- Non-Erotic Poetry
- My Children, Of Course, Are Grown Now
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Click hereThey're all young adults
in different parts of the country.
I don’t really wonder what they look like.
And yet these memories
somehow bring them back to me:
Elizabeth had brown solemn eyes;
Harry, still that cheeky grin?
Gabrielle and Jeremy, what are they like?
You start to notice things:
the wind in the trees,
the crunch of dry leaves,
the smell of a book,
the beautiful trim
on the edge of a table,
the first sip of wine.
There’s a touch of frost on the windowsill.
The moon perhaps is still in the sky.
In the distance a morning train rushes by.
- COMMENTS
Kobaover 10 years agoThis is a 5 all the way. The last two stanzas are extraordinary. And it's a bit strange but about an hour ago, I took a long unopened book off the shelf. When I opened it I could smell it. So that line in your poem really smacked me. Well done!
buttersover 10 years agoyeah, totally missed the blindness aspect, gm - other than the near-sightedness old age brings, and not just to the eyes. sorry! :)
greenmountaineerover 10 years agoAuthorPlease don't feel that way. Your initial comment about line 3 was right on the money. At some point, I intend to re-work the poem and post the edited version on a thread I maintain in "Poetry Feedback & Discussion."
todski28over 10 years agowas planning on re-reading again tonight and lo and behold I can see :)
that perception shift adds so much to this piece that I am speechless at least for a while
Cleardaynowover 10 years agoI take back my criticism of the third line. I had not thought that he was blind. The 'probably the moon' I took to mean the curtains/blinds were still drawn. His not knowing how his children now looked I took to mean that he now sees so little of them - and takes comfort in the small details of what is round him. Such a situation unfortunately is far from rare & possibly even more poignant.
I missed that all the details he notices are sound and smell not sight.
How many people reading this realised about the blindness, I wonder.
Ashesh9over 10 years agoThe crunch of dry leaves
The smell of a book .........
Divine lines GM
-- an adoring fan
greenmountaineerover 10 years agoAuthorIf you're re-visiting, Cleardaynow, thanks for your detailed comment and compliment. Your referencing line 3 gave me pause. It was meant to be deliberately obtuse but make sense with the last 3 lines of the poem.
While butters' interpretation is very credible and fits, i.e., dementia, the narrative is about an older man who has gone blind. The idea here was to create some confusion that the reader would figure out in the last stanza(he should be able to see the moon or its glare if he's by the window but can only hear the train. In that regard, "morning" suggesting the sun is up, and therefore the moon is absent, may be more interfering than line 3 was regarding my intent.)
Your comment was very helpful.
Cleardaynowover 10 years agoGreenmountaineer is currently, I believe, the most accomplished poet on Literotica (whether or not he is the best is a separate issue, possibly yes).
Given that, I am not really happy with the third line "I don’t really wonder what they look like". While there are a number of interpretations, none make a huge amount of sense to me. Everything else is crystal clear & it does not seem a situation where obscurity adds to the poem. My best assessment is that he does not know how they look now but it is just not something he happens to spend time thinking about. Clarity would have lost nothing and gained something. Just my view of course.
Tsothaover 10 years agoThis feels like awareness upon encountering an empty space. A moment of thoughtfulness, of noticing small things when bigger, more noticeable things have left.
buttersover 10 years agohow we become settled in those comforting memories with the slowing down of our worlds, our minds... how long hours of night might be spent awake, quietly musing... how the greater world outside recedes while the time allows us to pay attention to the small, the quiet, the previously unappreciated. the world moves on, the young stream ahead in busy lives fraught with pressure - the rushing morning train elicits that beautifully.
