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Category Archives: poetry

The Farm

 

 

window picture

While driving a back road the other day
came across an old farm in sad decay.
I pulled off to the side to view the site.
Wonder how this farm fell into this plight.

Searching I pictured sites; from long ago.
The farmhouse was blanketed by the snow.
Smoke curled from the chimney by night and day.
Kids ignored the cold while busy at play.

Looked once again and saw Spring drawing nigh.
As play was replaced by chores by and by.
All hands were required to work the farm.
With each generation; farm life lost charm.

With summer came work from daylight to dark
and seldom a chance for a play-day lark.
A dip in the creek; seemed a rare treasure.
Life on a farm left small time for pleasure.

With Fall’s arrival came new work to do.
There’s meat and tators; to mention a few.
Cords of dry wood to stack neatly in rows.
Then stock the larder and fill the silos.

Winter comes to offer a brief repose.
Dad works on the books and Mama she sews.
Kids all enjoy; what seems a holiday.
Climbing the hill to ride down on a sleigh.

Each passing year the desire has waned.
“Jobs are in town,” all the children explained.
Venturing off they all leave one by one,
parents pass on and the farm; it is done.

Farm life’s been replaced by sad memories,
I thought as I sat there beneath the trees.
A life style forgotten and left behind.
One trip pass that farm brought this all to mind.

c.d.m. 2010

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Old Minnie’s Farm

 

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This is the saga of ‘Old Minnie’s’ farm,
the tale and estate are both humble.
Old clapboard cottage in dire need of paint,
and a barn roof ready to buckle.
“““““
The farm was the home of many a beast;
and while each had a story to tell.
Worn out Minnie had no time for fables;
for she saw to each tiresome detail.
“““““`
The fields bore more thistle than timothy,
fertilizer is hard to disperse.
Yet without it the hayfield’s lie barren.
Near as barren as Old Minnie’s purse.
““““““
An ancient grey mare labored with Minnie,
to harvest what weeds they could gather.
Tansy by name; worked from morning to-night,
she too was in no mood for chatter.
““““““
Bertha the milk-cow produced every year.
Farmer Wesselhoeft loaned out his bull.
With boney old frame, and nearly bald hide,
she’d no time to gab with her mouth full.
““““““`
The old sow Drucilla bore young each year,
and kept meat on poor Minnie’s table.
She’d shed a tear as her young disappeared,
slept at night in old Tansy’s stable.
“““““““
The hens had each other for company,
there were far too many to mention.
When Minnie came gathering ‘offerings’,
they’d all cluck as they stood at attention.
“““““““
Poor as the church mice and yet they survived,
at end of the day they had plenty.
For each had a place and each had a part,
working together as family.

 

c.d.m. 10/2012

 

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KATE’S LAW

sheeple

I had a dream like
Martin Luther King.
Where I lived in a
sovereign nation.

My children could play
in the streets each day,
without fear from an
alien gunman.

But the people slept
as base henchmen crept,
into office’s
meant for our leaders.

Blind sheep awaken
retake our nation,
cause right now we’re just
tax paying breeders.

It ought not to be
that our citizenry,
has little to do
for our protection.

That criminals walk
since the dead can’t talk,
and lawyers practice
racist deflection.

c.d.m.12/1/17

 

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Hell or High Waters

 

 

beauty

Come hell or high waters
words easy to say
much harder to live by
I find more each day

I swear I’ll forget you
start over again
Come hell or high waters
you haunt me old friend.

By day I watch over
my thoughts cause I can
when dream time takes over
you put forth your hand.

This life I am living
seems empty and bare
I look for you each time
I go any where.

I want to forget you
deep down in my heart.
Come hell or high waters
we’re never apart.

c.d.m.11/6/17

 

 

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The Bucket

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When the bucket is empty
and the well has run dry
which way shall we all turn and
to Whom shall we then cry?

Denying the evidence
of the Creator’s hand
we’ve bartered and borrowed we
refuse to understand.

That every good thing must
some day come to an end
We can try to ignore it
as we try to pretend.

That this life will just go on
and that nothing will change
that there’s always tomorrow
and death we’ll shortchange.

Then life’s bucket is empty
and our well has run dry
if we call out to Jesus
He will always reply.

 

cdm 10/13/17

 

 

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Flies

faded glory

Death by a thousand nicks
none too deep or long.
A whisper in back rooms
dark plan all along.

Swarms of flies descend with
chaos on their wings
to spread decay and stench
base of Left leanings.

Like buzzards circling
waiting to devour
the carcass on the ground
thinking dinner hour.

Hear me; oh driven swarms
take heed to this word.
Flies lifespan isn’t long
have you never heard?

c.d.m. 5/19/17

 

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Sweet West Virginia Boy

 

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There high upon the wind-swept hill
beneath a warm spring sky,
We promised there on top the rocks
our love would never die.

With God alone to witness us
we made our vows that day,
we had no need of others to
hear what we had to say.

We swore to one another that
our love was all we’d need
to overcome life’s trials and
in all things to succeed.

“Time In A Bottle”, was our song
the essence of our heart.
There on the hills we never dreamed
that one day we would part.

I walked away sorry to say
much to my sad regret.
Now forty-two years later love,
I still cannot forget.

Your passing is the only cause
that I have not returned,
to my sweet West Virginia boy
for whom I’ve always yearned.

cheryl davis miller 5/1/17

for Stanley

 

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