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Sweet Cherry
| Open Poetry #7 |
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Sweet Cherry |
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Rosemary J. Gwaltney Senior Member
since 1999-08-26
Posts 997northern mountains, Idaho 
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~ ~ ~ For all the twenty-one years we have made this house our home, the cherry tree still steadily, most healthily has grown; each year trying on fragrant new gowns' blossomed leafy waving wings, she danced with the passionate winds in exuberance of the springs! She grew vigorous, tall and wide as though displaying her joy inside, showing off for the fir waving over her with gleeful exultant pride. ~ ~ ~ Each year he played beneath her, and she protected him from the blazing summer sun. He dug holes, filling them with water, and splashed in them with swimming shorts, balls and toy boats in fun; unknowing the nourishing drinks he was giving her too as one. ~ ~ ~ He built an entire G.I. Joe kingdom within her shade, and played his childhood out surrounded by her sweet leaves’ braid. He jumped high on the trampoline, catching peeks of her highest branches’ play; a birds’ nest, and maybe a squirrel’s. “Look, mom, there’s a big Blue Jay!” She in turn, gained enough stature through the years of days, to steal innocent glimpses into his upstairs bedroom windows, throughout his young time’s wheel - with her stretching, eager sweet-springed gaze. ~ ~ ~ He scrambled up her rough sides with a little boy’s blithe rapture, and perched on her highest boughs, in triumphant conquest, to capture her tender mouth-watering autumn fruit to beseech, as far as he could reach; enjoying her gift with a pleasure only a young fulfilled tongue knows, as many as he could pick amidst the flocking of the crows. ~ ~ ~ And then the winter. ~ ~ ~ This year, she quietly stood nakedly by, against the bright spring sky. Her zeal for life gone from her rough bark, her strong thick limbs. This year there were no tender leaflings; no winded singing hymns; no buds for blossoms’ delicately crimson whited trims. This year, as though grieving his leaving, she simply and silently died. Cold emptiness inside. This year, from my window’s awning, without a single warning, I saw one early somber dawning, that she too was mourning. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ (Of our son Kyle’s growing up and moving away from home. Sorry, it isn't very good, but it was hard for me to put such a long story into poetic form.) ~ ~ ~ < !signature--> The spiritual wind that holds survivors aloft, plants the seeds from which bloom new hope ... R.J.G. [This message has been edited by Rosemary J. Gwaltney (edited 04-29-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 Rosemary J. Gwaltney - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Here I am drawing crazy eights on my computer for want of something meaningful and I see this wondrous poem...and I'm reminded of how life is so fragile and is always moving and how beautiful your thoughts on paper are. I love this! |
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Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Oh, Rosemary~ How tenderly you touch life with words from your heart. I loved your descriptions of Kyle playing beneath the branches of the apple tree. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ noles1@totcon.com |
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Rosemary J. Gwaltney Senior Member
since 1999-08-26
Posts 997northern mountains, Idaho |
Martie - your kind words always make me happy. My thoughts here were so deep, but I knew it wasn't a good piece. It's just that I needed to share it. I miss my grown son, out on his own, and I have to learn how to let go of him, and let him sail ... I know he still loves me, but he's nearly twenty-seven, and has long since spread his wings, so very independent, but I miss him. Marge - thank you for saying I tenderly touch life with words from my heart. That means so much to me! |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
time passes |
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