We were warned not to go there,
into that old farmhouse
with boards faded gray by time.
Crooked window frames
no longer holding glass
caused whooshing sounds
on cold rural wind-filled nights.
But when summer sun was bright
gleeful childhood minds
rife and ignited with discovery’s excitement
glimmered like the gold wheat fields
that surrounded our trove.
Climbing through and under broken boards
and openings where doors once stood
we naively ascended rickety, half missing stairs
that occasionally caved
even from gingerly placed juvenile footsteps.
Risking rusted nails, bats and black snakes,
perils unknown or at least unheeded
by 7 and 9-year-olds,
we searched for treasure.
Pudgy fingers excavated
decades-old undisturbed dirt
to find elegant green glass jars
and cracked handle-less cups.
Tried to clean dented and abandoned
pans and chipped dinner plates
with past-yellow, now brown
crumbling newspaper
announcing a new general store
Grand Opening on June 28, 1913,
news that lined those shelves
for more than 50 years.
Never could find the match to a shoe
discovered in a corner near what
must have once been a bright bedroom
with yellow gingham curtains
now also tattered, shredded, worn to threads
and faded brown.
Couldn’t take anything outside.
Had to hide our finds amidst the dust
‘til the day we were found out
and grounded for weeks
for seeking treasures
where yesterday awaited
innocent but intrepid looters
lifting loose and dusty floorboards
in search of something new.
Such delightful, descriptive memories of this place full of treasures to keep hidden. Too bad you were found out. Love the way you expressed with love every detail of the rickety old place.
About 2004, my younger brother took my mother back to the abandoned farmhouse that she grew up in from 1925 when she was born. He videotaped the experience. She actually found some evidence from when she was there even though the house was rented after parents sold it in the 1940s and it had been abandoned a long time.
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
Under Amber Skies, written by author and poet Jill Eisnaugle, is a wonderful collection of rhyming poetry guaranteed to please every reader. In this, her second book, she writes of new friendships kindled, as well as old friendships solidified. She g
About 2004, my younger brother took my mother back to the abandoned farmhouse that she grew up in from 1925 when she was born. He videotaped the experience. She actually found some evidence from when she was there even though the house was rented after parents sold it in the 1940s and it had been abandoned a long time.
Ron