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(
[sid] => 51774
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
[time] => 2004-06-13 19:14:57
[hometext] => Go with me please back to yesteryears and all the wonderful smells. Can you remember the smell of the sheets hung on the line? Ahhhhhhhhthat was fine!
[bodytext] => 
"THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN"
(Taken from the writings of my favorite author,
R. McQuisten-- February 10, 1985 )
Having always liked where I've been, and not sure where I'm going.....
It's comforting to flavor the present with aromas, of an age passing.
Forty or more years ago, odors were considerably different.
Places, tainted with hydrocarbon of manmade nitrogen treatment.
Do you remember? Refresh your memory and recall?
Old odors, when Grandma raised her head into the windfall.....
"It's going to rain," and you would ask because you were a child,
"How do you know?" "Feel it honey, smell it" she smiled.
Did you ever notice how many times the scents change?
Cold, cold winds of January have the ground odors out of range.
But remember the discarded Christmas trees burning?
Tin Tinsel too short for next year, like Pine basting.
The old Chey, blowin' steam with cardboard wired across the radiator bottom?
Pungent smell of anti-freeze inviting a whiff is welcome.
Ah, the coal smoke, unique odor as aspen, cottonwood, ash, white pine, and oak.
Apple and pieces of cedar saved for fireplaces of homefolk.
Look of thanks rising with fumes of a wet and tired hunting dog.
Rubbed with feed sacks by the ole pot-bellied stove with a log.
Last year's hunt brought to mind the bitter aroma of sagebrush,
while dressing that trophy pronghorn fine.
February was the month of one good odor.....
Yellow laundry soap followed by bluing-water.
Hung on the line to freeze dry, clean smell of bed linen flavor.
Smells of the past, gone, advent of automatic washer and drier.
April's rains wash away the dirt soiled snows of winter.
Smells of the earth, spring plowing does the soul a world of worth.
Next comes newly mowed hay, and the sweet aroma after.
High mountain meadows, multitude of wild flowers fragrance, the arrowroot, primrose, buttercup, the smell of pine give birth.
The old spiny, yellow rose with a hundred blossoms to the bush.
Smells different, not like it's cousins hybrid purple, and multi-colored rose bush.
Fragrances from an old-time farm is a hundred fold.
Kitchen smells like coffee, cloves, and cinnamon in apple pie consoled.
The pickling crock, the yeast of rising bread.
Oil cloth covered tables with Morton's curing salt widespread..
An old milk pail of brown shell eggs, a scent and character not found in the cold.
Grey cartons of today's dairy cases, and the yolks stood higher in the old iron skiilet of old.
Even the chicken house changed it's odors where eggs were gathered.
When each changing of the removal and renewal of straw on the nests and floor was altered.
Barn yard with it's sweet, warm steam under a light bulb, baby chicks
Smells differently than a fryer chasing grasshoppers with it's antics.
Laying mash, hay mow, a bin of wheat, sweat soaked saddle blanket scent all of their own.
Notice too, a little spaniel pup, or new born colt, smell differently than a dog or horse grown.
Ah......never forget grandmother's lavender smell
Her Mavis talcum powder and Pond's cold cream remember well.
Granddad had one too, of Prince Albert, Bull Durham tobacco, horse sweat, and his own sweat.
Sometimes of Burma Shave talc, or was it Wildroot cream oil, how could I forget?
Find the time to go stand on a gravel road just before the rain.
The air smells so clean and fresh, the winds coming through the shower remain.
Stand waiting, the first heavy, marble-shaped drops to beat up tiny puffs of dust a foot or two apart.
The road smells differently than any other time, but remember to breath deeply, only moments to smell, then depart.
There is a reverence in remembering, but we hurry so...........
And then too, they cut the yellow roses down,
and with them the lovely smell of yellow!
Created especially
for my dear friend
Dick, who is the author,
The poem is mine.
Cheri Cam LeBren
June 13, 2004
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"To see a world in a grain of sand,
and heaven in a wildflower, hold infinity in the
palm of your hand and eternity in an hour."
~William Blake~
"Sweet smelling smiles!"
[comments] => 9
[counter] => 198
[topic] => 44
[informant] => lovingcritters
[notes] =>
[ihome] => 0
[alanguage] => english
[acomm] => 0
[haspoll] => 0
[pollID] => 0
[score] => 20
[ratings] => 5
[editpoem] => 1
[associated] =>
[topicname] => Nostalgic
)
THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
Contributed by
lovingcritters
on
Sunday, 13th June 2004 @ 07:14:57 PM in AEST
Topic:
Nostalgic
|
"THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN"
(Taken from the writings of my favorite author,
R. McQuisten-- February 10, 1985 )
Having always liked where I've been, and not sure where I'm going.....
It's comforting to flavor the present with aromas, of an age passing.
Forty or more years ago, odors were considerably different.
Places, tainted with hydrocarbon of manmade nitrogen treatment.
Do you remember? Refresh your memory and recall?
Old odors, when Grandma raised her head into the windfall.....
"It's going to rain," and you would ask because you were a child,
"How do you know?" "Feel it honey, smell it" she smiled.
Did you ever notice how many times the scents change?
Cold, cold winds of January have the ground odors out of range.
But remember the discarded Christmas trees burning?
Tin Tinsel too short for next year, like Pine basting.
The old Chey, blowin' steam with cardboard wired across the radiator bottom?
Pungent smell of anti-freeze inviting a whiff is welcome.
Ah, the coal smoke, unique odor as aspen, cottonwood, ash, white pine, and oak.
Apple and pieces of cedar saved for fireplaces of homefolk.
Look of thanks rising with fumes of a wet and tired hunting dog.
