon trilling her flute of bones
To the stars salted across the night
And voices bump from shore to shore
Murmurs softened beyond repair
The cabins flickering to a second life
In a fuse of fire lit around our lake
A tradition. We stop the car a ways away
From my mom and dad’s cabin
And let out our kids on the shoulder of road
To run like deer the final half mile.
I can’t help but wonder, about the blunder, of building a one room log cabin,
Where man and wife, lived a private life, ‘til kids became real, not imagined
With no partitions, or new additions, you’d think their sex life would run ashore.
But they both knew, how to make it through, by inventing a thing called the chore.
As each kid did sprout, pa had to go out, and think up a new job for the tot.
He soon realized, that for his farm’s size, there were more tots then jobs to be got.
And the matriarch, made the remark, that inside we plum ran out of space.
So they tried to rid, their house of kids, as fast as were made in the first place.
At last the last lad, made a nice lass glad, got married and had a grand party,
But pa had ma’s hind, right on his mind; they arrived at the party, tardy.
Well all went ok, until the sad day, when the old man’s life ran out of time.
And then poor ma, lost her chutzpah, plus the cabin exceeded its prime.
So ma did call, her last son Paul, asked if he knew what she should do then,
He said oh dear, I just moved here, and that we don’t even have a den.
But son relents, and acts the gent, there is space in one nook of our room.
If you feed cows, and all the sows, cause heck ma, I’ve got a new bride groom.
Written 1/22/13
In the shadowed maw of the forest deep,
Where whispers of the night do creep,
There lies a tale, a chilling draft,
That sends shivers down the spine, so deft.
A cabin old, with windows like eyes,
Staring into the abyss of skies,
Stood silent, save for the wind's soft moan,
In a clearing where no bird had flown.
The walls, once warm with family cheer,
Now echo with an unseen fear,
For in this place, where laughter ceased,
A darker presence was increased.
A traveler, weary from the road,
Seeking shelter from the night's cold brood,
Pushed through the door, creaking, worn,
Unaware of the terror he would spawn.
The hearth was cold, the air was thick,
A sense of dread, so sly and sick,
He felt the past, the tales untold,
Of souls that vanished in the cold.
As dusk turned to a starless night,
The traveler felt an eerie blight,
A whisper soft, a breath, a sigh,
A voice that seemed to crawl and cry.
"Leave this place," it hissed and wept,
"For in these walls, we hungrily kept,
The essence of the lost, the dead,
Feast upon your fear, your dread."
The traveler, his heart a frantic beat,
Felt the chill of phantom feet,
A spectral dance, a ghostly throng,
Circling him as if to prove him wrong.
He sought to flee, to break the spell,
But found the door would not compel,
Trapped within the cabin's grip,
His sanity began to slip.
The air grew heavy, thick as soup,
As shadows took the form of group,
Of tormented souls, with eyes aglow,
Reaching out from below.
The traveler, in despair, did shout,
"What do you want, these haunts about?"
A voice then spoke, a raspy sound,
"To join our dance, forever bound."
The floorboards creaked, and the walls did bend,
As if the very house would end,
The traveler, with a final prayer,
Felt the grasp of icy air.
His scream was lost, absorbed by night,
As he was pulled from mortal sight,
Another soul to join the throng,
In the cabin's horror, where he's drawn.
Now heed this tale, ye who roam,
Avoid the cabin, its dreadful home,
For in the forest, dark and wild,
Lieth a terror, most unsanctified.
And so, the story ends, but not its tune,
For under the haunted, silent moon,
The cabin waits for one more soul,
To complete its ghastly, grim role.
Each crescent moon rewinds time’s notes
and sweeps me back to our blessed haven
where long has stayed my peaked presence.
I would love to be back in our cozy cabin
where we grew magical feelings of happy.
All of our shared yesterday seconds
were love expressed while money distressed
and both such ways were my life’s best days.
We could barely afford a potty when on our
first anniversary you wrapped a Scottie puppy
inside an old jalopy that was red bow capped.
A car some might call shoddy mapped our
love in endless feelings of freedom's happy.
Tonight’s moon knows our fiftieth anniversary
soon comes, it poses then my life will be done
and with Scottie, you will greet me in our old jalopy.
I have long prayed to regain our embracing love
within Heaven's divine feelings of happy.
The year was 1680 and I was travelling,
I sat in the carriage looking out the window;
The coachman was driving the horses quickly,
As a storm was approaching us from behind.
Thunder was booming and rolled over the forest,
Already raindrops were falling on the glass;
The sky was overcast with dark shifting clouds,
And everything was getting dull and gloomy.
This road was so deserted and remote from civilization,
I must admit that I was afraid.
Suddenly the carriage lurched and was falling over,
It bounced through the foliage, twisting and turning;
And then it stopped and all was quiet and still,
The coachman was dead and the horses also.
Struggling, I managed to climb back up to the road,
My corseted body, full overskirt of pink satin;
And parchment petticoat unsuitable for climbing,
The bun on my head loosened and my hair fell.
Oh dear, it was so dark and misty on the road ahead.
But I started to walk in the inkiness.
The forest around me was pitch black and frightening,
But there, through the trees a light was burning;
The rain was coming down in torrents that blinded me,
As I stumbled forward through the tangled trees.
A wood cabin was hidden in green lush vegetation,
It looked so secluded and isolated and lonely;
But I found myself banging on the door loudly,
As sheets of rain poured on me from up above.
And then the door slowly opened and light spilled out,
And I stood there dripping wet, and . . . .
________________________
August 22, 2015
Poetry/Narrative/Cabin in the Forest
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-939-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
My cabin is pretty in the early morning
When the dew lights up on the grass and leaves
And when the sun shines high in the great blue sky
I can see the crops rippling in the gentle breeze
All the things I planted with a plow and hoe
Wheat, corn, and alfalfa, you can watch ‘em grow
That’s all real nice, but my favorite time of all
Is when the harvest comes in and the orange leaves fall
From the majestic oak in my big front yard
And I can sit on the porch after working good ‘n hard
Watch a burning red sunset mixed with pearly streaks of gray
Knowing I’ve done a swell job, I’ve put in a full day
Then when the pale lamplight fades to quiet of night
Think I’ll lie on the lawn and watch the stars wink away
Until the harvest moon shines on the close shorn fields
Just might stay until the dawn beams bright
‘Cause my cabin is pretty in the early morning
When the dew lights up on the grass and leaves…
[Written on the 3d of August]
An Abandoned Pioneer Cabin
By Elton Camp
There it is, way off to the right side
A home where a family did reside
I mightn’t have seen as I drove by
Except a chimney still stood high
I wonder who, with labor and care
Took the time to construct it there
The best stones were set aside
All found on the mountainside
People could only use what was free
Chimney from rocks, logs from tree
Although he was not very skilled
Each man his own house did build
Only a single room it once had been
Sheltering a young couple within
But as the nascent family grew
They added rooms, one, then two
There was no mortgage to pay
Such wasn’t the pioneer way
Luxuries they never knew
Nor any “Joneses” to outdo
It was much the same everywhere
People lived simply, free from care
There wasn’t any reason to feel bad
You don’t miss what you never had
There it was still possible to tell
Where the family had dug a well
A pile of ruins did betray
Place where the privy lay
The family’s barn collapsed long ago
Scattered, rotted logs its location show
The cabin has been empty many years
Never again to see either joy or tears
And when more time has passed
There will be no trace of it at last
When the chimney crumbles away
To eras of time the place falls prey
To me it really seems a shame, though
A family lived there but none will know
Thus, each time that I pass by
That place I notice with a sigh
Take me back to the cabin, cabin in my mind
The place we go to be alone, I need cabin time.
Only we can make it happen, we know where to go
Take me back, oh take me back, I need you so
The look you give me when it is cabin time
A wink that says 'I want you' in the cabin in my mind
Just the thought of your skin barely touching mine
Makes me want you so much, I need cabin time
Summers we go swimming, moonlight on skin.
Campfire flames passion again and again
Making love on beach makes our bodies glow
Take me back, oh take me back, I need you so
Winters we stay inside our rhythm making heat
We love by the fireplace never missing a beat
Our bodies keep us warm all through the night
Only cabin time makes everything feel right
Take me back to the cabin, cabin in my mind
The place we go to be alone, I need cabin time
Only we can make it happen, we know where to go
Take me back, oh take me back, I need you so
Revised from Cabin Time posted 1-15-2016
Simple Pleasures Contest by Kim Merryman
Sixth Place
Your flannel shirt hung on the back of the chair
Your boots sit on the floor
I walk to the window,breathe in the air
How could I ask for more?
The sun is rising on the mountains below
The whipper wills they sing
The little cabin was built with love among the pines and streams.
I feel your arms around me
my robe falls to the floor.
This little cabin in the woods...
Awwww who could ask for more ??
Fifty years together,our love has never changed.
Our little cabin in the woods
where we heard our children sing.
They're all grown up and moved away,
to their places right down the road.
Their own little cabin in the woods
Where they'll watch their children grown.
A cabin built on the edge of the wood,
Standing alone next to a listless rill.
Near ear shot where the great white oak once stood,
Atop a hammock, some say is a hill.
Standing supreme on a warm summer's eve,
Strong gainst' storms and nature's retribution.
Time the bearer of either ruin or reprieve,
Reckoning day, the final solution.
This cabin is made of timbers of wood;
Humble reminders of man at his best.
On top the meadow where flowers once stood,
Away from the towns, humanity's nest.
A river that was once and is no more;
A bank to the stream as the coast to the shore.
You can catch a fish at the lake I know
Or an aromatic breeze from the pines
Or chop wood if you must
Maybe you’d rather bask in the sunshine
Relax in the shade for a while then
With a cool glass of lemonade
Listen to the loons on the water
Squelching their serenade
Try your luck with a pole on the dock at dusk
Hold tight—a big one out there
Reminisce at night over coffee by the fire
Telltales of the fish you spared
Snuggle in at night and take a deep breath
The air is always fresh at the lake
And hopefully by tomorrow morn
You’ll be greeted by a sun-filled daybreak
Can't go out
Weather won't permit
Too cold, too wet, too slippy
Dressed up warm
I clean and cook
And wash and iron and polish
Listen to the radio
Despair at the news
Hum to the music
Escape from the world
Enter boredom
Slowly at first
Then snaking into the psyche
Banging with frustration
Screaming at the world
I wan't to explode
The whoosh of the wild winter wind
wrapped me within swift swishing swirls
whipping me on till there it stood,
a lonely cabin in the wood.
The shrill shriek of the screech owl split
the whoosh of the wild winter wind
and he swooped about the cabin,
stalking his prey with clever wit.
The cabin’s shutters banged about,
no shelter from the whistle or
the whoosh of the wild winter wind,
and whined of the coming whiteout.
The burbling creek where graupels splat
babbled past the lonely cabin
as the birch creaked their welcome at
the whoosh of the wild winter wind.
A cabin by the lake would be a dream come true.
Large picture windows would bring nature into view.
I will sit outside on a porch that wraps around,
Surrounded by a serene mountain lake, playground.
Skylights will allow me to see God’s creations.
I’ll enjoy wondrous tranquil accommodations.
Imagine deer grazing peacefully in the yard.
My pristine lake is stunning beauty that’s unmarred.
My log cabin is built with resilient white oak.
Each day I’ll commune with all the animal folk.
I’ll thank Jehovah for the blessings he gives me.
Soon this dream of mine will be a reality.
as i look out Buck's cabin door,
i see new and old huddled
together on the ground,
pinecones thrown all around,
a young bird being hugged by
an old world, full of embrace;
it hardly makes sense to my slow ear
and yet, i know it is full of God's grace;
i must be seeing thru Buck's eyes now
and i wish not to go down the hill;
for, i'd rather stay focused on the
heavenly things, new and old,
that
landed
together
on the ground.
5/10/2014