When I was but thirteen or so,
I still had dreams and even though
They were both lofty and obscure
I still believed they could occur.
When I was but thirteen.
When I was twenty-one years old,
These dreams, though less, were still quite bold
And I, with energy to spare,
Believed my will would get me there.
When I was twenty-one.
When I was forty-four and grown,
I strove to make my dreams my own
But found, like most, the road we take
Impacts all choices that we make.
When I was forty-four.
Now I am nigh on sixty-eight,
Deceived by time, ten years too late,
Too old for dreams born in my youth;
I’m scorned and jaded by the truth.
Now that I’m sixty-eight.
Though, when I was but thirteen or so,
I still had dreams and even though
They were both lofty and obscure
I still believed they could occur,
When I was but thirteen.
Author notes
My line was:
When I was but thirteen or so
A contest entry
- Second Index of First Lines by Keith.
525 points, ended April 12, 2008, 16 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Gold rhymed poems only. by ecrivain01.
550 points, ended February 11, 43 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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the comment posted twice. Sorry. -
Very nice ...
and very nicely done. I'd have mentioned that the first line came from a poem by W.J. Turner, but I see that the poem was written to a prompt, and possibly the person hosting that contest didn't give you that information.
In any case, you did a very good job extrapolating from it.
Thanks for entering.
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Lovely poem!
This is beautifully written. Congratulations on the well-deserved Gold trophy.
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a touching life-story in verse that speaks to me of humility and surrender ... when dreams dissolve, reality shows its radiant face ... what a joy ...
even if your words suggest nostalgia related to the dimension of time - I can perceive the eternal lucid observer watching the temporary film of life, knowing her essential nature of immortality ...
maa
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Lovely writing, and I can sympthathise. I like the repetition of verse 1 at the end, it increases the pathos of dashed hope. Your rhyming form is excellent. Congratulations for the gold.
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Dear Ruth I have no idea how this one of yours sneaked under the radar. To have finished runner up to you my friend is no dishonour such a wonderfully crafted piece great rhyme, flow, content, and pleasing to read Congratulations
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Congratulations on the well-deserved gold. This is really good poetry, and an insightful look at life.
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This is very well done and caught my attention, too, as I was reading and I am happy and not at all surprised to see it garnered the gold. Congrats!
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I've pasted the original here in case you haven't read it. It's by a poet called W.J. Turner:
Romance
When I was but thirteen or so
I went into a golden land,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Took me by the hand.
My father died, my brother too,
They passed like fleeting dreams,
I stood where Popocatapetl
In the sunlight gleams.
I dimly heard the master's voice
And boys far-off at play,
Chamborazo, Cotopaxi
Had stolen me away.
I walked in a great golden dream
To and fro from school --
Shining Popocatapetl
The dusty streets did rule.
I walked home with a gold dark boy
And never a word I'd say,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Had taken my speech away.
I gazed entranced upon his face
Fairer than any flower --
O shining Popocatapetl
It was thy magic hour:
The houses, people, traffic seemed
Thin fading dreams by day,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
They had stolen my soul away!
You've really created a whole new version with this first line. It's a very good poem, which brims with nostalgia. And it reminds me of A.E. Housman:
XIII. When I was one-and-twenty
WHEN I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
‘Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.’
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
‘The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.’
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.
Too often our dreams are doomed to failure. But the reality of life has an unpredictability which is at least interesting, if nothing else:
When that I was and a little tiny boy
With a hey-ho
The wind and the rain
A foolish thing was but a toy
For the rain it raineth
Every day
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