Recent Posts for the 'Poetry / Quotes / This ‘n That' Category

Pat’s Poem for My Clothesline Book-in-the Works

Saturday, August 26th, 2017

Note: Last week my friend Pat came for a visit just as I was working on the poems and pictures for my book-in-the-works, En Plein Air: The Art and Craft of the Clothesline, which is almost finished, so I thought I would include Pat’s poem and picture (based on one of my photos from Italy) as a “teaser” for the book. It will be available on Amazon.com, date to be announced.

 

Clothesline Memories
by Pat Ferraro
8/17/17

 

A clothesline was a news forecast to neighbors passing by.
There were no secrets to be kept when clothes were hung to dry.

The line announced a baby’s birth from folks who lived inside,
as brand new infant’s clothes were strung while momma beamed with pride.

It also said, “We’ve gone on vacation,” when lines hung loose and bare,
and then announced, “We’re home again without a thing to wear.”

Folks in town were frowned upon when laundry was dingy and gray.
Brows were raised and tongues would wag as heads would turn away.

Clotheslines are mostly part of the past, as people use them less.
What happens inside a home today is anybody’s guess.

I miss the friendly backyard chats because as everybody knows—
the gossip is the very best while hanging up your clothes.

Using your automatic dryer as a second choice is fine,
in wintertime or on rainy days, when you can’t use the line.

So be kind to the environment and hang your laundry, please.
Weather permitting, that’s nature’s way to dry with sun and breeze.

Make Do by Mary Lou Meyers

Friday, July 28th, 2017

This poem by my classmate Mary Lou is perfect for Earth Day Every Day! I am posting it on the Home Page, Poetry Page, and Earth Day Every Day Page. es

 

Words forged on the home front, “make do,”
holes in our socks, soles worn through.
Paper Sole Sammy made them look like new.
Mother spared, “a stitch in time saves nine.”
Invisible patches on suits and Sunday dresses,
turning collar and cuffs on Dad’s work shirt a must.
I learned to darn socks over a bulb with bold weaving
till with practiced hand, it became deceiving.
Many long braids untouched by scissors or machine wave,
in patriotic fervor donated for Navy instruments.
“Junk can win the war,” saved paper, cans, and more.
Castoffs on the side of the road a storehouse
filling my dream, a two wheeler from parts made whole,
good as new with leftover auto paint, heavenly blue,
a heavy weight, but Dad said it strengthened my legs.
Neighborhood, “hand me downs,” were a way of life,
an art form to take scraps of material left
from Mother’s outfit to make one for me.
Unraveling wool from dad’s worn sweater,
saving the best to knit a red vest for my brother.
Country cousins sewed and pressed floral feed sacks,
did their best for a one of a kind back to school dress.
We made “do” without a car walking back and forth
saving nickels instead of bus fare to the store, parings
composted in our Victory Garden nourished the soil and us.
Meat and butter a rarity with rationing,
when company came, mother exchanged poor man’s bread
for poor man’s cake, raisins in a smiley face on top.
“Cheap” was not a word of blame but praise,
going green and recycling was what we naturally did,
joy in finding or growing something useful and free.
Today’s trash could turn into tomorrow’s necessities.
Will those Good Times ever happen again?
The populace blended when “Make Do” was the thing to do.
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