Everyday Ago

Nostalgia: A device that removes the ruts and potholes from memory lane. ~ Doug Larson

I remember clothes on the line,

sun-dried linens and windblown sheets,

sweet country air scented with pine.

The folded years of life repeats.

 

Raindrops on rooftops made of tin,

bare skin sinking into the earth.

Life was just so much simpler then,

the smallest things of greatest worth.

 

Picking green beans and shucking corn,

nodding rockers on the front porch,

the rooster’s crow the early morn

beneath the flame of day’s bright torch.

 

Castle Crawford cast iron stove

whose heat would drive you out the house,

paperback books - my treasure trove.

They were the field, and I the mouse.

 

Smell of wild onions freshly mowed,

Folgers perking in a glass top,

dust blowing off that old dirt road,

on either side the yellow crop.

 

The smell of rain after the storm,

the cool taste of a crystal stream,

open windows when days were warm,

sheer curtains blowing in my dream.

 

Tall, tall windows and hardwood floors,

open rafters of attic finds,

hand-carved mantels and stained-glass doors,

these are the haunts of older minds.

 

I find joy in reminiscing,

of making angels in the snow.

The days of old have gone missing,

but they were everyday ago.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

well done says i! love the language Ms.Van Tassel .. such a smooth, rhythmic flow down the lanes of such memories ... how you take me back .. in pleasure to think of my Ma and Grand Ma especially .. clever title .. intelligent and works like a charm in your closing line .. all lines blend as one into your theme but this one in particular .. wish i had thought of it kind of thing ;) "nodding rockers on the front porch," ... i am honored to have my Grandparents rockers with me to care for and pass on. what a keeper of a poem .. to be read many times with gathering enjoyment says i! ;)
E.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you so much. I'm so glad that you have your grandparents' rockers. Those things that are passed down like that are so meaningful. God bless you.

[Einstein Noodle]

thank you .. and God bless you too. :)

[Ken Simm.]

What a concept in the title .And I too love the subject although my past was very different. My memory of a clothes line was of grey soot smudged washing in the colliery yard pub where I was born. Although my pleasure in the memories is just as vivid and dare I say just as pleasurable.
But they do say that nostalgia aint what it used to be.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Hello, dear Ken. It's so nice of you to visit. I'm sorry that your memory of the clothesline is quite different. I do hope that you breathed some fresh air along the way. Being the artist that you are, I know you found joyous colors all along the way. Thank you.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

love the title....and you travel the road of nostalgia with breathtaking precision.
I remember the clothesline....before we had driers...
hanging the wash...simpler then...and in some respects, maybe most respects...Better.
j.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Jacob. I can still feel the clothespins in my hand, and the sound they'd make when you opened and closed them, flinching in expectation of those rare occasions when the metal holding one together would snap and it would fall in two. Folding them in fluffy stacks and placing them in the basket before taking them inside was always a pleasure, in the sun, that is. :) I remember the wash being forgotten on the line in the middle of winter. The next morning, I went to gather it off the line; and the jeans were frozen stiff. I kid you not, they could not be folded. The jeans were frozen stiff to the point where they would stand up on their own. :) Those were the days!

[Tom]

Fond memories indeed.....An enchanting, endearing poem so eloquently, expertly penned in wonderful flowing ABAB rhyme scheme, every end word a perfect fit that is not forced nor selected randomly like some do just to get their sentences to match, kudos my talented friend, as we say here, ' what a cracker '

And must also mention the beautiful accompanying piano concertos adding to the dreamy nostalgia of this lovely poem 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Tom. This was a fun write, travelling down memory lane. It's a combination of memories from my childhood at my grandmother's house in the country, my childhood in the city, and spending time in the country with others. It was fun piecing them together within this poem. I am glad that you like it, and thank you so much for the kind review.