The Death of a Farmhouse
A W.O.W. Poem
The Death of a Farmhouse
They rake tears on their lawn
collecting in buckets on the kitchen porch
buckets they wash their hands in each night
underneath the yellow old farm lights
keeping company the moths and fireflies
to catch by wings and listen for
to chase away the guests of loneliness
with only trees present to witness
the crimes of speculation
they cultivate sadness for ripened misery
to take the leaves for grapevine salad
eating words they heard while sitting on their rockers
tasting humid prospects of transgressions
upsetting achy pangs
to sleep in beds like cats on engines
to keep nearly one eye half open
for hints of daylight to confirm our suspicions
of muffled shadowed dreams
Published by Chelle
It is easier to say what I don't do: skiing and mayonnaise. View profile
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10 Comments
Post a CommentVery nice. Enjoyed very much.
This is fantastic. I really enjoyed this one Chelle!
Great poem! I love reading and writing poetry. I have subscribed to you and added you as a favorite. :)
Very nice! I love teachers like that, they are always the most memorable.
This poem works for me because of the compassion that comes through here.
Good Job Miss Chelle ken
I grew up around the farms so the poem makes me sad. During the summers I would go visit cousins in Tn. This makes my heart ache to see them again.
Very nice poem!...............Your teacher is a true teacher................one who inspires and nurtures the creativity in the students............................
Chelle this is an amazing poem and you all were how old? absolutely beautiful, could put me in the shoes of the writer. well finally got my homework done at 4 am this morning, what i am do up, i haven't a clue, mourning
for the soul this poem was written by. Maybe today I will cultivated and inspired to write again, i think in the past week of interviews, and college, i have lost my knack, read a few articles and write and see! i am in my ap english class for college, that and business for my first semester in too many years. and three weeks of homework i did receive from my business teacher, the first week. Beautiful poem, catching you in the reality of the "old" country. thank you kindly for a read so dear when my head i try to shake clear!
Chelle, This is a very good poem. This teacher & class sounds cool.