This page, WRITE TO A PICTURE, is an invitation to our regular writers and to our visitors. Send an original poem, a story, or your recollections. Share your thoughts and experiences with those who like to READ what others write. Send to me at LaraOct7@aol.com.

 Early 'Write To A Picture' pages are archived. The links are here:

Beach Scene "1"
Old Train Station "2"
The Carousel "3"
The Fifties "4"
Summer Picnic "5"
From The Heart "6"
Cloudy Moon "7"
September Morn "8"
Passing The Time "9"
Apples "10"
Rain "11"
Pumpkins "12"
Halloween "13"
Big City "14"





 


Your Title

By Your Name (LaraOct7@aol.com)





Your text goes here.

Pumpkins! I see them all over the place: pumpkins for decorating, pumpkins for eating. Have you bought your pumpkin?

I took the photograph in a Pick-Your-Own Pumpkin Patch last Saturday. I saw a wagonload of children and their parents heading for the Pumpkin Patch, so I followed. I didn't buy a pumpkin, but I plan to get one because I love pumpkins, big or small. I carve the pumpkin, put a candle in it, and place it outside on a table. Little trick-or-treaters love a glowing pumpkin face.

I invite you to send a poem, a story, or musings around this week's picture of a pumpkin field. Pumpkins. Fiction or fact, humorous or serious. We look forward to your entry.








 


Pumpkin Patch

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)





The brown and tans of fall spread throughout to announce fall. Jack Frost wakes and applies his magic touch so a nip informs all that frost upon the punkins is the order of the day. A large field of bright orange punkins awaiting the making of jack-o’-lanterns does not itself look bleak for all is brown except for the crop of the field.

In these days and times does anyone still take the punkin seeds, dry them and then roast them or maybe even soak them in brine before drying them so you will have sweet and salty roast punkin seeds? How many will be cubed, diced and cooked or baked as a vegetable on the dinner table or as a punkin pie?

As a lad in a small village poppa always planted pumpkins and he cut off all the small ones except for five punkins, one for each child and one for mother to cook up. The fifth was a present for some widow or person in need. Our garden provided at least half or two thirds of the food we consumed so we did not raise a lot of stuff for frivolous usage.

The Saturday before Halloween the punkins were brought in, of course as soon as they got some size or a special shake my sisters being older picked theirs and that left three from which I got to pick.

I was not a good punkin carver and when it came to artistic ability I was good at chopping wood. My sisters always came up with great designs and great faces. Me, I had the ugliest and meanest jack-o’-lantern in the village.

Before supper on Halloween we placed our jack-o’-lanterns on the front porch with a candle in them so everyone could see the faces. The next day they were peeled, sliced and cooked up for pies.

The first time I was shot at was in a man’s punkin patch stealing a punkin. He shot over our heads, using rock salt for the load. Lordy did we run. He raised punkins in his corn field I think just so we kids could try to steal them. He would ask some of us village boys if we got one of his punkins after Halloween with a big smile and laugh for he knew who we were and what we did. Yes, that field of punkins brought back fond memories of my childhood in a small village out in the sticks. Last year I raised some punkins and next year if I do not forget, I will raise a few on general principles.








 


Pumpkins Not Chosen

By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)





The children had come and gone again
Only the saddest were left
Some of the most humble pumpkins
Felt oh so very bereft


Their family and friends had been chosen
But here they lay for to die
Wondering why no school child had loved them
They all started in to cry


But what each misshapen pumpkin did
Not know nor they understood
That the pumpkins left to rot in field
Left seeds as all pumpkins should


Their seeds would sink into good farm dirt
And after the next rains fell
There the seeds would begin new life
Next year their seed crop would tell


So Pumpkins though you were not chosen
Don't weep at your saddened fate
Your children will be chosen next year
And you need only to wait









 


Pumpkins

By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)





As round and orange as the full moon.
Possibly becoming a tasty pie very soon.
A symbol of Autumn's colorful sight,
And then there is Halloween night!


Carve a face into the deep yellow sphere,
Stick a candle in, right about ...Here!
Make sure it looks quite scary,
This sure ain't the Sugar Plum Fairy!









