See the Silance

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See The Silance2

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It is a big house ,built of brick made from clay before the war Between the States.
1854 was engraved in a brick beside the front door.
There is an iron fence across the width of the long front yard.
The gate is rusty from so many years of neglect.
What was it looking at? Stalks of dead weeds and flowers lay in
Bundles like bleached bones from a summer drought.
Flag stones,
One foot apart from the gate to the front door.
No large deep porches or big columns.
It is of the Federal style, more used inthe North,
than in the inviting of company in the South.
The front entrance is made from field stone,
solid it is or it would be gone.
Windows full length, floor to ceilings across the front of the house.
Two stories of windows looking out on past unseen glories.
Dommar windows in the attic, all with shutters, once painted a dark forest green.
On the south side a deep porch ,with a hand pump by the kitchen door,
a scarred wooden trough scarred and torn,
Windows are shorter on the south side , a balcony just above for a lady to sit on with pride.
The house was built on a gentle hill .
From the balcony could be seen the hills and sheep fold .
The sheppard would live in their blankets with their dog.
Cold in the mornings , stiff as a log.
A grave yard was just off to the right , close enough to be spooky on a dark rainy night.
Several stones are still upright , a wild rosebush holds the fence tight.
Sheep have been running on the house grounds.
Keeps the yard cropped off short , munching on the flower mounds.
Kicking away some debris and stone, I found some green sprouts,
I replace the cover with dead grass.
Frost will cover the ground at least one more time.4


#25


The tall windows stand like silent sentinels, ivy had covered the back porch lattice.
The back shutters are faded to grey but they were close and tight.
The garden looks like a cathedral in the early morning light.
Sun clearing the fog so the mist can arise, shedding its warmth on it’s prize,
morning glory cover the garden fence.
Under and old Oak tree is a worn wooden bench.
Morning birds are singing, mocking birds and finch.
Bird houses still attached to one old tree
. The tree now so big the houses difficult to see.
Years ago they were just off the ground.
After all these years they could hardly be found.
There are some out buildings, some almost down
. A silo ofrrck perfectly round.
A fox barks in the woods knowing there is no longer a hound.
An other back porch, the old cooking house, I had no doubt.
Had been covered with screen wire then cut out.
A chicken run behind the grape harbor.
The chicken house in need of some labor.
Out from the wash house the ground was still bear.
From the many kettles of water which had boiled there.
Close line once ran the length of the yard.
No wire is attached to apple tree or pear.
The skeleton of a tree house, no ladder or roof, telling of the boys who had lived there.
Living proof.
Swinging bridge crossed the creek, no place for the faint or meek.
Slats long gone, frame no longer strong, no railing to put the hand on.
The creek is wide , in places deep so many fishing stories in it’s depth to keep.
So many little boys had fallen in, how many fishing stories did begin.
Barns are set back out of sight, look shabby in the day light.
Do ghost of the past come out at night?
No utility lines to spoil the beauty or the quiet.
Autumn is coming on, a frost before long, a breeze is blowing strong.
The walk to the house won’t take long.
To go in or not, to go in will it be wrong?6


#3
A blue bird atop an old bird house sang a song, mocking birds in the tree tops began, quickly gone.
The grass was dark green each blade just so long.
Who to this old place does belong.?
No one in the town seemed to know. The register of deeds said to no one did it belong.
Taxes were paid, repairs made from the estate paid.
The owner in some grave site laid.
Mystery and curiosity does this old house make.
From the back, even though it was a mild day, was dark because the foliage kept the sun away.
The screen door opened with out a squeak. There was no light switch for which to reach.
Inside the once screened porch, brown leaves did reach. They lay in the corners and under a bench.
The back door was once snow white, the windows bear letting in light.
Trying to see inside was like seeing twilight. When the door opened the hinges were silent.
One would have expected a rusty sound quiet violent.
The room was nothing more than a mud room. Coats on a rack, shoes and boots on the floor.
An other opened door disclosed even more. Into a kitchen this open door went.
Every thing was covered with dust and lent. In the air a foul sent.
Water dripped from an old white sink, a rust stain had eroded from the constant cold drink.
A huge black cook stove covered one corner. Gas it was from looking at the burners.
A great round table flanked by six chairs. Food had been left on the dishes, no longer there.
The mice had eat well with no one to care. An old gas icebox, shelves bear.
A pantry with the door closed tight. Inside as dark as night. No supplies in sight.
What could have been this house hold’s plight?
There were burned down candles in every room. Years had passed sense the floors saw a broom.
In the parlor was set up a loom.
Threads tattered, the piece would have been finished soon.7


#48

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Curtains were still pulled back, which accounted for the windows looking stark and black.
Each room gave the impression some one was returning soon. Across a chair is a dress of faded black.
The dinning room had once been a beauty, time and neglect had done their duty.
A long mahogany table. Chairs of twelve. Paintings on the wall of a girl at a well.
Double windows closed up with a lock,
Looking out on a garden with weed and dry stalk.
A heavy gilt mirror seemed to mock. If only these faded walls could talk.
Bed rooms upstairs, there are four, in the attic three more.
Boxes and crates covered the floor. One section cut off with a door.
I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see more.
Beds were made, covered with hand stitched quilts, a settee by the window covered with rotten silk.
A crusted glass by a bedside, a child’s milk.
Wooden toys by a craft built case built. Corn shuck dolls and pillow case.
A handsome cut glass holder with the candle burned to the base.
Even commode pots under the beds placed. The master bed room a haunted place.
Open the door and see your own face. A mirrored dressing table in just the right place.
The bed was high needed a stepping stool. No closets, wardrobes were the rule, filled with damp rot clothes. These children had clothes for school, books had been left open on a desk.
Someone had been reading up for a test.
Gullivers Travels lay at rest.
The day was short, night coming soon. I didn’t want to be left in the light of the moon.
What had happened to cause them to leave?
Were they hard put,were they deceived? To walk off and leave their home to weeds and leaves.
A moth eaten piece lay on a window seat the needle mid stitch, needle rusty , ready to finish the stitch.
Who sat upon that seat? For whom was the crochet a treat? 10

#511


Every thing of cloth, mice and moths had eaten. A water closet was tucked behind the stairs.
It was water stained , in need of much repair. Every thing needed by a family is in place here.
But the people. Did no one care.?12