Tag Archives: poetry

Blue Danube….the thing is….

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The thing is,

to love life, to love it even 

when you have no stomach for it

and everything you’ve held dear

crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,

your throat filled with the silt of it.

When grief sits with you, its tropical heat 

thickening the air, heavy as water

more fit for gills than lungs;

when grief weights you like your own flesh,

only more of it, an obesity of grief,

you think, How can a body withstand this?

Then you hold life like a face

between your palms, a plain face…

no charming smile, no violet eyes;

and you say, yes, I will take you,

I will love you…..again.

-Ellen Bass

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Beautiful Tobacco Barns and a Dilapidated Log Cabin

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Old Barns

I love old barns, the wood all weathered
Always imagine a couple of horses there, tethered.
Big ones, small ones, no matter what size
In the country, you’re sure to see one just over the rise

I love old barns, painted deep red
When inside you know the cows are well fed
And up in the cupola, painted white, 
Out comes the pigeons, taking off in flight.

I love old barns, filled with hay
With a couple of red hens getting ready to lay
And with them struts the rooster all speckled black and white
They’ll return to the hen house before it is night.

I love old barns, no lonager in need
Where many a horse and many a cow have taken their feed
But to the owner I really must pray
Please do not let it rot and tumble away.

I love old barns, way out of town
Where I can drive and dream, and always slow down
For to this day I’ll always remember
When I left the farm it was late September 

Roy Kieling
 
I do love old barns and log cabins.  I have sweet memories of the log cabin that my father built many years ago on the White River in Indianapolis, Indiana.  I will never forget when he took my brother and me for an hour plus drive south.  We ended up in front of an ancient and dilapidated old, old barn.  I was perplexed and asked my dad what we were doing there?  He retorted, “This is my new house.”  I was flabbergasted and not happy (keep in mind, I was about 7 years old at the time).  He then explained that he was going to have the barn, built around 1834, dismantled and have all of the original logs shipped to Indianapolis to build what would soon become his “new” home.  He did just that.  He had all the logs re-chinked and he built the most beautifully authentic (with a modern twist of course) log home.  It sat atop a gently sloping 3-acre piece of property that led to the banks of the river.  This is where my dad called home….and so did I.  I photographed these barns last weekend.  They remind me of him…God rest his soul. I hope you enjoy viewing them and some of the surrounding areas in Durham, NC.
 
Best,
 
k  i  m  b y  
 
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