The Place Where I Belong

Reads: 150  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Double Bar D
Painting a picture of a real town inside a real place, filled with real people, but not any more.

Submitted: February 01, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 01, 2017





There once was a time,

Now long since come and gone,

When beans were gathered by the bushel,

And bountiful harvests were broadly known.


In town was the shoe shine man,

Who carried his box around.

Well I would sit up high in a street side chair,

When in passing he could be found.


Across the street was the local barber,

Where local knowledge a plenty would abound,

On down farther stood the local feed and seed

That was open the whole year round.


At Easter time the store

was filled with baskets of colored eggs,

And cages of colored chicks

Or geese  among so much more;

The air throughout

was filled with sound of chirps

And a menagerie of rabbits galore!


On a street corner ahead

Was a soap box,

Upon which stood a banjo man,

Who would play and sing while I

stomped my feet and  clapped my hands

To the perfect rhythm of the five string and a tin can.


Throughout the town

the World War One vets would walk,

As did the blind one who owned the local feed and seed,

Telling us children tales of yore

From those days of wealth and enlightenment

When Brer Rabbit used to smile and speak.


Well I sold coon hides

And picked up soda bottles,

To get myself some playing money;

Unto the rule of living life I did abide.

What ever happened to those happy days of freedom,

When individual liberty thrived?



© Copyright 2018 H.L. Dowless. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: