observer

4 Comments

Tags:
  • Life
    • ,
  • Death
    • ,
  • Loss

    Poem Commentary

    My father was an English teacher. He was a genuis of literature. He had read the complete works of most every major old English writer. He would read aloud Chaucer in the old English. He and my mother taught school in small towns in Wyoming. They ended up teaching the children of ranchers and their help, up through the 8th grade. Then the students had to find a way to attend the local schools. They taught on 2 different ranches. Each ranch approximately 20,000 acres. On weekends my Dad would drive to the ranch where my Mom taught. Both retired from the Wyomng School system. It must be my father's DNA that feeds my desire to write. He would be pleased at my attempts.

    observer

     i am five years old
    my father and i are in the shadows of the pines
    by the pond
    the evening song of the katydids serenade us
    i watch him gauge the waters of the small pond
    as thoughtfully as if he were gauging
    ocean currents
    about to embark on some great voyage
    he watches his leaf boats with their sails of cellophane
    on their journey across the water
    squatted down cigarette hanging from his lips
    smoke curling up, dissipating into the evening air

    i am thirty five
    the katydids are singing tonight
    through the open window we hear them
    my father and i
    he lies in bed
    frail and dying
    i wonder
    if he remembers his pond
    his cellophane sail boats
    of when his walk was straight and fast
    i wonder if he knows
    that i walk straight and fast
    like him

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    RAYTHEONSKY commented on observer

    02-03-2011

    like father, like son....genetically talented...you should be proud
    Reply to Comment

    train64

    02/04/2011

    Thanks RS..Train

    shallenemcgrath commented on observer

    02-03-2011

    I have no doubt in my mind that he does indeed know
    Reply to Comment

    Teardrops commented on observer

    02-02-2011

    He would be proud to know you took his place at the pond and i feel he does know . Great poem made me remember my own dad Marie
    Reply to Comment

    WriterGenevieve commented on observer

    02-02-2011

    My goodness. I don't know how you do it. Such IMAGERY. This is my favorite poem train. I must be emotional because I felt as though I could cry reading this - very touching - beautiful memory. Thank you for sharing this.
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.

    Plato (BC 427-BC 347) Greek philosopher.

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