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FORGOTTEN DREAMS

A pile of stones beside a field
of an abandoned , washed out farm
now bramble and brier its only yield
a near deer snorts out its alarm

A barn in collapse across the way
the forgotten victim of neglect
that once was full of life and hay
now bats are all it can collect

Old rusted worn out rakes and plows
good now for naught but scrap
once created pastures for fat cows
discarded like a vague mishap

Porch is slowly parting from the house
once full of dreams, love and life
now home to 'possum, 'coon, and mouse
and ghost of farmer's birth-slain wife

The well is deep but it's gone dry
empty of all but noxious gas and spiders
un-recalled past days gone by
when cool water held water striders

Even the family plot's a ruin
tilting iron fence and cracked head stones
only visitors now are buck and bruin
and wind which whispers, howls, and moans

So like the rest I leave this place
down this old two track rutted road
with a steadily increasing pace
haunted by this failed old farm's load

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
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Comments

This is an actual old farm where I used to hunt. The only fabrication being the family plot and the ghost. Thanks for coming by..........stan

author comment

Here in the south when cotton was king, there was a lot of land brought into cultivation that should have been left untilled. The scars of these decisions ( depleted top soil, huge gullies, and stony ground ) are still evident after 100 years. Coming across the remains of a hard scrabble farm where some poor family tried to better themselves is fairly common in the hinterlands.I had heard of ongoing drought in Australia and resultant wild fires. I am glad your drought has broken.................stan

author comment

Full of imagery
Brang the feeling to me
Just love this Stan you did a swell job here, nothing to crit!! You have come a long way writer

Love Mona
xoxo

I am so glad you enjoyed this little ditty. Good to see you on my page....................stan

author comment

I couldn't help but think of Steinbeck's 'Grapes of Wrath' while reading this piece.

A sense of sadness pervades this piece, as only it should when describing this scene.

Well done~!

Victor

"When a pickpocket meets a holy man all he sees are his pockets."

Unknown (at least to me)

Sadness is the intent. Glad to have you comment...............scribbler

author comment

Stan, images of Steinbeck's Grapes....yes, Victor! YES!

"And still the family stood about like dream walkers, their eyes focused panoramically, seeing no detail, but the whole dawn, the whole land, the whole texture of the country at once."

And where might be OUR generation's Steinbeck to write of our troubled times ? Good of you to drop in anna..........scribbler

author comment

So sad to come across these old building. There are many tiny old Welsh cottages where families of ten or twelved lived. I can only imagine what life must have been like in such cramped conditions. You have captured a sad and eeriee atmosphere in your poem Stan. Very well done!

I think a story could be made out of this one.

Lots of love Mand xxxxxx

Apparently the story has already been written "The Grapes of Wrath ". Am always glad to have conveyed what was intended..........stan

author comment

Brought back a flood of memories. I wanted so much to hold on to the last 41 of a 160 acres my Great grandfather homesteaded sometimes in the 1800's. Laziness, greed and family fighting did the land in. There is still a few old farm house around here. But most have been replaced with new houses or business. What was cotten fuilds just 20 years ago is now part of Shreveport. Progress/. Take Care. huey

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