My grandmother had three clocks.
Grandfather clocks, lovely antiques.
I cleaned them each & every Sunday.
Of each and every week
I thought "what a waste of time."
And other things too.
My Grandfather had a big swimming pool.
I would test the chemicals, and clean it
Every Friday after school
My friends and I would play lots of games in that pool.
Until our eyes would sting and itch.
I still drive by that house.
My father was a drug dealer.
He never came home at night.
Back then my dreams were full of chase scenes.
I was left cooking the macaroni.
For my siblings and their questions.
But a kid is a quick learner,
and a ready forgiver.
Our Mother was not each-others'.
A halter top wrung out on the line.
Lip stick, and eye liner positioned.
Lots of phone hang ups
Another night out on the town.
Some things are better left un-said.
Some things are better left in the ground
In the distance, is a gate and a well.
Up ahead sits a man counting out coins.
He knows who I am, and much more too.
Like my favourite songs, and middle name.
And I think we all know why I came
Looming behind my approach, was yesterday.
I have become a fixed part of the story...
Tomorrow, I'm liable to become a man.
Author notes
Written January 19th, 2004
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1 - 17 of 17
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Well written!
I agree that the simplicity of this piece is proof enough of talent and poise. The story is still unravelled in a meaningful manner, and readers can relate from different scopes. The sincerity in this piece is also striking, with seemingly minor details undertaking vital roles (in my mind anyways lol).
Thanks for sharing this, and best wishes to you always!
Stacy
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I have to say that you often surprise me. In this instance, you've managed to weave a story together out of various situations and people. Life is a bitch sometimes, I guess. Having been an abused child, I know that well enough. However, I think you had the worst of it. It was only my father who was nuts. The rest of the family were fairly normal. I hope things start to work out for you.
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brilliant
i've forgotten just how good you really are.and here it is,this wonderful poem,making my eyes a little watery.wistful.
adored the final line too.fitting. -
Reflective and brilliant
Wow, what a work. Four elements here that speak to this reader, the title, the picture, the contest title and the poem itself. Talk about reading between the lines. Oh yeah there is a fifth and sixth element, the background and the interpretation. Your final line packed a punch, that the picture speaks and says, that you already have become a man, in fact the poem says it happened a long time ago. Awesome weave of multiple elements. -
Well, you're very kind.
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Your final line here could launch a thousand poems.
M -
This is a touching story... Sad, but toching, I can identify with a lot of this, on a different level though, I am sure.
I have become a fixed part of the story also, although, I wish I could break the mold, and start a story of my own...
Very well written, Sweetheart!
Criss -
A fuckin plus
I really do love it when a poet knows that it is enough for their poem just to tell a wonderful story,,,
here, I mean that in the facet of your poem's straightforward quality. no stupid rhyme scheme... no flowery, show-off my vocab jam sessions... and, relatively little metaphor... not enough to be convoluted anyways...
and thats enough...
the story stands...
you tell us the truth, simply put, and it hits us like a ton of bricks...
thanks for respecting the reader,
and having enough confidence to let your poem stand on its own, -
Sorry to hear that.
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I am not sure what all this means. But The title got my attention. Made me think of my Gramma. She died just a few years ago and I miss her. You write very nice.
From Drama Queen -
horus8~
Hello and thank you for entering the contest. Where's the joke?
~Babie Gurl~
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I'll admit to reading most of your poems today without commenting..... but of all of them, this one strikes me. You've got me thinking now, and I've stopped laughing. I've been trying not to say how good of a writer you are....but dammit, you are good..... and I respect your arrogance.. I need more of that...
My poetry looks like shit now...lol, so don't come visit... especially not after your poem about angsty writers....
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Up ahead sits a man counting out coins
Now there's no one left to blame.
--God..maybe? theres always someone left to blame, when in doubt blame him, he's supposed to have started it all.
i like how you pass from old, to young to old...(somewhat) or maybe...no never mind that doesn't make sense...
Looming behind my approach, was yesterday.
-favorite line, has to be, though, you have to admit, what usually punches you in the face...or trips you, is tomorrow.
Nyx... -
Very well written. My grandmother had a big grandfather clock that we had to dust off once a week. It chimmed every fifteen minutes and on the hour. I can still hear that clock. When I visited her I always was aware of the time. Now that she's gone, time seems to move much too fast. Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the realism of the write. You paint very vivid pictures that take root in the mind. You are a talent for sure.
Lynnette
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Sometimes I think about the way things were in my family when I Was growing up. Thankfully I have no drug dealers hiding in the closet, or even bootleggers. But you and I do have one thing in common.... your grandmother's grandfather clocks and my mothers Dunkin Fife dining room set.....damn that guy.. every Saturday I had to polish the table and eight chairs with Johnsons paste wax.....apply it, let it dry, rub it off and keep rubbing 'til it shined like a dark mirror. I tried to cheat sometimes, just polish with the dry cloth and pretend I'd put on the wax.. but she knew.. she always knew and would make me do it over again. I promised myself I'd never own a Dunkin Fife dining set. I probably don't even know how to spell it correctly and guess what.. I don't give a damn.
Your poem is so instilled with life as we knew it back then (though my 'back then' is a lot further back than your 'back then'
Good write, Jerimi... goes to show how as kids we can accept most any behavior and life style of our parents, and what it may put us through.... and still be able to forgive it all.
baraka bashad
Dee
Edited on Jan 19, 9:57 p.m. because ''. -
That is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
David -
Very well done! Bravo! A sad story about a sad society! Great work!
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