 


Pumpkins

By Amy (Fabulousfilly@aol.com)





out here in the west
pumpkins are best
we have a place
called pumpkin space


its an old farm,
with fields as long as your arm
every year a festival, pumpkins galore
and they have a pumpkin store


pumpkin pies
for to die
pumpkin cakes
she likes to bake


my favorite of course
being a fabulous horse
is pumkin ice cream, in a dish
my tongue i lick, my tail i swish


every year we take the trip
to pick out a perfect pumpkin
apple cider we do sip
and we've watched a cotton gin.


sad but true, it's closing down
now i have a big ole frown
i will miss Ole Young's Farm
no more story teller, telling yarns..


no more pumkin candy
no more straw, it came in handy
no more carving, no more show
where oh where next year do i go?









 


The Perfect Pumpkin

By Doris (Toto38@aol.com)







Each autumn our young grandchildren anxiously wait for "Punkin' Pickin' Time." Living on Long Island gives us quite a variety of places to 'shop' for the Perfect Punkin', as the kids say. It can't be too round, or too 'squat', or too tall and narrow. And the one thing it MUST have is a decent sized stem! No stem, no punkin'.

Azure blue skies, and white puffy clouds are the norm as parents, grandparents and children go from farm to farm making their search. Each farm has special 'drawing cards' to get the children in to look around. There are hay rides, and games, candy apples and popcorn wagons . . . some have clowns and one farm, has a terrific draw . . . a cornfield maze! Oh, what fun the kids have in there with their parents and grandparents! There are even benches in the shade for those who find the hunting too tiring. But when the "Perfect Punkin'" is found....oh, the squeals, applause and laughter that comes from the large expanse of farmland brings everyone to their feet.

The wagons are then filled with pumpkins and children as they make their way to the weighing station to pay for their "Perfect Punkin'", and home for the 'carving party'! Ah, Autumn and Pumpkins . . . a perfect match!

Pumpkin Picking on Long Island









 


Pumpkins, And Other Signs of Autumn

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)





The scent of bacon and barbecue,
Peeking purple mums and marigolds,
Sprinkling elm leaves as pepper,
These are the signs of Autumn.


A laughin’ Big Tex for the Great State Fair,
Football jocks exhausting in heat,
Hallowe’en’s punkins’ - black fixins’ for crafts,
These are signs too of Autumn.


Grab a sweater to take out the dog,
An unnatural craving for stew,
Lovin’ the dark clothes hated last Spring
More are the signs of autumn.


Cozier air to deeply breathe
Freedom to walk at high noon,
Christmas crosses the cooling mind,
All are reminders of autumn.


The spooks of winter loom and lurk.









 


Pumpkins

By Joy (JOY3032@aol.com)





Adventures in pumpkinland
Which one shall we choose
"This one, no, this one"
They cry as they muse


The large one is perfect
But how can I take it
The small ones feel rejected
Maybe I'll fake it


I'll take more than one
Or maybe a few
"This one is calling me
My heads in a stew"


I gather a number
Then the rest look so sad
I want a Halloween pumpkin
But I'm feeling so bad


I'll take just a small one
They won't notice or care
And carve it with a smile on
Then the patch won't seem bare


Then I'll return it all lighted
For many children to see
And everyone will be happy
Especially pumpkin and me









 


Pumpkins

By susi (Texaswishr@aol.com)





They grow in the field
They glow on my porch
They're baked in a pie
That sometimes get scorched
They're made into soup
They are carved with faces
And set on the stoop
One was tossed at Ichabod
By a man on a horse
T'was Washington Irving's
Headless horseman of course
The big orange pumpkin
Shines golden and bright
From the light of a candle
On Halloween night









 


I'm At A Loss About Pumpkins

By Jeanie (Mingo184@aol.com)





I'M SURPRISED I COULDN'T THINK OF A STORY OR POEM ABOUT PUMPKINS. I KNOW THEY ARE THERE IN MY HEAD. I KNOW THERE WERE PUMPKINS IN MY LIFE WAY BACK WHEN I WAS A CHILD. BUT, I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING SPECIAL OR ANY INCIDENT THAT JUMPS OUT IN MY MEMORY.

I DO LOVE THE FLAVOR OF PUMPKIN PIE. I ONCE MADE A DESSERT WITH CANNED PUMPKIN AND BAKED IT IN SMALL DISHES. IT WAS A WEIGHT WATCHERS THING. I DON'T KNOW IF I STILL HAVE THE RECIPE. I KNOW IT WASN'T HARD TO MAKE.

