Best Yard Poems
Gary's Yard Sale, the story
Authored by Chuck Keys
Among the rustbelt cities of yesterday,
Along the edges of the Detroit River,
A short distance to the side,
Resides a slice of Victorian times,
Excesses exceeded needed,
Where age confronts time,
The day before meets the day of,
And greets tomorrow.
Those in the hood
And outside,
Meet and greet among
The scraps of forgotten memories.
Lawns filled with bygones of size,
Tables filled with important somethings,
Maybe everythings,
For important that evolved into history.
Where memories become linked,
Each to a stored thought,
Treasured, pleasured or disdained,
To a person,
Of late or present,
To a future of who knows what.
During the day,
The history-of and the future-of talk,
To each,
Of where they were,
And where they hope to be,
The dust is blown off with the wind,
From the east, west, north and south.
The yard sale, the graveyard of the past,
The arena of the present,
Life and death of the sale,
Dance together, coupled,
Where Mine, becomes Yours' while
Gary the Conductor, orchestrates to perfection,
The operatic enjoyment of history,
Buyer meets seller, exchanges
Are made. As is today.
Bravo! Bravo!
*This poem is dedicated to Gary and Ann Harris of Northville MI USA – May they and
their Yard Sales age forever!
© Charles H Keys, 2010. All Rights Reserved. V1.4.09252010
Yard Sales are the
Macy’s of Saturday shopping,
On a budget that fits in my coin purse.
written for contest
07/27/2019
in my yard stands a tree
lone like a hermit, regal like a monarch
its roots dug deep
its branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
sometimes its leaves rustle
overall it is silent and still
still....................
like waters without ripples
it stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
indeed a tryst with destiny!
under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
it remained uncomplaining
below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle pricks
it stayed nonchalant
when the wind swept across
bending its branches in all directions
it stood on firm feet unwavering
it tells a tale of struggle and survival
it had stood there before I was born
now it displays every scar and every stripe
on its knotted bark as a proud trophy
sometimes I feel its pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
yet it holds an umbrella over all
who come to it in sun and rain
Placed First
A Brian Strand 1098 Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Brian strand
From here to wherever, I'll follow a yard sale sign,
it's a past time endeavor, for my collective state of mind,
I may buy some furniture, or a trinket for a dime,
yard saling is a pleasure, yes, a personal hobby of mine,
Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
and it gives me great joy, to see a yard sale sign,
from here to wherever, cloudy days or sunshine,
I'm searching for that treasure, ain't no telling what I'll find,
I may find brand new things, boots, shoes, or clothes the right size,
silver and gold chains or rings, or an antique will catch my eyes,
I could find my brother a nice bass lure, or a spool of fishing line,
or maybe a nice piece of furniture, or something for a friend of mine,
Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
and it gives me great joy, to see a yard sale sign,
It's a past time endeavor, for my collective state of mind,
Yard saling is a pleasure, ain't no telling what I"ll find,
Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, I just spotted a yard sale sign,
searching is a pleasure, ain't no telling what I'll find,
I may find an old bass lure, or a spool of fishing line,
now one thing is for sure, I just found my cat a ball of twine,
and look here, I found my ol' dog a bone to grind,
Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
I may find an old bass lure, or a spool of fishing line,
from here to wherever, cloudy days or sunshine,
I'm a yard sale cowboy, on the trail of search and find,
Yea, I'm a yard sale cowboy, ain't no telling what I'll find,
Hey Bud, how much for that there what-cha-ma-call-it?
Naw Naw, Naw, that there thing-a-ma-jig, there next to that do-ma-flitchie,
Yea, Yea, that thinga-ma-jig right there.....ya say three dollars..um-m-m..OK...
I'll take it...here ya go.....and how much for that do-daddy over there?
Yea, yea, right next to those 2 onion skin tires...Uh Huh..yea..well I'll be..
Well yea..I'll take it too...it's something I just can't live without...ha ha ha..
Shrunken sweaters, dusty ball caps
Tarnished silver, and hedge clippers
Pointed hat pins, gaudy jewelry
Faded jeans and worn out slippers
Greasy fry pan, wobbly table
Crates of dog-eared musty books
Tattered doilies, ragged Barbies
One brown old crock pot that still cooks
Rusty shovel, dented buckets
Ma's old apron, broken dishes
Dated calendar, crooked lampshade
Chipped glass bowl for all your fishes
Ugly painting, candle holders
One old bike for exercising
Broken TV, toaster oven
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"What's the point of shopping stores??!"
"Now...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH GOOD!" "She's bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
Another point about my purchase
Perhaps I can use it for another purpose
Oh No!!...he's found old tool collections!!
And points at them with great affection!!
The point I'm making is simply this
Another's person's trash or junk, may soon become your bliss!
