Long Door to door Poems
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I don’t think your happy
I don’t mind you so much
Do you lose your laughter often
And even my conscience softens
And I don’t need you so much
Days dreams across Okalahoma
Sweepstakes, hopes, to many wishes
Don’t you ever, mind your business
No Cinderella stories
Door to door and right before me
And this won’t last much longer
A west coast love, romances of a loner
And I don’t need you so much
I don’t think you’re happy
And I don’t mind you so much
Day dreams in Okalahoma
Tuesday lies
Wednesday, you never left me
A missing tide
The message your anger left me
And where were you
Reasons you left unto
No one ever leaves you darling
Someone left her nights in Harlem
And I can’t choose
Life or muse
Me or you
The things that I don’t do
"May, June, someday soon"
For eons, as a spirit on this earth
I’ve dwelt; I still recall the autumn‘s cold
when I was human on this new year’s birth,
that “hallowed eve” when spirits would grow bold!
Our homes were unlit and uninviting
lest spirits might possess our souls that night.
We’d gather round the fire priests were lighting
and whooped like ghouls to give the ghosts a fright!
Through time, I‘ve seen such changes, and a drought!
I followed my descendants to the shore
of this America. Here kids go out
on their new “Halloween” from door to door.
My kin had wrongly feared the likes of me.
This night is mostly about the candy!
By Andrea Dietrich
For Russell Sivey's
Halloween Fun Contest
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the spring,
the workers loaded up all their belongs;
and left for town and to their families,
soon the Mill was quiet with only mice.
The winter wind was now blowing snowflakes,
ice was forming on the roof and windows;
then, a soft scraping of the aged Mill door,
and a homeless group came in with the snow.
Whispers ran through the town from door to door,
that the Mill was haunted by ghost shadows;
trappers had seen movement around the Mill,
but when they would enter there was nothing.
No sound except scurrying of a mice . . .
or was it mice that ran away to hide?
When winter came to an end the group left.
Ice melts revealing secrets- the wheel creaks,
as workers return to the Mill in spring;
and they find signs that people have been there,
had lived there all that long freezing winter . . .
for on the wood floor lay a child's rag doll.
_________________
July 6, 2018
Poetry/Narrative/Ghosts At the Mill
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1038-717-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
The millwheel will not turn again till spring
for Winter’s icy cold grip holds it firm.
She squeezes it like Her private plaything,
though Her crushing power is but short-term.
As shorter days subtly lengthened; the sun
slowly began to liquefy the ice.
And the waterwheel shook, and almost spun,
while the miller posted his asking price.
Whispers ran through the town from door to door,
the ice is breaking up at the millpond.
And housewives could soon buy flour once more,
for each village, and its mill shared a bond.
The millwheel shimmies free from Winter’s grip,
shuddering as the water level peaks.
And as pressure increases drip by drip,
the pond ice melts, and the wooden wheel creaks.
(Quatrain)
6/26/2018
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring.
When winter’s ice stops up the water’s flow,
as small town folk expect, the Mill shuts down.
The Mill shuts down, yet people mill around.
Some weekend nights we'd see the miller’s son
and his young cronies heading down that road.
It happened quite often and we guessed why;
but knowing wouldn't throttle tittle-tat.
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
and farther still they traveled phone to phone.
From where we talked, such weekend visits spoke
of poker, gambling, maybe beer and girls.
Such gossip served to freeze up logic’s course.
Such gossip thawed the warmer days of March;
electric poles appear around the site.
Ice melts, revealing secrets - wheel creaks.
The secret is… they’ve modernized the mill
surprising us all who had run our tongues.
Its mighty wheel will creak now all year round,
all year round, just like the gossip mill.
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring;
the blast of Winter's cold cased it in ice.
Its mighty power adjourned by season's chill
and useless now, it rests until the thaw.
A blizzard piled the snow in massive drifts
that made for good, steep sledding near the Mill.
But children spotted something very weird...
some stains of red beneath the melted snow.
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
that blood was seen on snow beside the Mill,
and some reported howls of wolves at night
that echoed from the river where it stood.
Mid-March, as early Spring softened the ice,
the men arrived to start the Mill's old wheel.
The sluice was jammed with a small fishing boat!
Ice melts...revealing secrets the wheel creaks.
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place~
Contest: One, Nine, Sixteen v3.0
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
Judged: 07/24/2018
Required Lines To Use:
Line 1- 'The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring'
Line 9- 'Whispers ran through the town from door to door'
Line 16- 'Ice melts, revealing secrets the wheel creaks'
Daylight swerves around the road
Shouting from corner to corner
Morning comes alive
The traffic starts rolling
And people start flowing
I walk briskly up the road
And walk along Market Street
The layover vendors are just waking up
And some of them are escaping the night rush
A big broad woman hanging over her stall
With yam, banana, pumpkin and everything in the mix
shouts at the man behind her
As if she has somewhere urgent to go
“do you have any cologne?”