Rubbed with feed sacks by the ole pot-bellied stove with a log.
Last year's hunt brought to mind the bitter aroma of sagebrush,
while dressing that trophy pronghorn fine.
February was the month of one good odor.....
Yellow laundry soap followed by bluing-water.
Hung on the line to freeze dry, clean smell of bed linen flavor.
Smells of the past, gone, advent of automatic washer and drier.
April's rains wash away the dirt soiled snows of winter.
Smells of the earth, spring plowing does the soul a world of worth.
Next comes newly mowed hay, and the sweet aroma after.
High mountain meadows, multitude of wild flowers fragrance, the arrowroot, primrose, buttercup, the smell of pine give birth.
The old spiny, yellow rose with a hundred blossoms to the bush.
Smells different, not like it's cousins hybrid purple, and multi-colored rose bush.
Fragrances from an old-time farm is a hundred fold.
Kitchen smells like coffee, cloves, and cinnamon in apple pie consoled.
The pickling crock, the yeast of rising bread.
Oil cloth covered tables with Morton's curing salt widespread..
An old milk pail of brown shell eggs, a scent and character not found in the cold.
Grey cartons of today's dairy cases, and the yolks stood higher in the old iron skiilet of old.
Even the chicken house changed it's odors where eggs were gathered.
When each changing of the removal and renewal of straw on the nests and floor was altered.
Barn yard with it's sweet, warm steam under a light bulb, baby chicks
Smells differently than a fryer chasing grasshoppers with it's antics.
Laying mash, hay mow, a bin of wheat, sweat soaked saddle blanket scent all of their own.
Notice too, a little spaniel pup, or new born colt, smell differently than a dog or horse grown.
Ah......never forget grandmother's lavender smell
Her Mavis talcum powder and Pond's cold cream remember well.
Granddad had one too, of Prince Albert, Bull Durham tobacco, horse sweat, and his own sweat.
Sometimes of Burma Shave talc, or was it Wildroot cream oil, how could I forget?
Find the time to go stand on a gravel road just before the rain.
The air smells so clean and fresh, the winds coming through the shower remain.
Stand waiting, the first heavy, marble-shaped drops to beat up tiny puffs of dust a foot or two apart.
The road smells differently than any other time, but remember to breath deeply, only moments to smell, then depart.
There is a reverence in remembering, but we hurry so...........
And then too, they cut the yellow roses down,
and with them the lovely smell of yellow!
Created especially
for my dear friend
Dick, who is the author,
The poem is mine.
Cheri Cam LeBren
June 13, 2004
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"To see a world in a grain of sand,
and heaven in a wildflower, hold infinity in the
palm of your hand and eternity in an hour."
~William Blake~
"Sweet smelling smiles!"
Copyright ©
lovingcritters
... [
2004-06-13 19:14:57]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Sunday, 13th June 2004 @ 07:31:28 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
Being raised in the country, I do remember so many of these memorable aromas. I had forgotten about so many until I moved back home a year or so ago. Some are still around, like the clean sweet scent of rain coming and the sweat soaked saddle blankets. The new calves and foals and puppies and kittens. I am blessed to renew my senses with the comforts of the mind and soul. We still bake bread occasionally but there is a different smell to the yeast now because it rises in an electric oven, not in a wood burning fireplace. But I do have to say, I think it is a sin to cut down yellow roses. LOL
Rita |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by Archie on
Sunday, 13th June 2004 @ 07:32:06 PM AEST
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a Message)
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| Good poem but long. I think you meant to put in the misspellings so I won't comment too much on them. 4 stars plus one for the memories |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by Ilhar on
Sunday, 13th June 2004 @ 07:39:42 PM AEST
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a Message)
|
wonderful memories and aromas you paint my friend
Shari |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by shelby on
Sunday, 13th June 2004 @ 08:09:04 PM AEST
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a Message)
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this is lovely and I do still hang my clothes out on the line a priceless pice of memories
michelle |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by ladyfawn on
Sunday, 13th June 2004 @ 09:09:40 PM AEST
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a Message)
|
a very fragrant poem connie, great memories and made me rethink some things i smell all the time, like wet dog and horse sweat n' saddle blankets lol, ...my roses dont have a worry to be cut down, theirs is more a fear of being chomped to pieces and eaten around here, lol, apparently they are quite tasty to my animal's palette:) hugs n' love nessa
@->>->:- |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by loveisendless on
Sunday, 13th June 2004 @ 11:20:09 PM AEST
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a Message)
|
HOW COULD I FORGET? THE RAIN & ALL SMELLED BETTER!! ONE OF LIFES LITTLE THINGS WE TOO OFTEN FORGET ABOUT!!!
NICE POINT WITH A GREAT THOUGHT!!!!
LOL~DAN!!!!! |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by venkat on
Monday, 14th June 2004 @ 12:43:31 AM AEST
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a Message)
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Ooh..many wonderful memories of childhood..very beautiful and fragrant roses.
well done my dear Lady...venkat |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by emystar on
Wednesday, 16th June 2004 @ 02:17:28 AM AEST
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a Message)
|
tottally beautifull and jus as awesome the write.
Mom, this reminds me when my Mom to make lye soap but don't remember how it's made.
Also she use to build a fire round this iron tub to do here laundry.
luv it.
luv your brat,
emy |
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Re: THEY CUT THE YELLOW ROSES DOWN
(User Rating: 1 )
by Stitch on
Sunday, 11th July 2004 @ 08:51:37 PM AEST
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a Message)
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So often your writes speak to the good things from my childhood. My grandmother was very special to me, and so many sights, sounds, and smells from this make me think of her. Thanks for taking me down memory lane.
Stitch |
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