Looking back in time to my early years my mind is always drawn
to the memory of September nights and twilights on the lawn
My sisters, and my brothers and I, and whoever cared to join us
would catch the lightning bugs and tear their lights off to adorn us
We'd put them on our skin and in our hair so Mamma would know
exactly where her children played, she just had to watch us glow
The elders and the older kids would settle on the landing
A rocker here, a pillow there, and some would settle standing
For a while they'd talk of grown up things like crops and politics
But before too long you'd hear a tune as guitar strings were picked
We'd all slow down and gather round and sing the songs we knew
Some words forgotten, some made up, and some songs even grew
The twilight and the dew would fall and the moon would rise up high
And we'd be washed and tucked in bed with moans and groans and sighs
Pappa would go out to the barn, to smoke or drink the shine
Mamma snapped beans and sang the lullabyes from older times
I still remember some of the words, the pieces of melodies
A song on the radio once in a while will trigger a memory
When I'd grown up and was blessed with a little family of my own
I tried to help them understand how that music felt like home
They'd laugh and say how corny, how old-fashioned and outdated
I'd tease them back and tell them modern tunes were over-rated
Then one day I came home from work to find the middle son
Out on the porch with a new guitar, and the lessons were begun
He practiced and he listened when I played and sang the songs
The others joined in now and then; they'd all been listening all along
Now they take my rocking chair outside and gather on the landing
A porch swing here, a pillow there, and some play where they're standing
And when they've played the last of all the tunes they can remember
They'll turn to me and wait for Mamma's old Songs of September.
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What did you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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Superb Plus
'tis a very fine write, indeed, for you have expressed your thoughts quite well. Imagery; rhythm, and rhyme are just fine. Thanks for sharing this one with us. -
absolutly a beautiful read with true heartfelt emotion.
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Thank you, Jon, for thoughtful words.
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Lovely, very nice.
You've come very close to hitting the "metronome" right on the money... sometimes you actually do, sometimes it's off by a beat or two here or there. I'd like to recommend a link that might help you fine-tune your writing:
http://allpoetry.com/class/show/Gentle%20Introduction%20to%20Meter
It's a go at your own pace class if you're interested.
BTW, there is a school of thought that prefers poems "more folksy-like," and I don't want you to think that a poem's charm or character is invalidated if one syllable is out of place!
I'm sure you know the words are sent with
!
Jim
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I take my porch with me everywhere I go...= )
I hope you found one in OKC. -
My gratitude for your true intent; to see a promise grow.
I thank you for the generous praise that lies behind an honest teachers' gentle words of guidance. Thank you, Jim
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Once it was just so everywhere . . . people lived and were family and neighbors were extended family and everyone in town knew each other. The things were so much less important . . . there were no "home theater systems," and the important things were things you did with family and friends. People knew how to talk and listen and you spent your time sharing your ideas and experiences with others who had ideas and experiences. People read books and listened to ball games on the radio and played outside until way after dark and no one gave much thought to locking the doors and everyone looked out for everyone else. Once in a while someone you knew would buy a new car and it was a big deal and everyone would go over to see it . . . or a new television . . . or a new stove . . . whatever it was it was a big deal and everyone used it as an excuse to go take a look.
It is good to be reminded of those times when the world seemed to turn a little slower and the days lingered on and the evenings were filled with shadows and magic. It is hard to imagine that we have come so far from that time and place and grown so far apart in just a few generations. When did we forget how to talk and listen? When did they stop putting porches on the front of houses?
This is excellent and I miss those times.
Garrison
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Very beautiful the imagery is wonderful.You have spun a wonderful story here.Reaching out for the past is a serene thinh to do at times..Memories keep us going..they light fire within our hearts.I loved this poem..congrats..
John
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Thank you, John. The fire inside is keeping me warm, still.
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Poet
Sweet memories and old fashion times. Music that brought harmony instead of misery and the love of family. Sadly such things seem so unimportant now. save for the poet who always dreams kinder things. Excellent work.
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Ah...Bob, if those songs were our redemption then, your generous words are my saving grace this moment.
You continue to inspire me.
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