Long Familyold Poems
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Toasty mornings with teakettles whistling bring to mind Danish days on Marata’s
horse farm, ponies prancing in the unusually warm sunlight, and new fangled
sparkling silver water fountains. Mirada, Karen and Laura’s Mom hosted Bob, Jamie
and I for a summer vacation. We had just settled into the whitewashed kitchen
when the problem was presented to us. For years the housed herd of guest horses
had been watered by filling lovely old white porcelain cast iron tubs which had been
scattered all over the rolling green fields of the farm in Faum.
Mirada had the forward thinking idea of saving farm hand time [and her the hourly
wage] of piping water to these beautiful horses with new fountains! Yes, my
lovelies, all you have to do is push your nose right here. Out bubbles crisp cool clean
water, minus the dead flies, which often drowned in the old tub! Seems horses are
very suspicious. Nope the herd was having none of it. Soon, if not cajoled, they
would be passing out from lack of water in the Danish summer’s heat. What foreign
creature had replaced their friendly old white tub of water? Where was their water?
They saw no water. Sure there was a scent of it from that pole but “What the
heck?” snorted the black stallion shaking his head at the girls.
We were told there would be no breakfast, lunch or dinner for us until we helped
get those horses watered. So off we went, shuffling our feet to a meet and greet
with the herd. Marata and the girls knew the horses. We almost knew a horse from
a cow. I went right up to this large black beauty, pet his nose and rubbed my cheek
on his face, love at first sight! Blackie started following me and we walked toward
the fountain. Then the sun glanced off the dreaded thing and he shied. I pushed the
control, filled my hands with water and brought him some. Lordy, lordy he drank
from my hands! The herd behind him whinnied. I tried to get him nearer the fountain
but it was a no, go. He’d drink from my hands but not the fountain. It just goes to
show you, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, is really
TRUE!
*The next morning Laura begged her own pony AGAIN to drink. He finally did the rest did too then ;)
Grandparents,
They love you no matter what
They listen to what you have to say
And give you advice you never want to let go of... even if you don't always take it... You will
NEVER forget it
They tell you the greatest stories
*The best ones are when they were a kid
and got into trouble for a similar thing you did*
They spoil you even when your parents tell them not to
Hey... they don't have to deal with punishing you!
Grandparents,
Always have a new trick up their sleeve to show you
Always have a honest wonderful smile to give you
Always give the greatest hugs
You never want to let go of them
And yet, we all have to remember that we cant hug them too tight...
They are very fragile!
Grandmas always have that old scent that they always use, it makes you want to sniff them
forever, that scent is there as long as they are! And when we smell other elders with that
wonderful scent, it makes us pull toward them... and say, "Hmmm, you smell like my
Grandma!" Then feel really embarassed because they aren't sure if thats a good or bad thing!
Grandpas... their prickly cheek is always a reminder of why girls are glad we dont have facial
hair! But yet, we tease them for it, hug them again and purposefully rub our cheeks together
just to feel it once more. And their old spices that they wear, makes us want to spray it on
one specific piece of clothing and go to it when we need to feel close to them.
Grandparents,
We keep them close
They keep us closer
We love them not matter what
And they love us for all that we are
They aren't afraid to say the truth
Even if they know it may hurt
Because they always have a big smile to give you
And the pain goes away the minute we see it.
Grandparents
Seem to be all alone, but yet never are when they have a big family of unending amount of
grandkids, and great-grandkids
They seem to have so much time on their hands but never enough
We never forget to say I love you, give them a big hug and kiss
Becuase we never know when they are going to say good bye for the last time.
I LOVE YOU GRANDMA AND GRANDPA! FOREVER AND ALWAYS!
Form:
When I first saw her
She was only a few hours old
Instinctively kicking her long legs
Howling
To escape
I knew then
She was
A fighter.
Attracted
To an old drawer
I found
Faded photos
Forgotten pieces
Of crumpled notepaper
Their energy
Taking me back
To a time when
Her hair was brownish gold
Round face
Took baths in a yellow tub
Cradled in the kitchen sink
And cried
When her mother
Worked on weekends.
