The Lil’ House on Lone Star Road

9 Comments

Tags:
  • Childhood
    • ,
  • Truth
    • ,
  • Memories
    • ,
  • Family
    • ,
  • Humor
    • SEVEN
    • HEYLO, I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!

    Poem Commentary

    I dedicate this poem to my Mom "Vermell" and Dad "Alexander" who did a good job of raising twelve kids in a three bedroom house that never got crowded.  Make me wish I was a kid again--holding back the tears, growing up on LONE STAR ROAD

    The Lil’ House on Lone Star Road

    I was the new kid on the block as the lil house took on another load

    Twelve kids in all growin' up on Lone Star Road

    We had all other families beat and we all were kept neat

    Our parent always managed to keep shoes on our feet

    This was back in the day when it was simpler times

    When you only heard about white collar crimes

    Other than that, it was all good in the hood

    The area we lived in used to be called The Woods

    We lived in a three bedroom house with one washer to take on the loads

    But we still managed to live in the house dad built on Lone Star Road

    As I remembered, six of twelve were out in the world

    Still my brother and I had to share a room with girls

    It was all good though, I don’t remember bein' poor

    We all slept in beds, so there was no sleepin' on the floor

    I think my parents didn’t buy a T.V. as you can see

    They entertained themselves when they multiplied four kids by three

    The money wasn’t all that good but my parents kept the flow

    Our food bank never ever got low

    Dad was a truck driver, deliverin' big loads

    Sometimes he made deliveries to Lone Star Road

    I remember mom takin' in the white folks clothes

    The one washer we had stayed on overload

    Back on a street called Lone Star Road

    Poem Comments

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    WordManipulator commented on The Lil’ House on Lone Star Road

    09-21-2009

    Good read seven. Don't you still have that house you grew up in?. My parent moved us around so much I don't know where my childhood home is. Well thats the life of an military brat.
    Reply to Comment

    Paolo commented on The Lil’ House on Lone Star Road

    09-16-2009

    We who are privileged may never know how it feels to be wanting and here the voice points out that, "I don't remember being poor," when certainly from my privileged point of reference the voice in this work is poor. Many writers of poetry like this have come across blaming others, white folks, for their sorrows, we do not get that here. Instead we are invited to get a small glimpse into the life of a family rich in many other ways. While money helps make somethings easier, we do not get the sense that the voice laments in not having money but more showing us that a way was made on many fronts to live with dignity. I get the sense that this poem is the start of a great short story or novel about Lone Star Road. I know I want to know more, but I need to be invited as to intrude would be the worse kind of offense. Sometimes you have to make peace that this is all that is willing to be shared. I would read this again and again.
    Reply to Comment

    SEVEN

    09/16/2009

    You must have read my mind or between the lines here...I do have thoughts or writin a novel about my childhood days on this title

    Hypothicus commented on The Lil’ House on Lone Star Road

    09-10-2009

    I like the theme of your poem. It doesn't seem to stray far away from its central topic. You really painted a picture for me. Keep it up.
    Reply to Comment

    SEVEN

    09/16/2009

    THANX

    1990lh commented on The Lil’ House on Lone Star Road

    09-10-2009

    this was really nice seven i truely enjoyed sound like such fond memorie. i really love it i will give u a 10.:0)
    Reply to Comment

    SEVEN

    09/16/2009

    Thanx my lil booger-head sis...hehe

    SmileyAngel138 commented on The Lil’ House on Lone Star Road

    09-09-2009

    this is a nice one about childhood memories...we can't forget our roots...good job :-)
    Reply to Comment

    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

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