The Old Concrete Shoe..

As I walked in the graveyard
Like I so often do
I found a small headstone
with an old Concrete shoe….
It seemed to be worn from
time spent on top of a stone..
yet it seemed to fit  perfect
Like it felt right at home..
I thought of the strong winds
that did not make it fall
the snow  and the ice storms
the rain and sunshine it saw..
I thought of the days
after days  that it stood
and how it had held on
to that headstone so good..
The words on the stone
make it loud and clear
that thirty-three years past
a child was buried here.
the shoe would have fit him
and it seemed sad but true.
Someone thought to leave him
that old concrete shoe…..

Still Standing.

So graceful she stands
on a hill all alone
a Once Upon time
house called a home..
her doors are open
windows long without glass
But to me this old house still
has a whole lot of class….
the paint on her walls
long ago lost their shine..
but they still hold the sounds
she’s heard in her time..
they’ll go down with her
someday when she falls..
And she’ll take along with her
the floors with the walls.
her windows still capture
the sight others saw..
they hold the reasons
why she still doesn’t fall..
her floors are not sturdy
in places I found
There’s only one stairway
That is still safe and sound..
But, the old porch carved
By strong loving hands
Says a lot about reasons
of why she still stands…

Moms Poem

I used to take for granted that
i had a Mother i could call
anytime day or night
about anything at all.
she listened to my problems
she listend to my dreams
she believed in me so much
about so many things.

now she’s gone and  i miss
the little things the most
like dropping by the house because
she’s made her special roast.
i miss her bringing soup to me
when i was feeling blue
i miss sharing starts of flowers
i miss her friendship too.
i miss her voice and knowing that
she wouldn’t lie to me
even if what she had to say
wasn’t what i wanted it to be.
i miss her more than i could say
with words,it broke my heart
if your mom is still alive
cherish every day you’ve got.

The Visit..

Looking through the door
of the old abandoned house
I felt a sadness around me.
The house was dying
giving in to time
spent empty….
for many years
the old walls
heard many things…
& doors opened
thousands of times
to family and friends..
it was home.
it brought shelter..
the sadness
could not be hidden.
her doors are gone
her windows
have no glass…
soon only pictures
and memories
will linger….
my visits
are more
important to her
than to me….

The Post..

the old fence post
reminded me
how sometimes…..
life is like
a tangled wire
on a fence post…
a tangled 
piece of  barbed wire
nailed to
a weathered post…..
along side
a  fence line
of old
rusty friends..
just hanging around…

No Comment..??

While sitting on a hill
in October shadows..
overlooking a pond
in early morning .
I asked myself
why do i let
poetry upset me?
It follows me you know
(everywhere i go)
And the light on this pond
has stirred me so…
I’d like to know.
If people actually read
these written words..
Or do their eyes
hunger for pictures.
escaping another
boring poem.
I find it quite rude
to visit ones soul
and not comment….

Gossip…

THE LONGEST WORD

Aunt Alice liked to give advice
throughout my childhood years
“Gossip is the longest word
She said “among your peers”
Don’t believe no ear awaits
a tale or two from you
and don’t be surprised if someone tries
to add a bit untrue.”
now Grandpa was a wise old man
who always spoke his mind
he told me once Aunt Alice was
not all that good and kind.
“listen very hard dear child”
He said “for time will show
there is in fact a longer word
Aunt Alice doesn’t know”
it took the most of many years
telling friends and foe
that when it came to gossip
i did not care to know.
the only one i trusted was
Aunt Alice all those years
and told her all the secrets of
my laughter and my tears.
i came to find Aunt Alice had
a lot of friends who knew
everything about me and
a lot was added too
although i trusted her she had
a friend she trusted too
and they in turn had their own
friend and so it grew.
I remembered grandpas  words
and knew i’d come to see
how gossip falls a little short
when without loyalty
so listen very hard dear friends
for time will surely show
when one has not a loyal friend
gossip tends to grow…

Old Doors and Hinges..

The Old  door stood open
All weathered and worn..
the paint was peeling
the hinges were  torn..
left there abandoned
with glass on the floor
I felt the sadness
of the green open door..
There once was a time
of clean shiny floors
glass in the windows
new paint on the doors..
She’s old and she’s fading
weathered by rain and wind
her hinges are rusty
hanging on like a friend..

Silent Whispers..

tucked away
in a thicket of trees
off a gravel road
down a 2 mile lane..
she stands idle..
broken and worn
rusted and sad
she struggles to stand..
her time
on earth
is fading…
Her windows
once held
shinny glass…
And  her doors
opened to warmth
and smells
of fresh baked bread..
her sidewalk
long ago
hid nieth the grass…
her memories
are many…
she speeks
but only the wind
can hear her voice..
tree branch’s seem
to hold her gently
as if to protect
her dying frame…

Tatterd and torn…

Way out in a woods
far from a house or a barn..
near a stream with clear water
is  a small house with charm..
with walls  that are tattered
Roof weathered and old
She is  a portrait
Of a Blessing to hold.
the nails old and rusted
Say  things unsaid there
and  the door to it’s shelter
Has much wear and tear..
I felt so lucky
to find in the trees…
a old house that was saying
“take my picture please!”