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| Winter paper
The baker makes donuts
The snow piles up
All is quiet
Open the storm door
Hard to peddle in
The ice on those scarves
Back home breakfast waits
Don |
Follow-Up Postings:
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- Posted by ejmoore510 7 (My Page) on Wed, Apr 6, 11 at 5:31
| What a wonderful picture this paints! Thank you for a great start to my day. |
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| Don, what a great poem, a so-true story--- a full bubble of LIFE!!!!! That was no small job at that time of morning, that time of year...... I hope you just keep right on sharing and writing----it is your most wonderful gift. Well, that, and being able to still climb trees! I'm so proud of you. |
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- Posted by anneliese_32 6 (My Page) on Wed, Apr 6, 11 at 8:39
| What a wonderful gift you have. I hope you don't mind if I share your poem with my husband who was a paperboy for 8 years in Massachusetts winters. You tell it so much better than he can. Thank you. |
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| Another good poem/tale, you pint such a good word-picture, Don |
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| Don, your poem brings back lots of memories; my son was a neighborhood paper boy in 1970 when he was 15. When, for whatever reason, a paper wasn't delivered, he was called at home, and usually, I ended up taking him to deliver one! Until I remembered that he had been a paper boy, I usually associated them with the WW2 years. Today, our morning paper is thrown out of a car window into our driveway. It is in a plastic bag, though. I wonder if many young men of today would be willing to deliver papers--especially in the cold and dark! If I'm doing an injustice to anyone's grandson, I apologize. |
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| Don, well done. Your Pisces is showing. Nicley captured and conveyed. Delicious imagery. It's not the sons I wonder about m! I'm sure my son would do it (and many other kids) in a heartbeat. It's him being alone and riding so early by himself that worries me; such an easy target. Isn't that sad? I remember being so much younger than he and staying out until dark and never checked in. Didn't have a cell phone either. Sad world we live in. It's changed for the worse in some ways. |
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- Posted by west_gardener (My Page) on Wed, Apr 6, 11 at 20:00
| I sure enjoyed your poem. You have a nice way to describe everyday life. Looking forward to more of your work. |
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| Rob, you're right! It's truly a different world that we live in, today. |
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| Thanks for the kudos, glad I could brighten your day. Three and a half years delivering the Des Moines Register till we moved to California in '64. One morning I looked at the window thermometer at one of the houses and it said -40 degrees. The yellow bag would get lighter with each delivery. The kids today should have the opportunity to do something that would give them a feeling of accomplishment and inclusion in society at least in a small way. Guess that is thinking that originates in small towns. Rob, you are right it is not as safe out there as it was then. Wish I still had the light blue Schwinn cruiser, double forks with springs, a horn in the tin between the brace bars and a light on the handle bars. This is when I was 13 and broke my leg jumping over a front porch step while collecting for the route. My brother Steve and our dog Skipper are the other two. My two older sisters did my route for me till the cast came off. One of them found a boy friend that delivered the route next to mine. They also broke my perfect record twice and had to take the papers to the ones they missed.
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| The closest we get to community involvement here is, our community center gets cleaned by the kids right before baseball season. Loads of bending and lifting, raking and digging. The kiddos also tend to treat the park well all season long too, using the trashcans in the dugouts. I assume that's from having them clean it up makes them appreciate the way it looks and they want to keep it that way. The kids at church also help the elderly with their yardwark. That's 'bout it. I do wish he and I were physically involved with Habitat for Humanity stuff, but I bet they wouldn't let him considering the equipment and "danger" at a job site. When you remodel or build there are quite a few nails, glass, and wood pieces with which to hurt yourself, 'specially less coordinated hands and feet. Bless the baby's hearts. I know he'd love it :/ |
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| Looks like we're about the same age. I love your poem, and the photo too! |
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