navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » The Path To Poetry
Passions in Prose
Post A Reply Post New Topic The Path To Poetry Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
Irish Rose
Member Patricius
since 2000-04-06
Posts 10263


0 posted 2000-06-11 07:46 PM




I remember being eight years old. The neighborhood offered endless possiblities especially in the summertime, when most were searching for a swimming pool or a playground. I was always considered different, quiet, shy, and withdrawn. There was a place in back of my house, through the alley where I often found my footsteps leading me.

The library.

One day not very different than other summer days, I waited until the doors opened. Back then you were allowed to walk barefoot in, they didn't mind, in fact they invited the children if and I say if we were quiet.

The first row was, for a time,  my favorite because I remember the hardwood floor that led to a rather ramplike path lined with books neatly stacked. The first few shelves were for pre-schoolers, pictures and the like and I had already examined most.

I loved the way my feet stomped down on the floor as if I were making my entrance noisily and yet subdued. I would walk up and down, bending over and sometimes sitting indian style while searching for the one book I knew would share my evening covers when the sun went down and I was alone to read and cherish the story within.

But this day, it began to thunderstorm upon my arrival and oh, that made it so much more special. It enveloped me into a sanctuary unlike nothing offered outside.

There I was, eight years old, surrounded by the great works of poetry, fiction, non-fiction, art, history. It was a magical place. A special, wistful place where I, Kathleen had come to live, breathe and absorb.

I did absorb. I absorbed everything, wishing, hoping that someday I could express myself in a way the authors had throughout all of time! To me, I even dove into Shakespeare. Why not? He was a handsome fellow I thought, and very romantic. Although I felt he was too serious and a bit dramatic!

Elizabeth Barrett Browning had begun to speak to my heart at this very early age. I could almost hear her sitting next to me counting the ways of love.

Robert Frost breathed in on a gust of wind somewhat similiar to that of an Eastern storm, flooding my heart with anticipation of the next snow and the lush feeling of the forest.

It was becoming quite evident to me at this time how poetry had become my favorite section. Not the aisle with the ramp. An even, flowing steady plank of wood where my footsteps became softened, my heartbeat quicker, and my eyes swelled with tears of joy as I read the beautiful writings of those I would never see but whom I saw through their words. The words of their souls.

I felt privileged at eight years old to hold, turn the pages, and know that someday when I had my own money I would have my own collection, my own library.

A place where I go on rainy days, yes but where I also go when the sun is burning hot, during hurricane season, through the coldest drifts of white, and the burnt orange of an autumn fall.

I carried my library with me through my life, long after this one closed down and the neighborhood deteriorated.

For the written word is enduring. It calls for the rain within your soul to pour forth, and the patter of it to gently encourage you to not only read but to write as well.

The written words from that library grew and grew into seeds of faith and hope as I too, began to write. Never dreaming, but always yearning to know that someone, somewhere would read a tiny piece of my life, a portion of joy I experienced and perhaps remember something that only they could hold precious, and dear.

Through poetry, I saw the art, the history, the pictures, the science, the philosphy and the love that I believe any of us long for.

Breathing, flowing, and steady as the floor of the aisle from where I always ended up. The path of learning that was easy to walk on then, at eight years old and glorious to walk on now.

The path to poetry.

Have you walked there today?
< !signature-->

 Kathleen

"How do I love thee? Let
me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace." Elizabeth Barrett Browning





[This message has been edited by Irish Rose (edited 06-11-2000).]

© Copyright 2000 Kathleen - All Rights Reserved
Munda
Member Elite
since 1999-10-08
Posts 3544
The Hague, The Netherlands
1 posted 2000-06-16 05:00 PM


I feel I just walked a wonderful path of prose.   Enjoyed it much Irish Rose.
Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley
2 posted 2000-06-16 07:15 PM


What a wonderful story! I love the imagery you used. I almost could hear your bare feet on the floor. I remember the first time I became enamoured of the written word. Our TV broke when I was about 7 and we were too poor to have it fixed. My dad took us to a used book store and we bought books to read. The very first one was a "Flossie" something or other..I read and read..when I got to the last page, to my horror, I found that someone had torn it out!!! To this day, I find myself turning to the end of the book when I'm half done..just to make sure it's there!  
Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296
Purgatorial Incarceration
3 posted 2000-06-18 04:13 PM


LOL@deVine!

Yes, I've walked there... quite a path it is as well!

Well done Kathleen, I do have to agree about the imagery... very good depiction!

Alwye
Moderator
Member Elite
since 1999-06-16
Posts 3850
In the space between moments
4 posted 2000-06-19 12:55 PM


Wonderful work Irish Rose!  I too have walked that path...discovering the beauty of words is truly a wonderous thing.  Exellent job!  

*Krista Knutson*

"Cherish your vision; Cherish your ideals; Cherish the music that stirs in your heart, the beauty that forms in your mind, the loveliness that drapes your purest thoughts. If you remain true to them, your world will at last be built." ~James Allen~


"We've made houses for hatred...it's time we made a place where people's souls may be seen and made safe"...~Jewel~

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
5 posted 2000-06-21 07:42 PM


Good imagery and great message... words to grow children with... I started reading at age 3 with comic books... Sunday paper... reading was something we did in the bathroom... still do  [oops] ah well, I enjoyed this memory with you, so back to the top you go.

Sunshine

~~~Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow.
Helen Keller ~~~


Post A Reply Post New Topic ⇧ top of page ⇧ Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.
navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » The Path To Poetry

Passions in Poetry | pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums | 100 Best Poems

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary