Science is for those who learn; poetry, for those who know. — Joseph Roux, Meditations of a Parish Priest
To be a poet is a condition, not a profession. — Robert Frost
Everything one invents is true, you may be perfectly sure of that. Poetry is as precise as geometry. — Gustave Flaubert

Sunday, July 19, 2009

~ The Porch Swing ~

Sitting on the porch swing
Swinging the day away
Enjoying all the view and noise
No way I’d rather play

My Granny right beside me
It’s such a noble treat
I mimic all her motions
Even placement of her feet

My itty bitty child self
Just beams and feels so big
We talk of things, 'bout life and such
And lift our drinks and swig

Taking in the summer scene
Swatting at the flies
Enjoy each others company
Watch the cars go by

Smelling all the summer scents
Drifting in the air
Bar B Q’s and fresh cut grass
The hairspray in her hair

And sometimes a mosquito
Would get the best of us
We held our ground, but scratch like mad
Occasionally she’d cuss

My favorite time upon the swing
Was after rain that poured
Would fill the air with rain kissed scent
A moment I adored

But wait, Oh no, It’s time to go
I’ll make my running start
Hop off the swing, run through the house
To Granny’s candy jar

~© Bobbie Sandlin~

I wrote this one several years ago. It was a fun one, reflecting one of my favorite memories of childhood. Visiting my Granny, and I loved her swing. When I was a little kid, it was always such a thrill at feeling "big" when I got to swing with her. The candy jar reference - every time it was time to go, that was my treat. I didn't get a lot of candy at home, and Granny kept her candy jar full of a variety of hard candies. My favorite was the Brock's Peppermint. I'd grab hand fulls and shove them in my pockets lol.


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