Poems from Home

My Old Kitchen

Running out the door, watching

The old spice witch burn

In yellow and orange flames

Cracking and popping noises

Coming from the window, firemen

running through the door, trying

To think positive but couldn't

My sister crying on my shoulder,

My mother telling us it's going to be alright

Walking through the door

Smelling the smoke as it flew

Out the door, stepping on the glass

and the ashes that fell from the

blackened, burned cabinets.

Looking at the burned picture on the wall

and glancing out the backdoor

to see the old burned stove.

Walking back outside in the cold

winter winds, jumping in the car

thinking what's going to happen next?

-Andrea

http://www.spi.com.sg/spi_files/haw_par/pic2/DSCF0151.jpg

Country Memories

Hot summer days playing outside,

The rusty old trampoline

In the middle of our big yard,

Coming in the house

From a long day of exercise

My mom and her homemade iced tea

Just for me and my brothers

My worn down dad

Walking in from cutting fallen wood.

The squeaky floors we walked on

The springy beads where we slept

The dirty walls that we touched

and the Tide smelling clothes we wore.

The woods that we explored

To the firepit we played in

The fist tank rocks in the driveway

and the dried up creek at the property line.

Walking up late

running fast trying to catch the burnt

rubber smelling bus.

Our playful excited dogs,

Jumping on us when we got home.

Our smelly brother in law

and his big rusty truck

Stuffed with bent and dirty scrap metal.

The quiet neighbors

That were kind and helpful,

The rude overweight slumlord

Who was nosey about what we did

The deep mud tracks my brother made in the yard,

With his rusty old truck.

I miss the camping

and the smell of burning wood.

I miss my old house,

I miss the country memories.

-Kyle

http://www.wvdjs.state.wv.us/Portals/0/Splash/CountryRoadRandolphCo.jpg