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Open Poetry #49
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A dry snow-globe dream
| Open Poetry #49 |
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A dry snow-globe dream |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
Dry Snow-globe Dreams Soft, sad thoughts: A farmers hand, Around a chipped porcelain cup, Slouching at his table-desk, Sharing images, and memories With an empty room, and self; Baubles are stored above his head, In faded boxes,sleep the vestiges, Of fifty years, of family growth. Grown kids on the phone, urge him "remove the tape, and open, Stored in attic cartons"; The ornaments stir, Restless, as they feel old yearnings For the touch of hands, That will lift them to appointed places, By human animation. Top of the stairs, the garret jams, But he puts his shoulder to it! Doors never opened easy for this man, Except the spirit gate that led To loves entrant, Through the loving portal Of his new brides heart. Gently, he touches old decorations, Calloused hands, can easily break them. The strife deflectors, Are mirrors that brightened Tips of many evergreen branches, On trees, cut fresh, From the edges of pastures. In attic dim, sun rays through gable-vents Stream, exposing dust flakes, drifting- lucid, in a dry snow-globe dream. Pausing near the artifacts, he recalls, The short time gone, when soft familiar eyes, Showed shadowed smiles, that hid the pain; But the clock of life, at birth portents- Its ceaseless hands at first will start, Go 'round,and round....Then stop! Never to rewind. Step by step, down creaking stairs, (Even lighter luggage gives him pain) But the sore within his heart is balmed- He makes, a new-cut on the trunk. His kids, with kids are coming soon, To help him celebrate, and sing. [This message has been edited by ice (12-26-2015 07:03 AM).] |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
The first stanza, Ice, conjured up images of my grandpa! A man of the earth. Farmer. Up working before daybreak. Quit work after it got so dark he couldn't see where to plow. This poem is all about my grandpa except for his handling of the baubles. No, woman's work it was to him. I'm sorry I placed my grandpa within your poem, Ice, but it was all about his very own calloused life. ~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~ |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
Thank you Jerry. In the next to the last stanza is a partially hidden message...It tells that his wife had died, no woman to do the work of a couple..she helped him in many ways...now he has to do both jobs.. You may read yourself into anything I write...that is an honor to me... thanks again, and Merry Christmas. "Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance." |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
I recognized that about his wife dying, Ice. I guess I ignored it to get my point across about how my grandpa thought of himself. Looking back I see that I could have written it differently. Thank you for understanding. ~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~ |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
Very beautiful, though the melancholy is felt in every line, dear Ford. It takes a strong personality to live alone with ones memories and to still enjoy life, with all its changes and new challenges of old age. Very captivating imagery that made me feel as if I was right there, you used vivid colors to make the emotions emerge. Love and peace. Margherita  |
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rainyday Member Posts 304 Heartland USA |
Sigh...This is beautifully written Ice. You pull the reader into the scene with heart & soul. Clapping... rainy |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
fine writing...james |
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