Kira Spencer Untitled

Untitled

[Kira Spencer]

[The Old Green

House] Anonymous

The old green house In the valley, with A vast green yard, The stuffy barn, And our own little, fresh, Forest with hours Of hide and seek.

The old green house With it’s large, airy kitchen And cold concrete basement; The living room, with the Glass coffee table And thick cozy carpet.

The downstairs bedroom, Where we had our sleep-overs, With cousins and dogs And quilts eighty years old.

The TV room, with it’s Old wood stove; On a cold winter’s morning We stacked the wood In the laughing metal contraption, Closed the door And started the fire, Letting the flames breathe Their smoke out the chimney.

But, when it’s warm, We would go Down the path, Through the fence, Past the horse, And into the woods.

Go to the right Until you get to the stream With the rocks and the water Where there used to be A crying blackberry bush Full of dark purple berries, Maybe some thorns, And a few drops of dried Blood.

You keep walking, and You get to the covered bridge; With benches and Windows and playings of Pooh sticks.

The old green house with it’s Kitchen and old timey upstairs bedroom down the hall; Always a little bit cold, but Always welcoming like the hug of a sweet, but cold, friend.

The playroom, where we could Stay for hours with our Blanket forts and board games, Telling stories, Making jokes.

But the thorns are gone,

The dogs have moved on, The family smaller and the Blanket forts outgrown; but the House Stays There.

[Fall haiku]

Behrett logsdon

Many autumns leaves fall, Gracefully throughout the night, Slowly, slowly, enjoying fall