In quiet meditation, am I there?
On an old El Paso cement porch
With my dear sweet grandma by my side
Rockin’ in a squeaky wicker chair.

She tells me of her blinded eyes,
After my insensitive questions,
She was patient with her grandchild,
And that broadened my perception.

Am I in that tiny house at the back of the lot,
Where Mrs. Stanton, a published writer
Lived in books cluttered to the ceiling,
Were her patient sharing made me brighter?

Am I just really sitting in that place which is now,
Someone I never knew I would be,
If so, I’ll be patient and share all that I know
If a little one comes round to ask me.

Or am I in the future where I picture pastels,
Where hugs are commonplace and angels and songs,
What a grand way to travel with pictures in my mind,
Anywhere my roaming heart longs.

© By Norma (


The Past Remembered

I remember when I was so young
That tomorrow took a year to come.
And yesterday was so long ago
It didn't count for anything.

I remember when I knew Summer was here,
I don't recall planning for it though.
One day it was late Spring
The next...our shoes evaporated.

Nowadays it takes eons for Winter to end.
I look out the window every morning
To see if the red buds are on the tree.
It feels like a century has passed.

© By Swampetta (


The Past Remembered

Coming home from school and finding my father had butchered my pet rabbit and we were expected to eat it for dinner. I went to bed hungry that night.

A huge garden of fresh spinach and all of us harvesting it.

My brothers making corn cob pipes.

My sister making dolls out of corn cobs.

Pop was re-roofing the chicken sheds. Our old dog Rusty, climbed the ladder behind him and when Pop turned around to get his hammer, there was that old dog, just sitting on top of the roof. He couldn't get down again and had to be carried down in one of my brother's arms.

Hunting for my banty hen to find her nest. Often times we couldn't find it and next thing you knew, there were 10 to 12 banty chicks following her around. She was good at hiding her nest.

My sister's cat, giving birth to four kittens in a neighbor's car.

© By Sharon (



A lovely garden of remembrance
I hold somewhere in the depth of mind
and recall its fragrance from time to time.

The hanging moss falls softly into my thoughts
and the gentle breeze calls to me so kind
and breathes upon my brow a coolness.

There in the garden I relive a dream of days gone by
and listen for distant voices among the Lilly of the Valley's bells
never knowing for sure if 'tis true that daisies don't tell.

And as the distant voices fade, I am returned to the present day.
My garden of thought must fade, fade away
but it awaits me on another day

To whisper sweet into my ear
of yet another yesteryear.

© By Phyllis Ann (


Yes, I Remember Back Then

The house is quiet, sort of cold,
not time for the furnace to come on.
Quiet as my thoughts prevail,
thinking of what I was dreaming, afore I awoke.

Early morn is my time,
just me and my thoughts,
no interruptions, no comments,
just me a thinking and a typing.

Remembering what was neat and cool,
when a boy I was back then.
During the war we saved grease,
to support the war effort.

White buck shoes, mine were loafers,
orange soles, not the lacers.
Penny loafers with a dime,
Irene good night and Tennessee Waltz.

Tom Dooley a playing on the train,
that carried me to Parris Island.
WWL New Orleans, played the big band dance music,
Ames brothers and the Pinto Pony, Beer barrel polka.

Doctors made house calls,
two dollars it cost,
couple days they were a coming,
people trusted the doctor and their preacher.

Mimeograph copiers, cut a stencil and run them off.
three telephones in the village,
lots of folks getting electric lights,
indoor plumbing a rarity, Sears and Monky Ward Catalogues.

Walk where you wanted to go,
not many people had an automobile.
busses and trains you rode to town,
five and dimes the big thing.

Vets wearing their “Ruptured Duck”
proud of their war service.
Nickel cokes, ice cream cones,
penny candy was so dandy.

Yeppers, memories of way back then,
things were so much simpler then,
people honest, told the truth,
people worked for what they got.

Gone are those days,
only the memories,
shucks, I worked for ten cents an hour.

