Sunday Muse - Back When

 

Way Back Then 

Grandpa was one of the richest 

Richest in our corn county Burt 

Grandpa owned three farms, fertile land 

Share cropped to his sons, half and half 

There in his big house I was born  

Doctor "L" paid with potatoes 

We were poor, so very poor but . . . 

An extra good potato crop 

That is why to this very day 

Potatoes are my favorite veg 

 - - - 

Actually, this was the house where I was born:

Probably around the turn of the 20th century it was brand new. It had two bedrooms upstairs, a living room, and a country kitchen. Later were added two enclosed but not heated porches.

The porch on the right is where I had to sleep when my sister was old enough to have her own room. Cold mornings would find frost on my blankets where my breath would freeze. You can see it is fallen in now, first entered by the raccoons, then finished off by the tree.

There were storm windows for the winter. My porch sleeping room was not heated and we did not have air conditioning.

Update:  The new owners bulldozed down the house and then burned the rubble. Corn is now growing over the farmstead except for some trees saved and around where four buildings remain.

Read more about the old Nebraska place where I grew up.

 - - - 

 - Bottom Photo and Poem Copywrite, Jimmiehov 2007 and 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with The Sunday Muse # 179 where Carrie offered us this Top Pictured old house as inspiration for us to write our piece at http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/09/the-sunday-muse-179.html?m=1  

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Weekly Scribblings - Cat Play

I see you over there 

Trying to be left alone 

Quiet 

But that won't happen today 

Daddy wants to play 

That's the fun of you around 

My two fingers walking 

Stealth 

I'm coming to get you good 

Sneak up

You don't know when 

Bite your ear 

Tickle your neck 

Scratch your back 

I'm coming to get you good 

Make you purr 

Smile your sly way 

Rub my leg 

Ask for more 

You will want to play 

You don't know when 

It won't be long 

I'm coming 

to get you good

 - - - 

 - Poem and Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved  

 - I'm linked with Magaly Guerrero for prompt ideas.  Go there, see what others have written, Weekly Scribblings #88, . https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/09/weekly-scribblings-88-equinox.html

 - Magaly asks us "to write poetry or prose which includes one (or all 3) of the following phrases: 1. “Happy and strange words are my home.” 2. “I see you.” 3. “Reason is music to a jaded heart.” "

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Sunday Muse - These Three

 Three Guys -- Larry, Harry, and Barry; there might more 

These three guys are a basket case.  Useless now.  Afraid.  

of their Shadows. 

So now let's find. Find their situations. Situations.  Troubled situations.  

A caveat.   I've met two of them.  Only these aren't their real pictures.  

First there's Larry.   Larry the smoker.  

Larry was a chain smoker.  A chain smoker who smoked like a choo choo train.   Wouldn't stop when his cancer of the mouth and cancer of the left lung were getting him down.  Down but not out he said.  

Doctor, doctor, please make me a hole in my esophagus so that I can breathe again.  Breathe he did but inhale also. Inhale the smoke from his cigar.  

Then there's Harry.  Harry the Bather 

Harry fell one day.  He fell through the shower door.  Fell on his nose and his face.  He broke the glass, little pieces.  Hand mirror sized but not that kind of glass.   

Surgery.  Surgery a lot.  Surgery that could not fix his face.  

So he hid his face.  Hide it behind a towel.  Even when he walked.  That's the way he walked.  Carried it in his hand when no one was around.  But when he sat he hid his face, hid it rested on the back of his chair.  The chair didn't care.  Liked him just the same.  

And the third guy.  Barry.  I've named him Barry because it rhymes with Barely but Barelys' not a real name.  But Barry is barely there.  Barry knows it's his time, time to get messed up.  Messed up like his buddies got. 

That bugs not out of him. 

Barry does have three legs, one original and two tacked to his bod.  The three of them help his balance, a three legged milk stool comes to mind.  That is embarrassing so he hides behind his mother's woolen skirt.  Looks at you coyly when you pass by.

 _ _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Fireblossom, aka Shay, for The Sunday Muse #178 picture prompts at http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/09/sunday-muse-178.html?m=1 

 - I'm also linked with Rosemary at The Writers' Pantry #88,  https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/09/writers-pantry-88-season-turns.html?m=1 

 - Note:  This actually happened to the first two men, actions but not the same results as I posted.  The third fellow, Barry, is fictitious. 

 - I used 324 words.