The farm I loved, my ancient homeplace
A families love, God given grace
Though poor then, now those memories embrace
I learned to be somewhat independent, life embrace
So much to explore on that old homeplace
So lucky to be covered and blessed by God's grace
The whole family worked hard, filled with grace
There was plenty of food, nature I did embrace
That farm will always for me be my homeplace
Homeplace,
Grace
Embrace
Carolina home
In the great Palmetto State
Place where I was born
Boy was free to roam
On a ninety-acre farm
Free from fear and harm
In dirt, sand or mud
We sandlappers had it all
To work, play, or brawl
Turning the dark dirt
Putting the hounds on the trail
Tussling with cousins
Having dirt clog fights
Making toys out of pine bark
Plowing fertile fields
Running through the pines
Wading through the boggy swamp
Swinging from a vine
Down in muddy swamp
Turtle is called a “cooter”
Anglicized slave word
So my cousin says
Parents were missionaries
Belgian Congo
Many days have gone
Much water under the bridge
Since I left that home
Days of yesteryear
Now, home is where I reside
But memories last
The old, columned front porch is sagging
Sad shutters hang on the bias abandoned,
Broken panes neglected as weather crept in
Still their silent voices call out with warmest hospitality.
[Lind30WCU, 7,7,7,9]
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written January 26, 2022
especially for "Lind30WCU Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
Lovely sight I behold,
fall delight sheathed in gold.
Childhood swing, chosen tree.
Deep-wood path beckons me.
Rough wood fence . . . all of these,
stuff of sweet memories.
Picture 2
August 17, 2021
entered in the In Essence 2 Poetry Contest Placed 1st
Sponsor: Joseph May
August 28, 2021
Contest Title: Bite Size Poem No. 19 Placed 2nd
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
August 30, 2021
entered in "Your Favorite August 2021 Poem" Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
I sift this charred and barren earth
for one small piece
of yesterday
Though all has melted like winter ice
before a fierce and ruthless fire.
The mansion house,
its lattice green
and columns white,
shutters and vanes
are gone.
The sounds of moving, living
sharing and giving
are silent.
And no more the folks
who walked these paths
and made this hallowed ground.
Revised January 9, 2021
For Good Old Days Contest
~~~
My old homeplace was left to deteriorate
A shambles of disarray showing it’s elderly state
Porch and door gray and weary from the years
Of wind and storm flailing their bitter beams
Ferns grow haphazardly along the garden edge
Whispers of disrepair shadowing the staircase
Making everything appear dismal and worn
Humbled house that was once my lovely home
Vines cling to the roof and I see a rosette smiling
Softly forming the illusion of charm along the gray
Dingy boards that were once painted with a joy
That filled up the site with pretty pictures of hope
Melancholy broods as I peep through a window
Losing my composure amid the apathy of chaos
That was once my dream come true, my heart
Singing songs of inspiration that has changed to
Verses of disorder and dismay due to the decay
Of this once happy place where I was raised
~~~
Decaying House Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
July 14, 2020
It’s now just an old run down structure
With broken window panes and all
With hinges rusting away with time
And cold air rushing down the hall
But once it housed our family
And kept us together back then
With the fireplace blazing with all its might
To equalize that howling wind
And there was mama in the kitchen
And the aroma still lingers on
Of bread and rice and sugar syrup
That was blessed in our home
And to that old wood cooking stove
A salute for those loving times
With all us gathered round for warmth
With meal prayers that were so sublime
Yep, that was way back yonder
But you know I still visit it some days
Inside my head and smile a lot
With us children hard at play
You know to us money was nothing
We grew what we ate back then
And hand me down clothes with patches
We could of been old Huck Finn
I still remember and chuckle some days
When an old wooden structure I see
Cause once or twice or maybe more
Inside there is where we would be
It’s now just an old run down structure
With broken window panes and all
With hinges rusting away with time
And cold air rushing down the hall
Apricot sunrise that changes
Fast turning to gold
Whispy angels' wings dot a blue sky
Fog shawls the forest bold
Coyotes yap yap in the woods
One lone lookout crow caws
As the roosters crow the sun up
The sun wakes diamonds' awe
A glistening dew caresses all;
Lingers; kisses leaf and grass
Pecan's silhouette dark design
Crows caw increase with sass
What a blessed morning 'pon the porch
A helicopter whirrs
Off at a distance, the sound of blades
Close by birds voices stir
Doves coo, crickets sound, birds chirp songs
As stillness encases
Not a breeze moves a leaf or twig
Down at the old homeplace
Here further down the hillside slope
Down close to the creek with hope
My husband bought a house, land
Fenced in and made many plans
Subdued the land to cow pasture
And planted a garden, fruit trees sure
Fathered another child to call him sir
The creek seemed to like the stir
Enjoyed the children for a little while___
Loved them so that it made her smile
Today she loves grandchildren the same
No girls there are in frills ___tame
The creek keeps on flowing to the sea
The land is mostly stripped of trees
(This is my adaptation of Robert Frost's poem "The Birthplace". I hope that it does not insult
his work.)
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