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    Headstall
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Headstall's Reflections - 43. Chapter 43 Pieces Left Behind

Why I don't ever want to leave this farm....

Headstall’s Reflections

 

 

Chapter 43 Pieces Left Behind

 

 

There’s an old basketball hoop

Above the garage doors

With peeling orange paint

Bent from the weight

Of exuberant slam dunks

 

An old feed tub sits

In the corner of an unused stall

Holding up hockey sticks

Both tall and short and in between

Some broken, some whole

 

A piece of tattered green

From an ancient vinyl tarp

Still roped to a tree trunk

A fluttering remnant

Of a daughter’s magic fort

 

Four names carved

Into silvered barn board

Almost hidden by vines

Child-like scrawls

Two feet from the ground

 

Graves of favored pets

Cats, dogs, budgies, a turtle

Under the canopy of maples

A holy place to my children still

Its occupants treasured for all time

 

Everywhere—everywhere I gaze

Memories and scattered pictures

I can hear the laughter

The squeals and the barks

And peace washes over me

 

Children grow up

And they find their own ways

As it should be

They may disappear for a time

But they leave some pieces behind

 

I can be lonely, yes

But how can I truly be alone

When I can trace their lives and mine

From the old sneaker in the tree

To all the smiles bestowed upon my heart

Life moves on, but memories don't....

Copyright © 2017 Headstall; All Rights Reserved.
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So much love for this poem, Gary. All of the memories like remnants and small reminders of a fulfilling life spent watching your kids grow up. You are surrounded by your kids even though they are not physically present. Very heartwarming. Thanks for this.

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You just captured all the reasons I don't like moving...I've only done it twice--okay, the one just before I turned three doesn't count...so it's twice in y adult life. There were a lot of memories stored up in that ranch house in the country--twenty-seven years of them, and it's weird to think that as of this year, I've lived in my current house a year longer!
Lots of memories here too, but though I'd hate to leave, it doesn't feel the same--is it something in the water that makes country places the ones we are closest too? Or is it the memories from those early years were of friends and adventures rather than another working day?
Nostalgia hits hard when you take time to let it in!

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There are so many memories tied up with places. Unfortunately, we had to move a few times to different cites (work) so I'm not tied to homes in that way. Our memories are tied to a cottage. There are so many memories, both happy and sad, that I couldn't imagine ever giving it up. :hug:

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The memories are what make it home. Your kids gave you such joyful rememberances as you in turned did for them ... and then there are those furred and feathered and scaly ones too that beauty with the shared lives. I am overjoyed to think of you smiling over these words. Namaste my friend.

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What strikes me most about this poem are the objects and images which appear, one after another. This makes the vision so very real to me, more than just a photo album of your farm. I can practically touch the tree, sit on the old bucket, look for a basketball to play hoops with...you have made your life tangible, and in doing so, made me hear the laughter and yearn for the same memories you bring to mind.

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Nice Gary. My mum said to me that memories arent in the building ... and i suppose they aren't but the stuff left behind certainly is. I dont have much stuff from her, but the things i do are cherished.
Lovely Gary... xoxo

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Your poem touches all those little things that make my kids laugh at me over the things I have kept from their infancy and childhood. Those things that can still bring tears to my eyes if I look at them, touch them, even just think about them.
I'm so glad you shared this.
Molly

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On 01/28/2017 05:02 AM, MacGreg said:

So much love for this poem, Gary. All of the memories like remnants and small reminders of a fulfilling life spent watching your kids grow up. You are surrounded by your kids even though they are not physically present. Very heartwarming. Thanks for this.

Thanks, Mac! I'm pleased you liked this... my children... yeah, worth a poem or two :)

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On 01/28/2017 05:07 AM, ColumbusGuy said:

You just captured all the reasons I don't like moving...I've only done it twice--okay, the one just before I turned three doesn't count...so it's twice in y adult life. There were a lot of memories stored up in that ranch house in the country--twenty-seven years of them, and it's weird to think that as of this year, I've lived in my current house a year longer!

Lots of memories here too, but though I'd hate to leave, it doesn't feel the same--is it something in the water that makes country places the ones we are closest too? Or is it the memories from those early years were of friends and adventures rather than another working day?

Nostalgia hits hard when you take time to let it in!

Thanks, buddy. We do what we have to, but as long as I can, I will stay put... my kids history started here :hug:

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On 01/28/2017 05:36 AM, LitLover said:

There are so many memories tied up with places. Unfortunately, we had to move a few times to different cites (work) so I'm not tied to homes in that way. Our memories are tied to a cottage. There are so many memories, both happy and sad, that I couldn't imagine ever giving it up. :hug:

It's nice to have the visual reminders :hug:

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On 01/28/2017 05:52 AM, dughlas said:

The memories are what make it home. Your kids gave you such joyful rememberances as you in turned did for them ... and then there are those furred and feathered and scaly ones too that beauty with the shared lives. I am overjoyed to think of you smiling over these words. Namaste my friend.

Yes, this was a happy poem... comforting... thanks, dugh :heart:

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On 01/28/2017 06:34 AM, Lyssa said:

Wonderful! So sweet and full of love. You can hear children´s laughter while reading it. I am captivated.

Lyssa

I'm glad you could hear it too, Lyssa... thank you :heart:

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On 01/28/2017 06:49 AM, Parker Owens said:

What strikes me most about this poem are the objects and images which appear, one after another. This makes the vision so very real to me, more than just a photo album of your farm. I can practically touch the tree, sit on the old bucket, look for a basketball to play hoops with...you have made your life tangible, and in doing so, made me hear the laughter and yearn for the same memories you bring to mind.

Yes, my farm is a photo album. I'm pleased you could see the pictures and hear the sounds :heart:

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On 01/28/2017 09:29 AM, Mikiesboy said:

Nice Gary. My mum said to me that memories arent in the building ... and i suppose they aren't but the stuff left behind certainly is. I dont have much stuff from her, but the things i do are cherished.

Lovely Gary... xoxo

I cherish many 'things,' but only because of the memories they bring to the surface and love for the person they belonged to... thanks, tim :hug: xoxo

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On 01/28/2017 12:06 PM, mollyhousemouse said:

Your poem touches all those little things that make my kids laugh at me over the things I have kept from their infancy and childhood. Those things that can still bring tears to my eyes if I look at them, touch them, even just think about them.

I'm so glad you shared this.

Molly

I have every single birthday card they ever gave me... most of them homemade by little hands... thanks, Molly :hug:

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