Best Country House Poems
CEZANNE STUDY – The House of the Hanged Man
Late Autumn
Buried in a hill,
Steep as descent from humanity,
A country house stands.
It’s late autumn,
Deep, sick autumn –
Deep as the plunging cellar door,
And fronting, its branches stripped, begging skyward,
This raped tree
Which no longer hides the window –
The window, like a large, trumpeting mouth.
*No E flat clarinet here,
*No Eulenspiegel, opaque humor.
No – The whole, a ground interment,
Is color of rotting flesh,
This God-awful house!
*Til Eulenspiegel was a German buffoon who delighted in playing
nasty tricks on the nobility. He was hanged.
*The E flat clarinet is high pitched, capable of sounding the pitiful
cries of Til as he mounts the scaffold
To my Moonbeam leaping stag,
box of miscellaneous keys two
little shelves your favorite chicken
salad with pot of Lady Grey tea.
Royal jelly honey-based receipe
all natural retorative toiletries.
Splendid Summer afternoon
strolling and chatting in the deep
wicker chair at the old country house.
this noisy head i live in
it just never quiets down
theres some motherf#@ker screaming at two am
about some unpaid bills or parking tickets
and some other idiot going on and on about some girl that left
somebody is allways throwing trash out in the common area
little bits of some ancient relationship
small parts of some old mystery
just want to tell em all ''will you all please shut up"
stop that godawful freakin racket
some fool on the roof shouting poetry just when your drifting off to sleep
another idiot in the basement throwing monkey wrenches in the works
always somebody causing some kind of ruckus
just want to scream
"can we PLEASE get some peace and quiet for five minuets"
this crazy head i live in
i want to move
to some nice quiet country house
where you never hear a sound
peaceful with birds chirping
where i can get some rest
not this confounded noisy head i live in
not this apartment building of lunatics i call a mind
Old country house rich colored rugs hot wind
Gallopping hair whipped wildly at his cheeks
Solid double doors top of stairway top coat
Mantlepiece photographs in ornate frames
Small white dog head between its paws
China tea perfect lawn afternoon ceremony
Bowler hat spirited distinguished manner
Smile of welcome, something in his eyes
She trusted his good manners + hospitality
Embraced the shadowy play of candlelight
Scent of peppermint musk vanilla surprise!
My Grandmother's House!
That country-styled house of yesteryear has gone so fast now a sweet memory of times gone away from me, You could smell the breeze pushing and blowing a fragrance in the air. This story is told where memory has been and will be again to unfold!
The lace curtains white and brown twirled with a sash
In the wooden country house of old oh and that wooden firewood stove. Yes! Still, remember the delicious smell flowing in the air
A burning memory of mine, so old! and rare!
Its a memory of a time gone by and the taste of
Grandmother's juicy Blueberry pie and her SweetP Potato pies
I was there! Waiting!!
Step by step in and out of the house pacing back and forth!
Walking by the wood stove waiting
As I wanted a taste of that blueberry pie! Smelling this tantalizing scent the potato pie glazed my eyes too and moist my tongue I had to wait so my mind was made up because the eyes knew and saw
which I would taste first but at that time I was looking and staring at the empty plate also the wind seems to blow this fragrance out the window a drift
down the road down the street across the path back inside again! However when I looked toward the barn, the cows mooed and the trees gave a breeze blowing sweetly it felt like the joy of pure delight and me, and my mouth held on tight to the scent felt like it had crossed the sea then back to me , it was there everywhere Just thinking as am walking down the street thinking about Oh yes my grandmother, the wood stove of old burned like no other high cooking fire in grandmother's house! I was there!
Excuse me Miz this is
McDonald, may I take your order Please? Yes! just
thinking!
I used to mark the days by what
I’d scheduled to do,
Like Fridays with the grandkids
For our weekly rendezvous.
On Thursdays there was quilting
And on Wednesdays, never fear,
I’d be at the museum where
I am a volunteer.
On Tuesdays I’d play mah jongg
Once a month, or else I’d go
With my husband to a movie
Or museum for a show.
On Mondays, with some friends, I’d meet
To walk and have a meal
In places in the city that
We’d heard had some appeal.
The weekends often took me
With my daughter and my spouse
Out to rural Pennsylvania
Where we own a country house.
Yet now the days meld into one –
No differentiation –
With all of my activities
On permanent vacation.
It’s meaningless to call each day,
Like Sunday, by its name
At least to me, for in my life,
They’re sadly, all the same.
Obscure old country house falling apart,
Old empty windows with glass shattered,
Decaying roof surrounding old brick chimney.
Group of old apple trees and old well outside.
Beautiful sunset lights up the house,
Entering through the windows inside,
Light falls down on the wooden chair,
It stands right where an old man left it.