This day is as peaceful to me, as the day has, been so long
As I listen to the birds singing just for me in their last song
Gone the summer’s greens, autumn’s leaves they descend
Critter’s out gathering their winter food, on it they depend
It is only times like this, to which I am at my most content
Memories which I hold within this Kirk yard only to me lent
So within the Kirk yard I get to see death’s glory at its best
As I read all the gravestone epitaphs, of those now, at rest
I can hear all the idle chatter; of those so unearthly ghosts
Saying to me you are welcome, as today we are your hosts
Peacefulness prevails here as only a kirk yard can ever give
As I enter another time frame, and to how folks used to live
Passed before my eyes, images of long ago to me displayed
That then disappear into the walls of the Kirk yard in a haze
Ghostly figures; stop to stare at me, in their own eerily way
Watching me, as I am dressed in clothes of the modern day
Silence, not one word spoken, fear this moment shall break
With every image captured within my own mind I doth take
A sun sets with a sad loneliness, laden under its own weight
With each gravestone whispering until I reach the iron gates
This kirk yard is now dampened with the coming of the night
Only it to flourish once more come tomorrow’s early sunlight
I, a soul so tired, and weary, as seen etched across my face
Passing beneath the gate lamp, it showers me with its grace
Won’t be long, before they as carry me through these gates
Where, I become a part of its wealth that just for me awaits
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
While watching the stars way up high,
my thoughts drift to another time,
sleeping beneath a clear summer sky,
four sisters all in childhood's prime.
My thoughts drift to another time,
another place where innocence was bred,
four sisters all in childhood's prime,
talking and giggling as we climbed into bed.
Another place where innocence was bred,
when the night was dark and the stars shown bright,
talking and giggling as we climbed into bed,
counting the shooting stars in the sky at night.
When the night was dark and the stars shown bright,
after a long and exhausting day at play,
counting the shooting stars in the sky at night,
all our cares just up and flew away.
After a long and exhausting day at play,
sleeping beneath a clear summer sky,
all our cares just up and flew away,
while watching the stars way up high.
I love pretty spring,
flowers it will bring,
now I want to sing.
Colors flowers wear,
in cool spring day air.
Pretty is my yard,
looking like a card,
fence will be a guard.
I really see,
a big yellow bee,
it's looking at me.
Look a butterfly,
flying real high,
is he saying hi?
The red ladybug,
I want a big hug.
I have a superhighway in my front yard.
It appeared in the night.
As if by magic.
Ants are traveling along it
Whistling a tune I think it is a Maroon 5 song
But I am not sure
Some say I should get rid of it.
I am fascinated by it a superhighways
Begun with one giant wad
Of pink gum.
Ant traveled
I walked to the backyard of my childhood home, and was surprised with a gorgeous garden. No cinder pile, no tire swing, no cottonwood trees, no tree house, no dirty lumber, and no shed. No proof we had ever been here.
A gloriously beautiful weeping almond tree held me spellbound, causing a myriad of emotions in me. This is what our backyard could have been, but never was. A man in overalls waved me over.
I explained who I was, and asked permission to look around. He did not recognize my name, So I tried the names of every neighbor I remembered, and I remembered them all. My child’s heart smiled as I remembered spying on them for hours from my tree house perch.
I remembered the huts we built, digging to China in the ditch, and so many other terrific adventures. I asked permission to walk around and he nodded his head, hospitality continued to be the norm here.
Was anything left of us? The warm sun loved me, as I walked, looking for any sign that we had ever lived in our family's homestead. Three generations of living here, and what had we left? At last, I discovered a solitary purple violet by our oak tree; it smiled, remembering me.
bare Crepe Myrtle tree
waiting for spring to blossom
basks in the sunset
Children's laughter during
recess, Jungle Gym, monkey bars,
kick ball, all happened long ago
on the old school yard.
Playing marbles for keeps
on our knees was a treat
i looked foward to each time
that old school bell would ring.
Those class mates of ages past,
wondering just now, as I hear
children laughing at a near by
school, where they are now,
did they move on, or are they
wondering about me the same way,
will never know.
Written 6-3-11
Though it gets lots of water,
our grass on clay dirt yellows;
stubborn thorny weeds reside. . . .
where might I buy turf?
For Francine Robert's Contest:
"Flowers, trees, grass, or bees"
After school I went straight to the church yard
to play soccer dreaming of being another Rossi or Beckham...
oh, every teenager has this dream when playing that game,
trying to get through defense and get that goal to excite the crowd!
And it happened quite often, getting many handshakes
from players of the opposite team admiring my technic,
but some in my team, couldn't hide their envy as they heard those shouts!
Thanks to their resentment, I became more determined, not weak!
After graduating from High School, our team broke up;
we all went different ways, never putting those memories aside,
memories of that school yard where the balmy breeze made one feel alive!
Very sad was our goodbye: hugging and crying, wishing one another good luck.
Barn Yard Dog
I am a Border Collie, recognized for my agility and speed,
I’m also a hard worker, one of the most intelligent breeds,
I’ve worked hard all my life, with eyes fixed on the group,
Not only at round up time, but while resting on the stoop.
My job “back in the barnyard” is to keep things under control,
As the farmers move their herds, to the market to be sold.
I was hired as a “working dog” food and shelter is my pay,
The benefits are a family, with who at days end I play.
I wouldn’t trade this lifestyle for anything in the world,
But I do wish I had a companion, preferably a girl!
Written By: Sarita A. Milliner © 3/10/16
Submitted for: Back To The Barnyard Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri