Really enjoyed that bunch of trees budding out, that was a fantastic poem. I'm a Meiniac, Meiniac I know. Good job.
Sitting here in this village in the south of France, yesterday I had the most productive day of my poet writing life, four decent poems. Think of what you'll do when the load is lightened one fine day.
My wife and I remember well the years waking up at five or six, getting the boys ready for school. We both have been working since we were teenagers and we worked all through college. It seems like that's all we've known, so finding ourselves retired is quite something. My support comes from remembering those years. Speaking of which, I was thinking about my sons yesterday and this poem arrived. Take care.
I don’t know quite what to say, except that I love what comes out of your head and onto the paper. You make me so happy.
Really enjoyed that bunch of trees budding out, that was a fantastic poem. I'm a Meiniac, Meiniac I know. Good job.
Sitting here in this village in the south of France, yesterday I had the most productive day of my poet writing life, four decent poems. Think of what you'll do when the load is lightened one fine day.
What a life!! I'd be jealous but I am so certain that it's not wasted on you!! I love your excitement and support!
My wife and I remember well the years waking up at five or six, getting the boys ready for school. We both have been working since we were teenagers and we worked all through college. It seems like that's all we've known, so finding ourselves retired is quite something. My support comes from remembering those years. Speaking of which, I was thinking about my sons yesterday and this poem arrived. Take care.
The Brick Path
I laid a brick path from our rear door
to our rear gate, fifty feet thence.
Following my mother’s artistic lean,
I forsook the taut string
that carpenters love
for the serpentine way.
No sooner had it left our rear door
than it visited the walnut tree,
circling it and then a quick pause
at the doghouse.
From there a short dozen brick soldiers,
to stop by, momentarily, my shop,
where enough wood was cut
to awe a beaver.
It finally arrived at the rear gate
where my little son bursts through
yelling “Daddeeeeee!” while running
the entire length
of that curving brick path.
Slowed only seconds
by it’s wending way was
the only time I regretted it,
but I loved my shrieked name
elongated by those same seconds.
Either way, that smile, when it arrived,
followed by a ferocious hug,
will always be a treasure
far beyond any measure.
To my Bradford and William
Mental snapshots daily! But poetry will last longer!! Thanks for sharing !