Dubbs Rat

Today I followed this cut up custom job down the road. It gives a whole new meaning to short-bed pick-up! He had a beer keg strapped on the bed for his gas tank. His 357hp Chevy V-8 engine had a lot of power. He left me in the dust; but, I seem always catch up at the light or the next string of slow cars. It is great to see the creativity people come up with when they get inspired.

Old Chevy pick-up

4-barrel under the hood

Recall summers past

iPhone Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Old Barn Memories

Farm - Barn shot from Granery 001
In the backroads of the barn the mice feed on the grain
Sparrows fly in and out cutting the sunlight with their wings
Pigeons coo and flutter high up on the rafters of the hay mow
Dust and chaff float like pixie dust as the breeze blows through
Outside the granary the four-wheeled scales waits
For the next burlap sack to be filled with wheat or oats
The round-bottom steel bushel shines bottom-up in the grain
And the chicken crate stands empty by the door


Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Read my e-book Farm Stories on Amazon Kindle:  


Linking this to open link night on d’Verse tonight.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

58 Thunderbird

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58 Thunderbird rusting in the yard
Grass tall around wide white wall wheels
Front dentures missing
Blind in both dark sunken eyes
Skin fading in the scorching sunlight
One time a masterpiece of its creator
Now wasting away neglected and still
EER_0355Oh the stories it could tell
300 hp 352 cc engine glass-pack mufflers
Four barrel carburetor drinking gas like a fish
Lovers in bucket seats riding into the sunset
Duel exhausts Chrome Grille Duel headlights
Pulling up to the light looking next door
Challenging them with engine roar and squealing tires
Black marks on pavement ten feet long
Leaving challengers in the dust
This phoenix could rise from the rust
A master’s hands could bring it back
But for now it sits alone and neglected
Destiny yet undetermined

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today is open link night at d’Verse Poets Pub.  This old Thunderbird has fascinated me for several years. When I drive by, I see it sitting in its owner’s yard rusting away. Today I stopped and took some photos. I wish someone would take it and restore it to its former glory.

join us at: https://dversepoets.com

The Age of Steam

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There is something very fascinating
about steam trains huffing and puffing
when you are seven years old.
I watch it coming up the track…
First, a white light
shining through clouds of smoke;
Then a mighty black dragon of steel
rolls through Martin crossing;
Bell clanging
Whistle blowing
Piercing the evening air.
Rhythmic clacking of wheels
shines steel rails to a mirror finish.
Cars, the color of coal dust,
are piled high with chunks of black gold…
Coke from the ovens that
fuels the blast furnaces in Pittsburgh.
I count the cars …a hundred or more…
and finally, the red caboose passes by
disappearing in the distance.
The Pennsylvania Dragon chugs on;
soon to go the way of the dinosaurs…
Lost somewhere back in time.


Train Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Tonight is open link at d’Verse. I wrote this as a submission to Old Mountain Press for the upcoming anthology, Old Times Not Forgotten.

Join us at d’verse:  https://dversepoets.com

Backfire (a Quadrille)

Farmall M 13

The old red Farmall M

     sits idly in the field

Not shiny red,

     but still

     its engine roars

     like fifty Harleys

     passing by

Shotgun cracks

     shoot fire into the sky

Grandson and Grandpa

     enjoy the flame

     that blows out its pipe

     with every crack


Farmall M Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today Dee asked to write a Quadrille for d’Verse Poetry Pub and use the word fire in in it.  This old tractor holds a lot of nostalgia for me. I drove one as a teen on my uncle’s farm for five summers. Now they are just show pieces for collectors.

Come join us at d’Verse: https://dversepoets.com/

Leap of Faith

IMG_5009 Dwight & Ruth Selfie at Mtyl Bch

Today, at the d’verse~Poetry Pub, we have been asked to write a Quadrille (44 words) using the word leap. Check out the d’verse site at: https://dversepoets.com/

Today, the first day January 2018

I remember

On the steps of the the Ad Building

You captivated me with your innocent smile

In 1969, as America took the leap

Landing men on the moon,

We planned our leap of faith

Vows lasting a lifetime


Photo: Dwight L. Roth




Fall in the Woods

Dwight with bird house from Lauralville 001

Growing up playing in the woods all summer was wonderful. We ran over the trails and played Cowboys and Indians, Davey Crockett, and Daniel Boone. We had no video games or smartphones. We spent our days in the outdoors. I hope you will bear with me for reposting this bit of nostalgia. I posted it last year and will probably post it again next year. Perhaps you can picture the changes in our woods as fall came on each year. This is where I grew from a child into a teenager at Masontown, Pennsylvania.

Fall in the Woods at Masontown

I can still remember, like it was yesterday
Fall in the woods at Masontown

Cold weather closed in early
Leaves in the woods
Turned shades of yellow, orange, red, and brown
What was once a lush green woods
Filled with green hollow stemmed weeds
Now becomes blanketed
With a soft silent coating of leaves

The Silver Maple and Butternut next to the house
Dropped their yellow-tan leaves
The quince turned yellow-brown
As the apple trees blended into the scene
With rich deep red leaves
Highlighted by a back drop of color
Pouring from the shallow woods
Extending from our house
To the church cemetery

On the driveway black walnuts still in the hulls
Driven over with car tires
Squishing and shelling
Removing the hard nuts inside
Picking them up, peeling off the excess
While blends of saffron, amber, and walnut stains
Are left on my hands and under my nails

From driveway to furnace room
Down in the basement
The nuts carried to be dried
For cracking with hammer and brick

Out in the field behind the chicken house
Rows of asparagus
Lined the edge of the woods
Bent over like a hundred old men
Kinked and twisted
Dry hollow stems
Seed pods still clinging stubbornly to the tops
Some will weather the snow and wind
Only to be disked up in the spring
To start all over again

Masontown 1972 (2)

Out in the woods,
Paths where our bare feet ran all summer long
Disappeared under layers of leaves
As frost took its toll on the trees
Now I can walk through the woods,
With a borrowed single-shot 12 gauge,
Looking in the pit holes for rabbits,
Flushing out ring-necked pheasants
From the edge of the corn field
Just beyond the back side of the woods

Life was simple then,
Rabbits shot were few and pheasants even fewer
But walking through the woods and field
Was an experience I enjoyed
Just for the sake of being there

The woods remained stark and bare
For the rest of the winter,
But it’s passing and recurring beauty
Left indelible impressions
On my mind for years to come

Sometimes I wish
I could just be there once again

Masontown, PA circa 1949 001

Photos: Dwight L. Roth & Family Album





When we moved to our home a few years ago, I felt like I had come home. The location, the farm land, the trees and rolling hills all felt like home to me. The painting above was done for a friend whose home not longer existed. He gave me a photo of the house and asked if I could paint it.  Two years later his Aunt asked me to paint one for his Uncle who had grown up there. Nostalgia and feelings all converge to remind us of the home or place we grew up in. Sometimes it is unexplainable, but one just knows.

Home is a Feeling

Home is a feeling you’ll know when you’re there.

No matter how far you go no matter where you’ve been

That feeling slips in and lets you know…

Home is a feeling when you’re there


When you’re driving through the cornfields down a long and duty road

And you see the evening sun sinking slowly out of sight

That feeling slips in and lets you know…

Home is a feeling and your there


When you’re far away and all alone wondering how long you’ll be gone

And a song comes on the radio it takes you back and you’re right there

That feeling slips in and lets you know…

Home is a feeling and your there


Though mom and dad are gone and the old house stands no more

The place is still just as real you can feel their presence there.

That feeling slips in and lets you know…

Home is a feeling when you’re there


When you’re loved by those around you and they all reach out to you.

Nothing else matters now… You can see it in their smiles.

That feeling slips in and lets you know…

Home is a feeling when you’re there


Painting #2 by: Dwight L. Roth



A friend of mine asked me to paint a picture of the family home for his aging father. It was torn down a few years earlier after he sold the house to a developer. All he had to show me was a photo with a  lot of bushes and trees growing in front of the house. By using that photo and asking him a lot of questions about details, I recreated his family home.  A few weeks ago his aunt called and wondered if I would do one for her. I finished it this week.This is house #2.


What would you give to go home again

Back to the house that no longer stands

To the yard where you used to play

Nostalgia pulls on our heartstrings

Plays enchanting melodies of good times

Digging in the dirt with friends

Biking down the dirt road

Running barefoot on the wooded pathways

Playing Cowboys and Indians

Building forts in the woods

What would you give to be there again

Just as they once were many years ago

Some of us can go home again

But for many home is just a memory

A picture in the mind

A photo in the album

Or a painting on the wall


Photo/painting: Dwight L. Roth

Pennsylvania Memories


Pennsylvania MemoriesIMG_8599

My birthplace and childhood home will always have a special place in my heart. Growing up in Western Pennsylvania and spending five summers on my uncle’s farm in Central Pennsylvania, has left indelible impressions in my mind. My parent and grandparents, uncles and aunts, all lived and grew up there.  Staying in Virginia after college and later moving to North Carolina has not dampened my appreciation of the state of my birth. This poem tells how I feel about it.

In the corner of the state just north of the Mason Dixon

Along the Monongahela River is a place called Masontown

I was born beside a coal bank

Just a mile outside of town

‘Twas Sunday noon on the fourth of May

Dr. Messmore came knocking out our way

He welcomed me into the world

In that good old fashioned way

Dwight Roth  - age one 001

Pappa was a preacher so money was tight

A well-dressed chicken for the doc would suffice.

Pittsburgh not far from home

Only fifty-one miles up route fifty-one

A day trip to the airport was always fun

Watching TWA birds go and come

Pirate baseball cards clicked in my spokes

Alongside Cubs, Yankees, and other folks

High School trips to Kennywood Park

To ride the coaster till it got dark

Over the river and through the woods

We traveled to Grandma’s house

To Beautiful Big Valley only four hours away

On the Fourth of July and every Christmas day

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Uncles, Aunts, and lots of cousins,

Farms tractors, hay fields, and slow Amish buggies

I spent five summers there driving the tractor

Chasing cows, pitching hay, Uncle Fred was quite the actor


Lancaster County makes me high,

Homemade Bread, Sweet Bologna, and Shoo-fly Pie

Down the Turnpike through tunnels and hills

To Ruth’s Grandma’s house up Blueball hill

Breaking down in the middle of nowhere

A broken crankshaft in my 61 Corvair

Dwight's 61 Covair

Five hours in Camp Hill… not much fun

Sitting in our car till my dad could come

Eastern Pennsylvania where two brothers reside

Is where my Mom spent her eventide

Each time we’d visit was always great fun

But glad to head south with the setting sun

Down through Baltimore, Washington, and Richmond

I-95 is never a fun run

Too many people too many roads and too many cars

Philadelphia holds no place in my mind

As much as I love my native state

My home’s in Caroline


Pennsylvania such a beautiful state

With mountains, farms, and rivers

In my heart it’s is near and dear

I will cherish it forever

It is Pennsylvania from where my roots came

Coal dust runs deep in my veins

And although my home’s in Caroline

Memories of Pennsylvania will always make me pine