The Finest I've Ever Seen

                                          We no longer raise gardens, chickens and hogs

                                          No more smoking chimneys, we now use gas logs

                                          There's no more hog killings on Thanksgiving Day

                                          Only turkeys and hams grace the tables today

                                          We no longer carry water in for the night

                                          There's plenty of running water and baths delight

                                          There's no more sitting by an old oil lamp

                                          A light hangs from the ceiling, an electric revamp

                                          No more traveling preachers, a thing of the past

                                          Big new churches, log churches are in the past

                                          There's no more Store Truck making its way through

                                          Like kids in a candy store, we stood like a statue

                                          An orange and an apple used to be a Christmas treat

                                          Now days electronics are the only thing that's neat

                                         Keeping a milk cow and churning our own buttermilk

                                         They now snarl their nose if its not store bought milk

                                         There's not many clothes now blowing in the wind

                                         We now have clothes dryers and washers that spin

                                         No one takes time to visit their neighbors or the sick

                                         My daddy's not here with his big walking stick

                                        The canning and jelly making days are almost gone

                                         Just a few old timers left to carry on

                                        There's no one left to cure the thrash (Thrush) anymore

                                        My mama's gone and her cure is no more

                                        There's no more prayer and recess in school

                                        It seems everything now has become man's rule

                                        Those old aprons they wore with money tucked away

                                        Is gone too, like their hair tucked in buns of gray

                                        And those old time zinnas my grandma so loved

                                        They now grace heaven with beauty and love

                                        There's no more plowing with an old mule now

                                        They use big tractors but that old mule sure could plow

                                        There's no more hunting foxes, possums and coons

                                        And sitting by a campfire listening to the dogs croon

                                        That good squirrel gravy and dumplins I still smell

                                        My mama sure could make them so yummy and swell

                                        There's no more sleeping with six in the bed

                                        With three at the foot and three at the head

                                        And sweeping the yard with a worn out broom

                                        Praying for some grass to grow really soon

                                        There's no more swinging on those old grapevines

                                        Or playing hopscotch in the sand with hand drawn lines

                                        There's no more crawling through the barbed wire fence

                                        Trying to escape the bull, we didn't have any sense

                                        Playing in the cold creek was a summer time game

                                        Claiming to fall in on a winter's morning wasn't the same

                                        Going fishing at the old mill pond with fishing pole in hand

                                        Losing track of time, the fishing was so grand

                                        Helping mama find Poke Salad in the early spring

                                        Climbing through the briars and snakes was her thing

                                        Or picking creesy greens from the creek bank each year

                                        Not knowing the difference with mama not here

                                        Going to bed with the chickens on hot summer days

                                        No time change did we have, we got used to the same ways

                                        There's no more robbing the hen's nest in the early morn

                                        Those old hens sure could lay, fed good with corn

                                        Those wonderful old days I loved and once knew

                                         Is now gone and the old ways too

                                        The living was so good, the finest I've ever seen 

                                         I love to go back it makes my heart sing

                                            © Susie Swanson, 2019

A Warrior

I have fought a hundred battles

In my mind I've seen it all

I have raised my gun against the enemy

And seen my comrades die and fall

I have carried the armor of courage

Always wanting to do my part

On land, sea, jungles and deserts

It will always lay heavy on my heart

To my brothers and sisters that have fallen

I will always remember them well

So much sacrifice, they gave their all

In that place we all called hell

Inside the battles are still raging

In my mind I still see and hear

Mortals, shells and the enemy

In my sleep they still appear

Yet each day I try to carry on

Although I have cried many tears

If I had to do it over again

I would shed my coat of fears

And walk straight into battle

With my head held mighty high

For the freedom I fight hard for

I am willing to lie down and die

I will always be a Warrior

Even after I'm dead and gone

Please do not forsake me

Fly old Glory proud and strong

© Susie Swanson, 2019

Down An Old Dirt Road

Old country roads remind me of walking to church come Sunday morning and walking back come Sunday night. They remind me of walking to the little country store with mama's list in hand. Those early morning walks to catch the school bus and walking back in home at end of day, stopping long enough take our shoes off and wade across the little creek come warm weather, is priceless.

