If you found me a Stranger..May you leave as A Friend..

If Poetry doesn't intrest you...but windows do...please check out my older links...there's pictures only,On post's before July 16,2007...
I have just discovered my new found love..of matching poems with pictures I take..
all the pictures and poems posted are by me..Connetta Jean. All titles have links to finding more of these things i find myself doing..just click on titles to poems or post's, they all go somewhere..
My favorite place is Flikr...there's i'm known as backroad drifter..with over 5,000 of my pictures of the Ohio backroads..and over 200 poems & lyrics with pictures.....
click the title of this post to go there...
this blog is just for window shots and poetry created to go with window shots...to find my blog with pictures of the ohio backroads with poetry just click view my profile..or click on the link at the right ,under links, called "more poems & pictures"..

Slower Days...

The old Cabin door
reminded me
of slower days....
a time of sowing
and reaping...
when a home
was simply
a place to eat..
a place to sleep..
a shelter from
the rain and snow...
when a house was built
by trees in the way
of homes & barns
graden plots
and chicken coops...
Where tiny nuts
grew on the trees
left for shade..
& A faint smell
of jellys & jams
seemed to fill
the emptyness
as blackberrys ripened
in a summer's sun
near the back door....

Shadows of Time...

Late in the day
when shadows fall
and darkness
first begins
inside the walls
of the old church.....
i feel at peace.
as if time
did not
touch me..
i feel poetry
deep within
my soul...
i feel as though
it needs me
simply to
write it down.
this is a place
of silent whispers....
where hands
that touched
the ancient walls
now lay
sleeping...
long ago
buried
where daisys
are blooming...
and memories
softly linger
on shadows
of time...

White Winter Gold....

I've been sitting and watching
as the kids from our town
take sleds up the hill
and sleigh ride back down..
from short ones to tall ones
from young kids to old
to them a big snow storm
is white winter gold...
Theres some building snowmen
some throwing snow balls..
others building snow forts
ignoring their mothers calls..
with their nose and cheeks
a bright ruby red,
and heads that are sweating
neith the caps on their head...
They just keep on sleighing
ice skating and stuff
making snow men and snow balls
They can't get enough..
I watch their parents build fires
that glow into the night
marsh mellows are roasting
It's a beautiful sight...
Time spent together
memories kept growing old..
are often the treasures
of finding white winter gold...

GUILT......

looking out the window
facing the lake
behind the house
a feeling came to me...
telling me
to wash the window.
the voice was silent
and seemed to be
upset with the window..
( I was Alone)
Two times
i've entred the Cabin,
once through a window,
This time
the door was open.
Both times
I have seen
perfect Orbs
within this space..
It is not so much
as i believe in them..
just a fact, I am one
who found them
in my pictures......
I do not question
what others claim i see
when Orbs appear...
now this picture
saddens me
makes me feel guilty,
for i did not
wash the window...

winters window...

The old cabin
has a window
overlooking a lake.
hidden in summer
(when trees are dressed)
yet ever so present
once Autumn arrives...
it doesn't take her long
to make a date
with old man winter..
Their lovers you know..
(doesn't everyone know?)
she sends him
autumn kisses
made of leaves
dancing in the cold winds..
(she left a few for me
tucked on the window).
Just before He arrives
she changes things..
(green is not
her favorite color..)
she paints them red
yellow and pink
orange..even purple..
then she strips them naked
to prove her promice
of dancing
Her dance
into winter...
I have been told
in late September
the old man stands
at this window
watching Her ......

The Bedroom window...

As i sat in the darknss
of a house old and cold
i looked out a window
hearing stories once told..
though i was a stranger
never been there before..
the old house welcomed
me at her door.
to look through her windows
and listen to walls..
So i'll know the secrets
she holds when she falls...
I thought of the sound..
when the church bells rang
and the music that played
for hyms that they sang...
i walked up one stairway
and back down anouther..
and Pictured a child
hiding out from her Mother....
The Old house is dying
Soon she will fall
but i've captured the visions
of what her windows saw....

Memories Dancing....

Deep in the woods
down a narrow path
she waits for me..
(Her door is always open..)
even in daylight
shadows fall
on her wooden floors
seeming to dance....
a faint smell
of honeysuckle
and wild rose
enter through windows
on a gentle breeze.
she knows me well.
I visit her often.
I drink cold water
from her spring
in grandmas tea cups...
i light candles
and burn wood
in her fireplace...
As poems flow
from her old walls
like conversation..
one must listen close
to hear
memories dancing...

Poetry tends to go with windows...

as i stood
on the front pourch
looking in the window...
I felt the strength
of a strong
foundation...
it's beauty
in the midst
of ruins
said many things..
vines from
ancient gardens
climbed the walls
that once
was warm and dry...
untouched
by rain and wind...
Her windows
could not hide
the love she held...
the laughter
and tears
of a family
that called
her home...
standing there
i felt not sadness
but joy.

windows

 
 
 
 

windows to a tomb.....

some new windows..