I LOVE TO DRIVE OUT IN THE COUNTRY PAST PATCHES OF PUMPKIN LYING IN THE FIELDS. ALL SHAPES AND SIZES OF THOSE LITTLE ORBS JUST WAITING FOR THE PICKING BY CHILDREN AND THEIR PARENTS OR THEIR GRANDPARENTS. THE SMILES ON THE LITTLE ONES AS THEY SQUEAL IN DELIGHT PICKING OUT THE ONES THEY WILL TAKE HOME. WITH HELP FROM THEIR MOMS AND DADS, THEY'LL CARVE OUT A FACE AND PUT IT IN THE WINDOW, A CANDLE GLOWING INSIDE.

MEMORIES ARE WONDERFUL. BUT MY MEMORY OF ANY TIME WITH A PUMPKIN HAS FADED WITH TIME. A FRIEND GAVE ME A SMALL PUMPKIN JUST THE OTHER DAY, WITH A PAINTED FACE ON IT AND I PLACED IT IN MY WINDOW. THERE'S A SMALL RIBBON TIED AROUND THE STEM AND IT LOOKS HAPPY. ALL PUMPKINS SHOULD LOOK HAPPY...THEY'LL BE A PIE IN THE FUTURE!!








 


Pumpkins Haiku

By Bob (C1ydeBunky@aol.com)





symbol of autumn
feature of two holidays
pumpkin highly prized


nature's gift to man
consolation for the cold
colorful and bright


children and grown-ups
brought together by their charm
generation glue









 


Pumpkins

By Brier (Brierhillbarbara@aol.com)





A field full of pumpkins
My grandchildren will have one on their front porch.
I like to see tradition carried on.


Pumpkins used to mean pie
Now just a happy face carved in sun
Children will dress up and trick or treat.


Some years they carve the things too early
and they go bad before Halloween.
I cheat now I buy plastic ones to sit out.


Choose a nice face potential pumpkin
and draw what you like.
Big teeth or ears?


Make it fun and enjoy
Life is short
Teach the kids to have fun in simple things too.









 


Pumpkin Pie Surprise

By Mary (MusingByMary@aol.com)





Jack~O~Lantern brightly shine
through lips up~curved or down . . .
eyes convey either joy or gloom,
if droopy lips, a frown ~


Once a bright orange pumpkin
now a hollow'd sphere . . .
creating eerie feelings as
Halloween draws near ~


Belighting many a windowsill
with shadows on the wall . . .
awaiting "Trick~or~Treaters"
and darkness soon to fall ~


Play your role, dear, Mr. Jack,
midst cobwebs, witches brew . . .
eyeball of a toadie, bat's wing
t'will be a stew ~


Add the tongue of lizard
a dash of this 'n that . . .
The spooks will boooooooo
kids will scream to see the witches' hat ~


Remember, Mr. Jack~O~Lantern,
before long a BIG surprise . . .
that knife that carved your glowing face
will change you into PUMPKIN PIES:-)









 


THE PUMPKIN IS THE HARBINGER OF FALL

By Evelyn (Evenccw@aol.com)





The symbol of Autumn in my part of the country here in northeastern Ohio is the pumpkin! As the robin is the harbinger of Spring, so the pumpkin is the harbinger of Fall. The great wheel of the year is turning toward the Fourth Cross-Quarter Day and pumpkins are everywhere in every shape, size and in every gastronomical delight!

In northern Alabama, the first fifteen years of my life fields of pumpkins were not part of my heritage as were the fields of watermelons. I am now told that all of that has changed since cotton is no longer King and pumpkin production is on the rise! As a youngster I could only dream about pumpkins and widely grinning jack-o-lanterns at our annual fall festival night in the hall above the old parochial grade school in town.

The stage was always decorated with shocks of corn fodder and bushel baskets of corn in and out of the husks and whatever bounty the farmers brought from the fields to provide for the poor. Memory is faulty, but I don’t recall a single pumpkin among the offerings. But what I do recall clearly is Father Germain’s annual rendition of James Whitcomb Riley”s “When the Frost is on the Pumpkin” to the tune of “Turkey in the Hay!, Turkey in the Straw!” Feet tapped and hands clapped in time to the tune as we all strolled through fields of “punkins” in our minds!



When the Frost is on the Punkin
by James Whitcomb Riley
(1853-1916)



WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.


They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.


The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.


Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...
I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.




For a brief spell the glory of Autumn is found in fields of golden pumpkins and brilliant leaves that turn the world into an enchanted land of red and gold.








 

 

 

 



Watch these pages for more of these "Write to a Picture" pages.
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poems and stories by our other authors.


But The Grass Is Still Green

The Invaded Child

A Day's Work

Awake, Awake, America

First Leaf Fall

Chapter 2: Frannie Sue and Crowder Peas




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