© By Tom (


Things We Don't See Anymore

Tie clips (tie clasps)...typewriters...switchboard operators...gas station attendants...nickel candy....paper boys...milk men...women in in hats...dogs running loose...three piece suits...garter lines

Here is the challenge..write a story including things you don't see anymore...come up with your own list...or use the above...or both the above and your list. You don't have to use every item on either list. I didn't.

The gas station attendant sprayed the windshield and wiped it dry with his red shop cloth. His name was Jeff, he used to be our paper boy. He always aimed for the porch but usually hooked it left into the hydrangea. The milkman made his deliveries on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings and on those days the paper was 'porched'. Ted in his snazzy white uniform and captain's hat dug the paper out of the bush and placed it between the bottles he left at our door.

"Thanks, Ted," we called out after him, our screen door squeaking and then slamming shut behind Mom. "That boy Jeff is not getting a tip this month." But of course when Jeff came to collect, we always gave him a little something extra. His family needed the money. His father didn't make it back. The tragedy of it was the war was over. His Dad was on sentry duty in some forgotten outpost in the South Pacific. A Japanese sniper who hadn't yet heard Hirohito surrendered unconditionally made Jeff's Mom a widow.

She received a neatly folded American Flag and gave her husband's dog tags and gold Marine tie clasp with the American Eagle, the globe and the anchor etched into it, to her son. Jeff kept both in a treasure box he hid underneath his bed with his purees, his box of BBs and the nudie playing card he'd found in the alley behind the pool hall.

We watched Jeff spray the right side of our windshield. He never got the windshield streak free. We never said anything, it was a small town, everyone forgiving because courtesy and friendliness trumped perfection. Everyone knew everyone else. Bikes were never stolen, dogs ran loose and lost dogs were always returned. Once in a while tragedy struck, a beloved four legged companion stepped out into main street or onto the highway at the wrong moment. Sometimes they survived. Some dogs had a habit of chasing cars. Our next door neighbor's dog was one of those. His name was Scamper and he walked with a limp, but still chased cars.

It would be unheard of to say anything. If people wanted to risk the health and well beings of their dogs that was their business.

"How's your Mom?" Dad asked Jeff as he took out a five dollar bill and paid for the fill up. "Mom is getting promoted to switchboard operator."

"That's fine, Jeff." Everything was fine with Dad. From the change, Dad gave me a nickel. I jumped out of the car and ran in to buy a Three Musketeers. When I climbed back in, Dad handed me a page of green stamps he had earned for filling up, "Put those in the glove compartment."

"What's a switchboard operator?," I asked Dad. He looked both ways before pulling onto the highway. "Well, I would say, it's a device that routes phone calls. Pretty technical. The world is getting complicated, son.

I peeled off the wrapper from my Three Musketeers Bar and thought about how complicated the world was getting.

© By Diana Mercedes (


What Pray Tell Me Would It Take to Get You to Move?

Upon marrying we set out to live with relatives for a spell,
six months here, six months there. Here, there, everywhere.
One morning I said pray tell what would it take to get you to move?

Well by then we living on top of a mountain in a dilipidated trailer,
then eighteen months later he came home and said pack up we are moving to Maryland.
So again we packed up and moved, in a blizzard this time, he being stranded in PA. I was stranded in maryland.

Well I thought this is the end of moving for a while and settled in a little.


One day again he said pack up kiddo. I said again?
Yes, maam! This time around the bend we went, settled in, and lo-and-behold after about seven years, he walks in the door and says, pray tell what would it take to get you to move ?

I just raised my eyebrows and gave him that look..
He said pack up. This is a big one. I said oh no, no, no~~
So this time it's Westward ho we go.

Once again living with reletives, then pack up were moving again.
Finally, after a few more moves, we settle into an apt.
Now, after many many years it is I who is saying to him:
pray tell what would it take to get you to move? Pleaseeeeeeeeee......

© By Amy (





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