I
i left when chubby legs
ran over furrows to meet him.
my father
coming in from the fields,
thick with sweat and dirt
shone his
determined blue eyes
on me and made his decision.
my grandfather knew.
he spat on the ground.
i slipped my fingers into his
knotted veined hand.
we walked,
his gait stiff,
past his dream of a someday forest,
seedlings parched in the
prairie heat
i remember he cried.
i cried with him
not knowing why.
II
i returned
last summer,
the driveway where i sifted sand
and punished bugs for
being caught in my gaze,
now overgrown;
carraganas
filled the negative
spaces of my remembered
landscape...
i walked,
a ghost looking for her home,
found the cement foundation.
it jeered like toothless gums
in a mocking
smile.
the trees
my grandfather had longed for,
twisted and gnarled,
cast shadows...
i searched the
trash heap for treasures,
hoping to discover
a piece of yesterday's
laughter
amongst the broken glass
III
i pushed through the brushes, nothing left familiar.
i wished i had heeded those who had scoffed,
who did not understand the need to turn around and watch their footsteps fade...
i stumbled. small branches whipped my face, satisfied with my tears, until
a small clearing made way for me.
the old farm shed
not one bit embarrassed,
stood there still,
like a barren woman
bold in its defiant dignity.
a porcupine rustled its lazy exit
in the sudden silence,
startling my soft city bones.
frightened somehow, i peered into
a time that had forgotten me,
the cobwebs, mice droppings,
broken boards...
the wind whistled through
the building's cracks
telling me to leave.
i was not needed there.
i was late,
far too late...
IV
about to turn away,
heart heavy
with what i hadn't found,
my gaze snagged
on the barbed wire
neatly hung upon a blackened wall,
the rust trying to hide
the importance of its thorns.
my eyes filled with tears
as the vision settled
swiftly, soft and gentle...
my grandfather's hands
encased in thick encrusted gloves
as he carefully rolled and stored
this length of wire
for the day
it would be needed.
the vision gave me
waves of wheat and fragrant rapeseed
chased by the wind,
butterflies across my cheek,
the sun's indulgent smile,
favouring all with its
necessary benediction.
V
it could rest now, and fall, the wire.
it had done its job.
i thanked my grandfather
for his
goodbye.
Author notes
the farm exists, as does the shed, the wire, and the porcupine, (still, i hope)...
by Tryst 1
Written March 18th, 2006
In a list
A contest entry
- Your best by jkh.
300 points, ended May 18, 2006, 29 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - I want your BEST prewrites!! by perfectsunset.
1000 points, ended April 24, 2008, 60 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Personal Favorite by SincerelyMegan.
600 points, ended May 12, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 26 of 26
-
This was a really cleaver poem, I especially like the form you used. It's one of my favorites.
Emotion was permeating this piece. Great job.
-
Beautiful write of yesterdays past and longings to return to the days of youth. Thanks for sharing, it brought back some memories for me also of my long ago past.
Sassy
-
This was truly a beautiful, heartfelt poem filled with emotion from a past left behind, but not forgotten. I loved the style of writing you chose to use. I like how you placed them into 5 scenes/sections. It really gave that extra "umph" to your poem. Your poem for some reason almost had me in tears, because it is such a beautiful storyline, it felt as if I was reading chapters in a book and near the end it was like I wanted to read more. It's very hard for a writer to leave me feeling that after a poem. You penned brilliance in this piece. Absolutely a treasure to read and a treasure to keep. Never stop writing..
Best of luck in my contest & thank you for entering
-
Awesome write. What a lovely way to recapture your memories. I love your expression in this write!
-
A long poem but then worth the effort for me to experience the muse in all its yearned romance of a place filled with memories and the return to the unthinkable amidst broken ruins in every metaphor that I can amass over here whence I say this for I can relate to this like a duck taking to water and I loved the way your words juxtapose with your serene thoughts
Shubs
-
I came back to read it again. The full story is more than I'm used to seeing on this site and it intrigues. The roll of wire has that certain transcendent quality of a letter received after the sender has died or like two lovers separated by miles but looking at the moon in the night sky and feeling connected through that shared vision.
beautiful. -
thanks so much for your applause and comments...and i agree.. i like "someday forest" better too
have a great night
~tryst
-
the abandoned farm shed stanza could have been its own poem and would have been enough.
But you are apparently unable to merely impress.
Your city bones and longing search and all the images feel like a childhood lost. Crying with your grandfather but not knowing why... the purest expression of youth, doing without understanding.
"past his dream of a someday forest" is my suggestion
sweet sweeeeet piece of writing here
-
holy crap
-
Beautiful.
