Sacks Poems - Poems about Sacks

she would shock she would offend but in the end make simple her thoughts a straight shot of whiskey her anatomy and more momma' say these sacks this bosom she tell it took boy-childs to men took those hands and taught them to answer the demands of society and love one day brother say you blush me momma' when you say that thing you say what's that you say momma's...

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The old stone gristmill stood like a monolith, its massive wooden wheel creaking and turning dipping into the swift waters of a dammed-up creek. Inside, everything was covered in a fine white dust amidst a cacophony of cogs, gears, and pulleys. Most notably, there was a giant granite stone that turned, crushing grain into powder. It was a dangerous place...

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Boxes, Sacks, and that Market ---------------------------------- Many boxes and sacks, putting on my cart- I'm out today. Labyrinths of the world, many isles to go, items to value, sell or maybe even to buy, in those markets kept in front of me. I have a great stock to sell, you know; This one is love, lots of it; the other one is emotion, oh, and that one? yes, sincerity...

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Memories of Sugar Cakes & Flour Sacks Written: by Tom Wright 9/1/99 Sitting in prayer at Mothers door As she lay in deepest sleep. Her face, embedded with hand prints of time, Told of a life, upon reflection, That made me weep. Near her bedside death had crept Which would not be denied. Life hadn't prepared me for this hour, And all to soon she'd pass, Once again I...

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Tracks of yellow sacks Harvested yellow sunshine to send on cart to others in sacks A year started young with mud grey damp and ground full of cracks Burrow for black soil rich within goodness a natural food to sow strong backs Five months of weather stood the green waving along the brown dirty tracks Soon yellow sunshine will give...

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My Father grew up on a farm many years ago, they never had very much this I do know. During the depression times were really tough, clothes made from flour sacks worked well enough. My Aunt had a dress, my father a shirt, Father was just a little guy just a little squirt. But he remembers those days and how they...

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Flour sacks I remember you so well full of golden grain, bran or flour a slight but delightful musty smell perambulating the atmosphere Sacks cut up for all sorts of things cloth shoes and dresses even trousers rough coats that did not keep one warm scarecrows dressed in sacks Vegetables stored in sacks that are stacked in rows inside the dutch barn...

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Mother was a genius when it came to recyclin' flowery flour sacks, Durin' The Great Depression to provide duds for her family's backs! With her trusty pedal Singer Sewin' Machine she turned out a horde, Of decent apparel that we could ill afford from Montgomery-Ward! In gym class I could usually find a locker behind which to cower, So as...

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The flour sack, the flour sack! To my childhood it harkens back... With the flour at last gone Mom would use it to sew upon.. Dish towels, aprons , and who knows what No complaints, our mouths remained firmly shut! I wouldn't, shouldn't say that we were poor But flour sack clothing we sometimes wore... Once she needed a diaper in the...

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Oh, yes! I recall them well, those pretty prints as flour sacks. They only needed hemming added to Mom's dishtowel stacks. I don't remember dresses made from them for Sis or me. Sewed together for table cloths, they were pretty as could be. They brightened the old kitchen when hung as window curtain. My dear mother wasted none of that I can be certain. They...

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Life was hard in the money department My parents had what was called a paid job Just over basics it was evident Someone else ate the corn, they got the cob Life was grand, week to week we ate biscuits There was sidemeat on our plate with syrup The salt made the sweet dance by castanet That simple food had what is...

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Milk sacks here, Milk sacks there, Milk sacks now Are everywhere. Milk sacks right, Milk sacks left, Be they big, Or be they small, Heaven knows I’ve seen them all When on the streets They point at me And seem to hate Their cotton shields. Free lactose for all alive! Oh my! How very kind. Here is some bread, Who’s got a cup? I’ll have a squeeze To go with those. Someone please Clear the crowded...

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the stearn bear ate the bull as meat unto idols (the idle mammals of mammon on fence road) the bags of king Midas filled as offense rose the comstock lode ...

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Little Cartons, Little Sacks The mug of tea I drank at six, the tea that drives me to the train, needs a refill. At my desk, I don’t do much. I wait for lunch when every day I eat so much the waitress gawks. She doesn’t realize the years till supper. Then I’ll dine alone again, bolt everything that I bring home in little...

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