The fresh morning smells of honeysuckle, wild roses, mountain laurel or crabapple blossoms drifting in the spring time air, or walking in those big snows that were knee deep in the winter, rolling in the snow and throwing snowballs at each other along the way.

Taking refuge under a big tree come a hard, summer's rain and still takin a wetting and loving it to no end. Then we ran through mud holes with our bare feet, busting em wide open, never thinking about getting the toe itch till it was to late.

Ahhhh, how can I forget the huckleberries and that sweet taste. We knew exactly where they came up and picked em fast as they ripened, along side the road.

And those delicious blackberries we picked for mama to can and looking forward to that fresh blackberry cobbler, all the while eating more than we picked. Never thinking twice about the chiggers or poison ivy till it was to late.

Climbing over barbed wire fences and ripping our clothes to pick poke salat for mama. She didn't take to kindly to the ripped clothes or the dangers of getting snake bit but the poke salat changed the subject really quick.

  Riding an ole, rusted bicycle around every curve and bend, with nary a brake knowing we'd hit the ditch or the creek. It's a wonders we hadn't broke our neck or worse.

And trying to outrun the others to get the mail every day and stumping our toes along the way. They never did have a chance to heal. When cold weather settled in and we had to wear shoes we'd still hobble down those ole roads.

I couldn’t count how many trips we made to and fro carrying gallons of milk from the neighbors when we were between cows, hungry for some good cornbread and milk to go along with supper, sometimes making a complete meal out of it.

 And how can I forget takin a few poufs off of a cigarette butt after snatchin it outta the yard when daddy threw it down. Ahhhh, the sickness and turning green that followed, I'd sure like to forget and is still a reminder today. I said then and there, "never again.” Whewww.

It didn't matter the season or the weather, we made memories to last a lifetime and those ole dirt roads paved the way.

There's so many memories that still linger. I go back quite often and listen to the echoes of a childhood full of many seeds that's been sowed. How can we ever forget an old dirt road.

                                               © Susie Swanson, 2019

Left To Slumber

I'm just an old home left to slumber from happy days gone by

Many wind swept memories still linger sweet as a lullaby

My ole run down heart still has plenty left to tell

if you'd just step on in and sit fer a spell

I'd tell of the voices echoeing around me through the years

of so many happy souls, still makes me cry joyful tears

I yearn to be a happy place where the sound of a bird's song

was once deafened by the children that are now grown

The pretty daffodils still bloom around me in the spring

I'll always cherish the gardener and the beauty she did bring

My tarpaper shingles are not fancy but I miss shiny windows so clean

awe, I can still hear the supper bell and it's my favorite ring

Those wrinkled, tired, ole hands from sun up to sun down

oh how the table held plenty and the food did abound

Come spring, summer, Fall or winter, blue skies or gray

helping to spread a father and mother's love in a boundless way

I loved being a peaceful, ole place to lay their heads at night

dreaming of another day, the mantle clock a pleasant quiet

While the ole whipperwills made their nightly call

trying to out do the crickets, hoot owls and all

So many feet running around every corner and bend

there was never a dull moment before loneliness settled in

Underneath this ole roof a lifetime of living came to unfold

those beautiful sunsets, sunrises and rain pelting never got old

The tall, bending grass makes me seem so empty and gray

time has a way of doing that and history does slip on away

I may not look like much to some sitting here in the past

but these old, weather beaten boards were surely made to last

Today I sit in slumber and remembering comes so easy

listening to the yesterdays drifting in the leaves so breezy

Waiting for someone to walk through my welcome, ole door

then time will stand still and I'll never be lonely anymore

© Susie Swanson, 2019