He died sitting by a table,
A half empty glass of spirits in his hands.
An old lonely man, neighbour found him two days later.
Picture of the women was hanging on the ceiling,
Right above his head, face with a tired smile,
Deep brown eyes and simple haircut,
She left this house five years earlier,
Left this house in a simple wooden coffin.
She left an old sick person behind,
Person who couldn’t bear to be left alone
He fell prey to the glass,
Alone, no friends no relatives.
He found his peace in the crystal glass of vodka.
Everyday hoping to dye, but only ending up drunk.
Until one day it came, it came in his sleep,
In a drunken dream, a dream of the old apple trees,
Old well and beautiful girl smiling to him.
And then he left, left this house behind,
Buried by people he didn’t knew,
But he was happy,
he stood among the apple trees
Right next to a beautiful girl,
holding hands, feeling loved.
I hope you sing
I hope you dance
To country, house
or maybe trance.
I hope you laugh
I hope you love
I hope you have
Faith from above.
The more enjoyed
the more devine
Sit back relax
Drink some wine.
Search your heart
Scan your soul
Listen to where
your life should go.
Dont think to heavy
Your guts knows best
If your in a dilemma
give it a rest.
Be true to yourself
look in a mirror
What you see
is always a winner.
Gypsy people
live by their terms
They roam the land
may not return.
Birthdays are a time to celebrate
The life God gave you
Be brave, be great.
Any dramas in your world
Should be laid at rest.
Take this day made for you
Do what you thinks best.
Summer 1932,
On a small country house in England
On a morning stroll through unharvest golden field
to explore, I can't help, but think that they're
dreams now, missing friends and friendship it yields.
It's up and down memorable times we shared.
A dream it sure is!
Here or there, I should find a space
to plant my cane,
its brunch time for tea and crumpets
when I really have a way to go.
A monument of sorts to what I have here.
All I can think now is the blazing sun over me.
It's the best place in the world
on a small patch of clearing I sit
and eat crumpets with a cup of tea
amongst the standing field of caramel wheat.
9/22/2017
I met my husband Walter through our minister,
We got along exceptionally well as friends.
He had arrived from Germany and I happened to speak German,
Used to do lots of activities together, i was a school teacher.
I invited him to live with me in my bachelor apartment,
Moved to a one-bedroom apartment, there was more space.
He proposed to me at a staff meeting, I accepted,
We decided to buy a beautiful house in the country.
We had a Christmas house wedding,our parents hosted the wedding,
I wore a beautiful Lorne Park dress with autumn colors and gold threads.
When we moved to our country house, our beautiful handsome sons Kirk and Erik were born,
My husband brought us home from the hospital each time.
The children went to school in the community of Bolton,
They graduated and went onto secondary school.
Our sons went onto university and graduated,
Kirk and Jenn had a l lovely wedding in Muskoka.
Erik and Lisette married in Costa Rica,
Kirk and Jennifer have two beautiful children now, Merrick and Maya.
Tom my brother married his pretty wife Gail,
They have two beautiful children Patrick and Frieda.
Antje and Michael married and have two beautiful children,Esme and Evan,
Where do the years go, I remember the happy years.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
Childhood days are only stories to my children they are told
I found myself traveling down the old country road.
Up and down hills around the bend there it stood.
Old country house empty and bare near the woods.
Held in my hands was the skeleton key.
Childhood days came to life as far as I could see.
A water pump then there was the cold stream.
In my mind I can hear laughter and childhood screams.
There was the barn where we worked and played.
Fond memories of our animals and how we played in the hay.
There it stood the oak tree, what memories it brings.
Lots of laughter and fights over that tire swing.
Faded paint showed years of time upon the house, the porch still had our rocking
chair.
It was the place we gathered around to complain how life was unfair.
On the corner of the porch the soft wind blows the old wind chimes.
The sound brings a rush of feelings of all the golden times.
Kitchen window was half open, fresh baked goods were always in the window
seal.
Homemade meals tasted so good back then it was everyday no big deal.
Stepped into the house I didn’t find it empty and bare.
I felt all the given warmth and love still there.
On the wall in the hallway is the old coat rack.
Thoughts of family creates emotions came rushing back.
Over there is the stairway, where I had my first kiss.
Amazing the family, friends and childhood days that are deeply missed.
It was here my first steps and my first heartbreak of tears.
This is the place of mixture of laughter and tears of childhood years.
To you it may be just an old house; this place has my heart and soul.
I will always call it my home; it will never be forgotten, as I grow old.
Form:
WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
Where are you going? You ask the politician.
The politician answers:
-To cheat and steal.
-Where are you going? a sinful woman asks the priest.
