Suggested Prompt...
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Tell the story of this picture.
Or use it for a poem.
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Quiet life Tanka.
Rusty, tin-worn roofs,
Lay to rest the memories
Of gentle days past.
We wandered through green orchards
Once, which now become fallow.
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9 comments:
The farmer has passed on
But the barn remains;
Again will come the dawn,
To light this terrain
Upon which life was made,
And too soon ended;
The trees that once gave shade
No more are tended.
Tools hang still in the shed,
Though the rust begins
To turn the silver red,
They still shine within;
Friends still tend to the lawn,
They will not forget;
Time slowly marches on,
With not one regret.
Quiet life Tanka.
Rusty, tin-worn roofs,
Lay to rest the memories
Of gentle days past.
We wandered through green orchards
Once, which now become fallow.
Oh to have a channeled vision of past lives. Seeing the children, the hired hands and the livestock wandering the acre or so of outbuildings. A ghostly vision of lives lived, lives lost, worthwhile - meaningful lives led by generations knowing this farm was their legacy.
Dan
On the occasion of his 73rd birthday, Jonah Hoff stepped out onto the porch of the house he was born in, and paused to look at the outbuildings across the way from his empire of corn and soybeans.
Sipping his coffee, he heard Grandpap in his head, saw in hand as he cut a jack stud for one of the barn doors. Grandpap was always on about doing things right, or not doing things at all. Jonah reckoned grandpap had been right, too. The barn was still there, battered and gray like his own worn body. But still standing just the same. Jonah took another swallow, a grey mist clouding his eyes suddenly. He told himself it was justhe steam, only steam, and went back inside to breakfast.
Raggedy old sheds we are, in the middle of no where. Over grown grass and no one that cares. I used to be new you know, fresh paint and a working door. Don't judge me by what you see now, because back then, you would have said "WOW". I now stand alone, with a friend here and there. But it is ok, because I know there is someone that will come back and get me back on track.
Thank you all for your posts. I'm amazed my photo could inspire such beautiful words. There are so many talented photographers on here.
Old barns have character
and bring memories of
hay lofts, horse shit,
and hard work.
The beauty of a vanishing
way of life is preserved for
a while longer; a setting of
nature and harmony with the earth,
the neglected, unused barn lends us a reflection of our own mortality as it deteriorates and rots and finally succumbs to the woodland, meanwhile captured so beautifully that it will last forever as long as we can remember.
Such a beautiful photo!
The quiet life
Lives within me.
I find it wherever I go,
If only I close my eyes
And tune out this loud world.
Yet, there are moments
Of loudness and anguish
That seems to control me.
Moments unbearable to comprehend
In this world of pointing fingers.
I long to be at the farm
Where nature and peace explode,
Allowing comfort, acceptance,
Understanding; to flood my being.
The quiet life calls my name.
The colors found on the farm
Allow my overwhelmed eyes
To find peace.
I am carried away by life and majesty
As I gaze upon nature in it's most natural form.
The quiet life surrounds me.
I find contentment living and breathing from within.
I see life in its purest form,
Growing, learning and becoming.
I gaze at the hawk above me
Looking for its prey
And I am reminded of where it is
I am, in this moment.
I am in the place, not that I long for.
I find myself shocked by reality.
Again, stealing away my serenity.
Back to work.
Away from this quiet life.
But if only for a moment,
I have closed my eyes and wandered away from it all. I found my heart content.
I found the quiet life, again.
I love the silences
I dig my own space
I love the rippling water
As I lie in a daze
And yet I crave
The bustle, people and activity
I’m a living contradiction
And I love it, hee hee : )
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