Posts Tagged ‘outhouse’


Halloween has changed a lot
Since Grandpa was a lad.
The things they did way back then
Were really pretty bad.

On Halloween, he and friends
Played their usual pranks,
Like toppling wooden structures
And emptying cattle tanks.

They loved to pick on poor old Slim,
And did so without fear.
Eventually came their last time,
For it was Slim’s big year.

They slipped into his darkened yard,
All quiet as a mouse,
And putting shoulders to the wood,
They toppled his outhouse

The boys were devastated —
They smelled like they had died,
For Slim had slathered its contents
On the toilet’s wooden hide.

8/25/05 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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Dusty farm lane – field full of grain
House, weathered white – silence at night
Crumbling silo – rooster’s loud crow
Old barn, once red – open plow shed

Faint outhouse trails – broken fence rails
Straight garden rows – voracious crows
Piglets and sow – brown jersey cow
White sway-backed horse – barn cats, of course

Black dog named, Joe – small goat named , Flo
Coop and wire pen – egg layin’ hen
Baby chicks, four – there will be more
A barn-owl, too – mice, quite a few

Land strewn with rocks – tepeed corn shocks
Dented mail box – cat-chasing fox
Ponds that have shrunk – sometimes a skunk
Twisted oak tree – swing hanging free

Fields waiting rain – creek, doing same
There’s good, there’s bad – there’s best crop had
Work hard all day – can’t stop to play
Sometimes crops fail – no milk for pail

Loses and gains – with joys, with pains
Time to let go – Our answer is, NO
More joy than strife – we love this life
Farming’s our way – we’re here to stay

If you’re in doubt – just come on out
Door’s open wide – come on inside
There’s food to share – best anywhere
Tour our old farm – you’ll love its charm

8/8/04 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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The “redneck”was true to his role

And whiskey was claiming his soul

He staggered outside

To the outhouse he hied

And promptly fell into the hole


His rescuers chided the drunk

Concerning his odious dunk

So he muttered good news

He was giving up booze

Because after he sunk, he stunk.



9/94  Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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This city girl in years of yore

Had not been countryfied before       

But I learned quickly, to my core              

That Country’s not just farmland lore

Water pumped from frigid well

While all around me snowflakes fell

Incasing me in icy shell

The words I used, I cannot tell


The old outhouse (a thing I feared)           

Had not been seen where I was reared                

With yawning door, I know it leered

Beckoning to me as I neared    

Terror put me in despair                                

Because it was so dark in there

Big spiders lurked just everywhere

And slivers pierced my derriere


Gathering eggs before they froze

Didn’t help my hands and toes

Besides, the hens pecked at my nose

Adding to my country woes


I milked the cow . . . well I tried

I had no fear, since she was tied

But she was antsy — kicked my side

It hurt so bad I almost cried

I slopped the hogs – how gross was that                  

And gagged so hard I could not chat

I chased a funny looking cat

And when he sprayed, outside I sat


The snow did nothing for the scent

Earned from my country accident

My clothes were buried by a gent

And six baths later I was spent

That was just the first long day

But I’ll go back there anyway

When it’s warmer – perhaps May

But Heaven forbid that I should stay

8/17/04       Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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