And the man calmly uttered,
“Mi no use cologne”
The body sweat drips form her face
And her grouchy voice sets the tone for the day
He looked at her with a subtle grin
While he tries to take in everything
She speaks loudly above the stench
And looked desperately for early morning shoppers
I walked down the bare empty street
With no emotional feelings
Just recuperating from yesterday’s pain
That made me feels a bit lame
I did not see anything to console me
And the pile of garbage lined up on the street
Was enough to disgust me
I kept walking along Market Street
With no single thoughts running about me
Only the morning I could see running in front of me
And I could hear a distant song
beckoning me to come along
The market people start to set out their stall
To catch the early morning shopper
They too were reminiscing over last night’s sales
That kept them waiting all night
It’s Sunday morning for heaven’s sake
What were you doing up so late
The angry man ferocious yawn
nearly blow up a terrible storm
The Chinese wholesale store
Lined the street from door to door
There is no local business here anymore
And it is very hard for the locals to sell their clothes
Oh I am thinking too hard,
no it’s just that I hate to see people suffering
They were selling in the market all night
And it’s not the price you want to pay
To earn you’re living all day
People come and go but the regular people
Shouts are part of the daily show
Come and shop with me.
Buy all you can from the people you meet on market street.
The orchestra opens with a bang, and the musical director raises his hand and the symphony began. Sunday morning crowd with anxious heart sits quietly in the hall as the orchestra plays a wonderful rendition for the wedding ceremony. Celebrities and dignitaries filled the theatre dress circle, listening to the sting hitting the strings while celebrity’s whisper unfolds on hot mic.
The orchestra sounded good and the entire guest understood that it was no ordinary feat; when the soprano starts to sing, it almost ripped off the entire roof as the voice bellow through the hallway before it landed on the heart to stay. The speeches were brief, but the music swept the guest off their feet, and they kept asking for more.
Footsteps moving down the hallway trotting on marble heel floor, it’s like horses moving on the track creating anything that is new as they walk down the hallway of the marble heel floor with courage and pride in their shoe.
It beautiful and strong and you can never tell what is going on; the distance between them was neat and heaven kept them moving on their feet. They disburse in groups and pack the room of the marble heel floor; the stage was big and wide and the guest had an unusual surprise.
There was something peculiar on the floor, and it had people moving from door to door. It was a design on the marbled heel floor that kept curious eyes looking and searching for the spot that leads to the track.
The marble heel floor has a design beneath the tile that leads you into another country through a gigantic door. It has a special spot that leads to Egypt through the back. There are layers of tiles that you cannot see and if you remove one it will lead you into the sea. The Egyptians knows about it for the pharaoh had carved it, they led special wedding guest out the back door, down a passage through the marble heel floor.
It is just one tile that you have to move, that will expose everyone that is walking without shoes. The crowd is racing to see you, and they want to meet with you before the day is through. The lay line is another kind and that too us waiting on the line, but the marble heel floor is of a special kind, its polished and glazed and it shines like a mirror into your face.
The marble heel floor is built inside the gate, don’t be late
When the fog comes knocking
knocking at your door, it doesn’t ring
lightly, it hammers and hammers some more
You know the legend, is it a tale…
You don’t even dare to stare out the window
You shudder and shake and beg
in your mind for monsters to leave
to leave you alone. No footsteps are
heard, walking away but the knock-knock
knocking has stopped. Still there’s a problem
the fog seems to be rolling in, seeping
seeping into your room where your not sleeping
not slumbering or sleeping but dreaming
hoping that the coldness that’s entering
lingering around toes, climbing apropos
is a figment of your imagination
wet footprints appear
in your ear
a scream
it’s yours
…next year
you’ll join your fellow seamates
as they go tricking and treating door to door
carrying your very own psychotic sickle
it will be your one year anniversary
…will you celebrate
10/23/2022
My mother went door to door on a daily basis
Collecting money for Mr. Sim’s wife’s funeral flowers
or for a present for Tad and Betty’s newborn baby girl
When I am older, I hope I do this too
My mother hung her clothes out on a line
Where they turned stiff as a desktop in the wind
The other neighbor ladies ran out at the same time to talk to her
When I am older, I hope I do this too
My mother baked pies, cakes and cookies in the morning.
In summer she gardened– snapping peas and shucking corn.
In winter she brought out the watermelon jelly she made in summer
When I am older, I hope I do this too
My mother gave her time to the church on Wednesdays and Sundays
She was one of four ladies in charge of all of the funeral dinners
Because no one else would step up and do it like they would
When I am older, I hope I do this too
My mother was the quintessential volunteer.
She was our room mother every year at school.
Because if I did not volunteer her, my identical twin would.
I hope I will volunteer time and talents like my mother always did.