The priest answers:
-You haven't given me the meat yet
And you already want absolution?
-Where are you going? the boy or girl asks the instructor.
The instructor answers:
To the clergyman and the trout
Your divine little ass searches.
-Where are you going? the wife asks the husband who is a nurse.
-To buy tobacco
And raise the skirt of the Whore
From the Country House
And give her the Covid injection.
-Where are you going, Patron? the worker asks the boss.
The Patron, potbellied and sick, replies:
-To see how the girls work.
The worker followed the boss with his eyes
Seeing how to a working girl
He was riding on his horn.
Soon after, she yelled:
-Oh God, let my master run.
The worker, thus seeing his master
He told to a coworker
That worked right next to him:
-Little brunette of my eyes
Just looking at you
You burn and burn me
Taking out of her fly a kind of black pudding
Showing it to the girl
Telling her:
-If you want, put it to roast in your warm breast.
She replied:
-She is good in good faith.
But put it in your mother ing.
Julian and Joan were married, just as glitter is joined to crystal sun.
Julian was a famous violinist, like redbirds making music, in season.
Joan had a variety of elegant shoes. Of them, she was rightly proud.
Like seagulls of lakes and sky, whom liberty makes scream out loud!
The Halls were very busy people, like smoky shadows, ever moving;
And mornings were most hectic, like windblown petals, disapproving.
Flowering ferns graced their country house, when old friends came;
For a face-to-face is much finer, than wondering what love became.
Farmers went to frolicsome fairs, when firecracker family popped in;
Like fad future in a fascinator, carrying memories of way back when.
The Halls lived in the house of colors, like the kaleidoscope, spinning.
Days were entranced by hues and beauty, like a rainbow reminiscing.
Sabotaged shasta daisies bowed, while gilded, silver raindrops jingled,
On the street of jade, turning seasons, of red Mars and stars, mingled.
Neighbors noted navy blue skies, when a nuanced sun, sank in rubies;
While they'd enjoy a nightly snack, or watch the never-ending movie.
'Skeleton glass warriors' guarded the greenhouse, of a fragrant June;
As 'Biltmore's ballgown' plants were admired, beneath the new moon.
'Turquoise green cockscomb' plants strutted, in nature's pretty vanity;
And 'rainbow pampas grass' showed after storm, delighting humanity!
One particolored, exceptionally hectic sunrise, the Halls were in a tizzy.
Joan had lost a favorite shoe, and Julian's bow was missing. Such a pity!
They couldn't find the items! Julian left for rehearsals, very frustrated.
Joan left for her boutique. Yet, gold sun'd soon return, when motivated.
After they both had gone, the first butterscotch rays, indeed, appeared;
And their talking rooster had much to say, like hues, after mist cleared!
'Cock a doodle doo!
My dame has lost her shoe,
My master lost his fiddling stick;
And doesn't know what to do
And doesn't know what to do.'
My son was raised a city boy
But starting at age five,
We also had a country house;
In both, he seemed to thrive.
Yet he grew up and made his home
In neither one; instead,
A suburb of New York is where
His family goes to bed.
So it’s a thrill to spend some time
With grandkids in each place
Their father spent his childhood,
Hoping that they will embrace
A little bit of what, perhaps,
Helped shape what made their dad.
I’m glad this opportunity
Is one that I have had.
In 1967, Magog was no thriving town. Dad had lost his job due to the company’s closure so he accepted a transfer to Sudbury and our destiny took a turn.
I was nine and my family’s move affected me in so many ways. I was torn from my beloved grand-mother, my extended family, my little friends and a school where I excelled. We even had to leave behind our piano. They were now all five hundred miles away.
Had we not moved, cousins would have invited me to many parties and weddings over the years. I would have participated in the daily lives of aunts and uncles. I would have had more role models. I would have had my choice of shoulders to cry on and sounding boards for life’s decisions. I’m sure that I would have married young, become a teacher and been blessed with many children.
But from the perspective of my parents, moving was both scary and exciting.
Scary? Mom was only twenty-nine, with six young kids aged two to nine. My parents gave up the close-knit circle of family and friends to move to a tiny country house in dire need of fixing up. They would have to rough it out with less than the bare essentials, not even running water!
Exciting? Yes, finally be free of a meddlesome overprotective mother-in-law, free from social obligations, commitments and rules. No longer having to keep up with the Jones, but about to live the Swiss family Robinson experience on their own terms. Overwhelmed no doubt with a new sense of adventure and freedom, but here was their opportunity to be creative, tackle challenges, build from the ground up, live off the land as best they could. They were truly masters of their own destiny.
. flying solo
. no safety net
. doing it our way
AP: 1st place 2025, 3rd place 2021
Posted on August 20, 2021