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The Dark Attic

The Dark Attic

 

The dark attic, the bearer of stillness….

The frost glazed, glass window hung high, etched by days of ice and wind…

My windows are a looking mirror, into the seasons of the past.

A summer storm, finds my love and I on cool board and quilt of down…a secret place.

Autumn sunshine reaches long on cinnamon dust rays; exposing web and spider, the old letter and the broken chain of an old silver charm.

A winter’s eve, the long awaited visitor returns collecting jeweled treasures of glass and wood; forgotten but not lost.

A tree will shine with all its glory under the dark attic.

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Autumn Fog, Midway, KY and Woodford County, KY

 

‘Autumn fog wraps a field like spirits moving low above the reeds;

where chilled air, rings birdsong on tendrils of suns first light’

 

Midway, KY is quaint as it is picturesque, with its rolling horse fields, tobacco barns, old stone walls that decorate the country roads for miles and the historic homes and buildings strewn about its countryside.

It seems to be a place from an old story-

Midway, KY was established on January 31st of 1835 and settles in Woodford County.

This lovely town is famous for its thoroughbred race horse breeding operations, tobacco farms, bourbon whiskey, cattle, historic stone walls and homes and the Midway Distilling Company which continued a legal operation in Prohibition era.

In the very early days before the Europeans settled, this area was home to ‘Mound Builders’. There have been several large and small American Indian Mounds discovered on the farms nearby.

In 1832 the small settlement was called Stevenson’s and it had its first Post Office.

In 1835, the Lexington and Ohio Railroad purchased from farmer, John Francisco, 216.375- acre land for 6,491.25. The land was used to establish Kentucky’s first railroad town and rightly called it Middleway, because the local was relative to Lexington and Frankfort, KY.

In 1837, the town would be renamed to Midway.

The legendary racehorse, Man o’ War was foaled at Nursery Stud Farm in the nearby county of Fayette.

The mother of Jesse and Frank James, Zeralda James, was birthed at the Black Horse Inn at the intersection of U.S. route 62 and old Frankfort Pike. Her Father ran the Tavern there and she resided with him.

There are so many beautiful old places to see in Midway and one of the oldest is the Weisenberger Mill, which has been in the Family for seven generations. It is the oldest operating mill in Kentucky and listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Woodford County was formed in 1788 from part of Fayette County, Virginia. It was named after American Revolutionary War general, William Woodford.

Woodford County has a rich history that is home to Kentucky’s oldest bourbon whiskey distillery, Labrot & Graham from 1812.

Lane Ends Farm, during 2007, even had Queen Elizabeth II as a guest before the Kentucky Derby.

 

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Autumn Fog, Historic Midway, KY 2017

 

 

‘Autumn fog wraps a field like spirits moving low above the reeds;

where chilled air rings birdsong on tendrils of suns first light’

 

Midway, KY, established in January of 1835,  is a historic, gorgeous quaint town nestled in Woodford County, KY.

This town is famous for its thoroughbred race horse breeding operations, tobacco farms, historic stone walls and Distilling Company which continued a legal operation during the prohibition times.

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My poem- Summer Memory at Dripping Springs, is featured on Rutger Hauer’s Soap Box Poets!

 

http://www.rutgerhauer.org/poets/0421.php

The link above and my poem below, has been featured on Rutger Hauer’s website page ‘Soap Box Poets’ ! Thank you so much Rutger Hauer for putting on another poem of mine to your already, fine collection of poets !

Folks, make sure to check out Rutger Hauer’s website – http://www.rutgerhauer.org/index.php    –   to see the fine work and perhaps, make a donation, or purchase a small gift to support his organization called ‘Starfish’  A non-profit organization aimed at raising help and awareness on the HIV/AIDS situation, focusing especially
on support to children and pregnant women.

Thank you for the fine acting work and awareness you bring upon this subject!

Enjoy my poem, and thank you to my audience for your appreciation of my writings and photographs of abandoned places-

XO

 

Summer Memory at Dripping Springs
© by Tommie Flannery Baskis-  2017

Late Summer days linger in hazy dreams before the door of Autumn. I find in Dripping Springs an old forgotten rose bush by the white clapboard home, abandoned many, many summers ago.

The rotten bird house still clings to a post at the Pickett cemetery where many children went to dreamin’, laughing and sleepin’ in another place and time.

Wind moves through the dry poke weed, whistling a tune that sounds like flames cracking;

Poke berries, make the prettiest stain…for my aged gingham dress

Deepest magenta, I imagine, will stain my hands.

Barn, gone to the trees, sees no one now…not even secret lovers.

Hay bales, heavy and sweet smelling, sit fat awaiting the autumn damp and mice.

Summer will leave soon; it will find its way back here again after cold winter moons grow tired…

 

Autumns New Fire

DSC04628 Indiana Barn.jpg

Autumns New Fire

 

Autumn, …whirls in like a strange angel

Its touching is sacred and cold.

All gloriously bathed in  frostweed down, purple ironweed and goldenrod;

Burning hues that glow in the dusty hollow where the wingless live and have been silent.

A seasoned, ash winter will relinquish and venerate to a winged spirit of the freshly awakened birth-

 

Tommie Flannery Baskis- Writings by Duskflyer Vision-2016

 

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The Lightning Walnut Tree

 

The Lightning Walnut Tree

September 23,

I stand small, in the summer of my innocence, beneath the ancient struck walnut tree.

The shimmery haze of thick Summer sun hypnotizes me, as I dream of a silver winged storm that struck a jagged rip down through the black walnut tree above me.

Moving on the lazy porch swing by the river, I remember the pungent green scent of the walnut flesh as it stained my fingers prying very eager to enter its inside.

My Grandmother told me what fine Christmas persimmon cookies we would bake with this harvest.

Dusk came with a soft tinkling of the calliope on the supine river; and smiles as we sipped with reverence, her special lemon iced tea.

Squeaky rust chain swing broke into the somber silence as the blues and lavender bathed our eyes from the sky.

In my cool, down feathered bed, so far up the steps in the old home… I see that tree.

It just stands old and knowing; letting some distant storm stir its children leaves.

I know it will always be with me.