Farmhouse Poems - Poems about Farmhouse

The farmhouse sits at the end of the gravel driveway The red curtains wave in the open window, Moving perfectly with the late spring breeze The trees surround the home like a backsplash A forest of light and dark greens A small rabbit hops by the front door, Curious of what is going on inside The large white wrap around porch, Covered...

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[An Autumn kitchen a crucible of y e a s t and y e a r n i n g] Samantha kneads dough with determined hands, she hears Hank's cry—"Vi vi an"—a phantom yeast in the air Her world f e r m e n t...

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What scene would I want to find comfort in more than this one, an ordinary morning in the farmhouse kitchen, blue checked curtains swaying, wooden shelves with plates and jars, the radio softly playing, a paring knife in my hand? It gives me time to think about all that is waking outside-- birds calling from the trees, dew glistening on the garden's leaves, while beyond the...

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In the outskirts, where whispers weave through the wind, there stands a farmhouse, its timbers groaning with secrets, a silhouette etched against the horizon’s fading light. Once, it was alive, pulsing with the beat of day-to-day, but now, it’s shrouded in a cloak of solitude, walls lined with the echoes of laughter long gone, rooms filled with the heavy air of...

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If I get to be a man of great means, I’d buy a fine farmhouse in Philippines, That has naturally flowing water, And would let it to my soul’s sole daughter. The rent I might ask for would just be this: That she lets me spend there some time of bliss, Amidst those fresh blossoms...

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The Farmhouse One evening before the sun was set A memory came and stayed a while Of a chalk white, sun bright path, Untrod,...

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Extinguished Names David J Walker The old farmhouse looks older What else can it do Burdened by weather Threatened with fire Memories have long ago escaped the Walls painted in tears Windows with laughter Doors that clatter in an afternoon wind When we left we left A piece of us In scenes behind drawn curtains Someday Lightening will strike in an Act of vengeance...

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The Relevance of Last Winter David J Walker The acrid odor of a Butane fueled space heater Seemed better than freezing In the sub-frigid air of a February prairie ...

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I see an old house alone on the plains, abandoned a century or more, wood siding faded to a chalky gray, with rotting planks nailed right across the door. Boards on all the windows, except for one, and not a shard of glass left to be seen, the door frames are hanging, bleached by the sun, a hole punches right through the...

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Scream out mom or mommy if you prefer Dad or daddy is already longer than gone Dragged between the walls by the creature A hideous mechanical many armed thing Breathing acid through razor sharp teeth The slimy cold tongue licks the floors Sensing out humans because it wants more Mom or mommy can't help you now She screams your name one last...

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A country weekend I felt, would be just great and so I rented a house in the country where, I could be alone in the quiet and just be creative. Sleep eluded me that first night; I didn’t recall so much noise in the country. I knew the night time creature calls but, then I heard footsteps; someone was...

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Most often, I would affectionately ponder and recall how magical times were in our farmhouse— daisies, herbs, and even pebbles glossed by the amber of sunlight, while Grandma would ramble about compassion or patience in times when difficulties seemed to overwhelm my very instinct ; her fingers curling through...

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I have a small farmhouse so far away from the main land. There is a road crossing by Clouds are barking in the dark sky It seems rain can come at any time. I have completed my harvesting I have gathered my grains into a pile One small field there is none but me Trees on the...

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THE FARM HOUSE. Part1. She sits. Her feet bare. The porch..paint blisters. So much can be done But to erase what once Was; NEVER. God. Hold back the tears! Remember; shadows are All that's left. A piano in the great room. Dust on strings. He never did learn To play that damn thing She mutters to herself. Her lips whistle; The promised tune. She is tired. Sleep is a fancy...

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Mist evolves down the hillside into the vale Where the farmhouses sit all put together There’s no sense of wind here, there’s no bit of gale Just one leery breeze that blends with the other The houses confine themselves within the shade And warmth flows there inside the chimneys conveyed Where some sides of the buildings glisten in light Sparkles with...

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