-
Very nicely done; a very patiently-penned poem, and obviously, it shows a special skill to weave a story that any reader can understand upon reading it. Again, very nicely done; I am happy that JustBe sent me to the link for this.
-
"i left when chubby legs
ran over furrows to meet him.
my father
coming in from the fields,
thick with sweat and dirt
shone his
determined blue eyes
on me and made his decision."
This is an especially moving poem, not in the sense that I am overwhelmed with sweet and fuzzy emotions, but instead it feels more like a tidal wave hitting me directly in the face.
With the stanza I have posted above, you effectively introduce your readers to your brilliance right off, without an ounce of hesitation.
Some poets just don't know how to write well, believing that they have all the capability in the world, when they don't have any talent at all, but you are different.
You present your poetry elegantly, but not enough to make one percieve that you sit around all day imbibing red wine with candles lit just to write something that might not even make a blip in the ocean of the internet.
There is an honesty and raw quality to your poetry that makes it intense and enjoyable to read. Something I don't often find from a poet I haven't spoke to before.
It's nice to see that at least a few good and creative poets remain here at allpoetry, a place that has begun to poison itself on it's own ego and fame-centric sensibilities.
Nice talking with you and by all means, enter my contest, it would be my honor to comment and critique on your entry.
much love,
James
-
Eh, speechless.
Fucking shit. This poem is getting published, and I can see why. Sweet Jesus, this thing is amazing. It gave me chills and a lump in my throat. Search my comments if you want, and count the number of times I've said that. You'll need one hand.
I can't imagine why you want my opinion on it. Nevertheless, I did promise. Now I show you strongest kung fu.
I
i left when chubby legs
ran over furrows to meet him.
my father
coming in from the fields,
thick with sweat and dirt
shone his
determined blue eyes
on me and made his decision.
my grandfather knew.
he spat on the ground.
i slipped my hand into his
knotted veined one.
[Ending this line with "one" doesn't do it for me. It sticks out, I think, because I was waiting for the vivid image at the end of the line, and found a catch-all pronoun instead. When I read it, I want the line to finish by telling me about your grandfather's hands, how it felt to touch them, or some other related image.]
we walked,
his gait stiff,
past his dream of a one[-]day forest,
[Grammatically, "one day" is a modified noun (i.e. "[adjective] [noun]"), but you are using "day" neither as a subject, nor as an object. Following it up with "forest" (another noun) creates the form, "...past his dream of a [adjective] [noun] [noun]." You are trying to say ... of a [adjective] [noun], and the adjective must be, if you will, "a single word." Therefore, you want "one-day," as opposed to "one day." (This is the length I have to go to to feel helpful here.)]
seedlings parched in the
prairie heat
i remember he cried.
i cried with him
not knowing why.
\DISCLAIMER
I have read Part II so many times that my head hurts. I know exactly what I don't like about it, but that's all I know, and I'm not really all that sure about it. At first I thought it was a simple case of misconceived word structure, so I removed my glasses, and took to the skies: Morgan to the rescue! After perhaps two hours (yeah, I know, but this poem is worth it) of tinkering with the wording, though, I couldn't come up with any good way of giving it proper grammar without destroying the stanza's flavor. Perhaps you could do it, if you were to feel so inclined. I, on the other hand, do not feel qualified. Elise (that's my wife; see above link), on the other hand, could probably look at it for 10 seconds and tell you what I can't figure out.j
In the absence of any real conclusion, I present for your scrutiny the smoldering wreckage of my failed attempt to "fix" Part II. Obviously, take every word with a grain of salt. I felt lucid initially, but now I can scarcely type.
I maintain that the first six lines of this stanza are, purely and simply, grammatically incorrect. I can't even tell you for sure whether or not that's a bad thing, though. Why did I have a sinking feeling about you?
II
i returned
last summer,
[complete statement with "I" as subject]
the driveway where i [had? once? had once?] sifted sand
[This is a noun phrase; is it a subject or an object? You need a verb in here somewhere.
Sounds like you're trying to say that upon your return, you foud that the driveway where, years ago, you used to sift sand ...]
and punished bugs for
being caught in my gaze,
now overgrown;
carraganas
filled the negative
spaces of my remembered
landscape...
[I think the stanza up to here needs to be either shortened or separated.
Firstly, the underlined portion above would sound better if you exorcised the present participle "being caught." I know it's cliche to talk about -ing words messing up flow, but it's a cliche that is often on the money.
This stanza's main idea seems to be that after years of absence, you returned to find that nature had murdered your childhood playground. If you want all the ideas in this stanza up to here to be part of the same sentence, then you don't want the "returning" part be too far away from the "murder" part. If they are too far separated, the "playground" details in between--richly worded though they may be--will make the main idea seem ambiguous. Clarity will suffer for this, and thus the reader will be distracted from (and threefore fail to appreciate) both your main idea and your well-crafted imagery.
I would suggest cutting the stanza up to here into two distinct statements: "I came back," and "Now vs. then."]
*
i walked,
a ghost looking for her home,
found the cement foundation.
it jeered like toothless gums
in a mocking
smile.
the trees
my grandfather had longed for,
twisted and gnarled,
cast shadows...
i searched through the
trash heap for treasures,
hoping to discover
a piece of yesterday's
laughter
amongst the broken glass
III
i pushed through the brushes, nothing left familiar.
i wished i had heeded those who had scoffed,
who did not understand the need to turn around and watch their footsteps fade...
i stumbled. small branches whipped my face, satisfied with my tears, until
a small clearing made way for me.
the old farm shed
not one bit embarrassed,
stood there still,
like a barren woman
bold in its defiant dignity.
a porcupine rustled its lazy exit
in the sudden silence,
startling my soft city bones.
frightened somehow, i peered into
a time that had forgotten me,
the cobwebs, mice droppings,
broken boards...
the wind whistled through
the building's cracks
telling me to leave.
i was not needed there.
i was late,
far too late...
IV
about to turn away,
heart heavy
with what i hadn't found,
my gaze snagged
on the barbed wire
neatly hung upon a blackened wall,
the rust trying to hide
the importance of its thorns.
my eyes filled with tears
as the vision settled
swiftly, soft and gentle...
my grandfather's hands
encased in thick encrusted gloves
as he carefully rolled and stored
this length of wire
for the day
it would be needed.
the vision gave me
waves of wheat and fragrant rapeseed
chased by the wind,
butterflies across my cheek,
the sun's indulgent smile,
favouring all with its
necessary benediction.
V
it could rest now, and fall, the wire.
it had done its job.
i thanked my grandfather
for his
goodbye.
@@@@@
I really hope I've been useful in some nontrivial way. I honestly have no idea. You know what, though? I'll just bet I've taken up more space on your comments thread than anyone else; perhaps even everyone else. -
....
I know of a town in Utah where there are several places very similar to this, one of them belonged to my Great-great grandpa. I visited it once and am now brought forcibly back to that place in your words. This poem is genuinely excellent and worthy of high praise. Thanks for bringing me back to a place I really should return to. -
Your masterful poem made me think and pause and even contemplate. Good luck in the contest.
-
Simply fantastic write, wonderful imagery, perfect wording, fast paced enough to keep the length feeling short, draws you in, makes you think, and to feel. Thank you for sharing such a warm, heartfelt nostalgic piece.
-
this is a beautiful poem, so full of emotion! keep writing!
~inuhime~ -
Hmmm. It's alright there's something missing I think. It's pretty simple, but nice work either way.
-
Wow this is true poetry showed here love this well written piece, love the imagery and the words flowed without interuption deep subject to write on you've done a great job on this one thanks for sharing it....
-
So Wonderful.....with timeless images..."I walked, a ghost looking for her home"...."I searched through the trash heap, hoping to discover a piece of yesterday's laughter..."a time that had forgotten me,the cabwebs, mice drippings and broken boards...the wind whistled through the building's cracks telling me to leave."...so much is so good...
-
This is a most wonderfully penned write, Your imagery really made Me feel as if I was there Josephine.
-
this is really very good. i am impressed. wow!!! i am so wanting to go home and you just made that feeling so much worse. i know of a farm that a few boys called home htat is so like the one you have described. a few could have written this exact same thing. great job. worthy of applaus. viyanna r langager
-
Fourth part, eleventh line,,,,
drop the colon but instead try the ...
Other than that this has all the elements to just make people really sit down and think about life
Rae -
You cast the landscape through memory to awaken the present. Time and time again the past draws its hands like ghosts across the present as you wipe the tears, those goodbyes to a child remembered only for the times you lived in it. Slowly but precisely you show how the present has riden over past forevers with the brilliant use of the foundation like a an old man's teeth.
The use of barb wire was spectacular. A symbol of fencing in and keeping out tied so nicely to the loves of the past that we can only reach for in memory and are so totaly barred from touching in the present.
There are so many riches that you have awakened and then put to rest. Memories like the flight of butterflies are beautiful, fragile and can be watched but never held. Stunning work. -
Wow, this is a really beautiful poem. The emotion is really stong and I can definately relate, great work, thanks for sharing..
-
"heart heavy
with what i hadn't found"
So can we really go home again?
As always, I enjoyed this.
-Ceenote
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