Eyes closed
I remembered
When she was seven or eight
I would read to her
While she played
With her dolls
Occasionally stopping
To look up at me
With her big brown eyes
One night she asked
Daddy do I have any friends?
I told her she had many friends
Imaginary friends too
Like Ooh Poo Poo Doo
Who would always be with her
That’s a strange name Daddy, she said
Brushing the hair
From her eyes
I said
It’s not the name or how you say it
It’s the friend that counts.
One Spring day
She came back home
Tall
Well dressed
Confident
Her friends crowded the living room
As my wife and I left
I smiled
Remebering the words
It’s not the name or how you say it
It’s the friend that counts.
Words
My daughter
Kept in her heart.
They call him crazy. I prefer Sir. If you look at him wrong his blood starts to stir.
He doesn't like chocolate, children or pets. I don't think he likes anyone he's ever met.
He yells at the postman, insults crosswalk guards.
Why he's so darn mean he even hollars at cars.
They say he eats wood in the morning and buckshot for lunch,
but I know for a fact he likes a little less crunch.
If I were a gambler with a few extra bills
I would bet my last dollar that he's just lonely as hell.
No woman in years has graced the sheets of his bed.
Most sadly admit they would rather be dead.
An old empty house where there is no love
with it's paint worn and weathered with help from above.
His car is antique in every sence of the word.
Adequately refered to as "That Old Rolling Turd"
Yeah that crazy ole bastard, at least a brick shy
with no problem at all spitting in the Popes eye,
but you have to love him or at least not make him mad.
Cause' that crazy old man is my doggone Dad.
The Applethoughtrotten
Form:
Just as a boy grows into teenager
he is bound to one day grow into man
I think it's when he is just five years old
He becomes a demolition fan
At that juncture it's all about the tools
To dismantle what works perfectly well
They may be begin plastic at the start
But it triggers something in their cells
A teenager will start with something small
A lawnmower, dirt bike, then on to cars
Then as he ages and gain life experience
The quest for tools is written in the stars
It starts with a simple set of wrenches
Then moves on to socket sets and ratchet
Not just ASE, they need metric as well
A tool store is a veritable banquet
Metal worker, wood crafter, mechanic
Plumber a welder and electrician
Wrapped up in a testosterone package
Needing a new tool for the next mission
Watch as his eye light, when reaching for a tool
That's new to the market sitting on display
It's no longer about simple fun in an old cardboard box
It will be tools from now till his dying day
I recall times of my life a long time ago,
We tend to do this more as we grow old.
That wonderful old house on that red dirt farm
Where many of my kin and daddy was born.
Grandmas', as we kids used to call it,
The rocking chair where grandpa would sit.
Those tall cottonwoods always come to mind,
Standing like giants, all in a line,
The old granary that served for so many years'
Its' gray boards forgotten like yesterdays' tears.
The rolling hills, the criss crossing creek,
Watching grandpa with his mules, Jack and Pete.
Homemade ice cream with aunt Selmas' cake,
Watermelon on the lawn...the memories we make.
Christmas was always special there on the farm
It sort of had that Norman Rockwell charm,
A cedar tree cut from out of the pasture
With its' special aroma and Christmas stature,
The big pot belly stove, hot to almost glowing,
Kinfolks gathered round, telling all their knowing.
These are but a few memories I recall,
Back on the farm with grandma and grandpa.
Family
The albums of pictures are dusty
I take them all down one by one
Even the pages are musty
And the ink on the paper has run.
Carefully I look at the strangers
Here is a history of me
I tried to imagine the dangers
And hardships they all had to see.
Some stood in a group, some were sitting
It seemed that they each had their place
I guess that they thought it not fitting
To have a smile on anyone’s face.
There were beards and scuffed old work boots
Some ribbons and lace for the girls
An old bowler hat and hair oiled to the roots
Some with bonnets perched atop curls.
As I looked at each generation closely
They started to look all the same
And under each picture, well mostly
Was written in ink, just a name.
The words written there on those pages
Have blurred with the passage of time
But the name has passed down through the ages
Because; it’s the same one as mine.
Form: