Sounds (revised Version)

[determinedtofail]

Sounds (Revised Version)

I remember my mother
sitting late at night,
strumming an old Spanish melody,
only the moonlight playing
witness to her tears.

I have often asked,
What notes had led her there?
She can revise them now as she likes,
but they are only songs, only sounds.

Sounds that vanish
with a sweep of bus tires
falling into the night.

The ground rumbles over,
and a pair of broken spectacles trembles;
like memories without ears
or nursing home hallways between rounds.

Only hallways, only glasses.
My thoughts are always waiting for my bus.

Tomorrow comes too early.
Already the dandelion seeds drift by.
I ran five miles today, wondering
just how far they will go.

I board the same bus
where passengers tell random stories.
And stories fall open at me
like books from library shelves.

The bus stops and hisses.
Our feet pour out of door.

Around the park
children are running.
The soles of their sneakers
bless the ground.

In the park.
lovers make promises
with their eyes.
An elderly couple
huddles away from the wind.

On the bench
A book worm eats a sandwich-
while being stalked by ducks.

I turn away
so as not to bother anyone.
My heart stings too easily.

Returning from my travels
My quiet shoes lie by the door.

My shoes...
Worn, dirty, well trodden,
But they are only shoes.

---Austin

[mfwilkie]

Interesting first read, Austin. Some great imagery.

Want to think about it for a bit.

Maggie




I remember my mother
sitting late at night,
softly strumming and old Spanish melody,
the moonlight played witness to her tears.

I have often asked myself,
What notes had led her to this?
She can revise them now as she likes,
but they are only songs, only sounds.

Sounds that vanish
with a sweep of bus tires,
growling, falling into the night.

Rumbling over the ground,
as a pair of broken spectacles trembles;
like memories without ears
or nursing home hallways between rounds.

Only hallways, only glasses.
My thoughts wait for my bus.

Tomorrow comes too early.
Already the dandelion seeds go by.
I ran five miles today, wondering
just how far they will go.

I board the bus.
The passengers tell random stories.
And the stories fall open at me
like books from library shelves.

Our feet pour out of door.

Around the park
children are running
the soles of their sneakers
bless the ground.

In the park.
lovers make promises with their eyes.
An elderly couple huddles away from the wind.

On the bench
A book worm eats a sandwich
while being stalked by ducks.

I turn away
so as not to bother anyone.
My heart stings too easily.

Returning from my travels

My shoes lie quietly by the door.
My shoes….
Worn, dirty, well trodden,
But, they are only shoes.

[mfwilkie]

Austin,

There are two references to night in the first stanza, are they both necessary to the image?


I remember my mother
sitting late at night,
strumming an old Spanish melody,
only the moonlight playing
witness to her tears

Maggie

[Marion Poirier]

Austin, I like what you have done in this poem.
It is more focused than some of your other work.
IMO, you could eliminate the stanzas about
glasses and nursing homes and a couple of
other lines. Very nice work! The sounds are vibrant
and the visuals are well done.

Marion

Sounds (Revised Version)

I remember my mother
strumming an old Spanish melody,
only the moonlight witness to her tears.

I often ask,
What notes led her there?
She can revise them now as she likes,
but they are only songs, only sounds.

Sounds that vanish
with a sweep of bus tires
falling into the night.

Tomorrow comes too early.
Already the dandelion seeds drift by.
I ran five miles today, wondering
just how far they will go.

I board the same bus
where passengers tell random stories.
And stories fall open at me
like books from library shelves.

The bus stops and hisses.
Our feet pour out the door.

Around the park
children are running.
The soles of their sneakers
bless the ground.

In the park.
lovers make promises
with their eyes.
An elderly couple
huddles away from the wind.

On the bench
A book worm eats a sandwich-
while being stalked by ducks.

I turn away.
My heart stings too easily.

Returning from my travels
My quiet shoes lie by the door.

My shoes...
Worn, dirty, well trodden.
But they are only shoes.

[determinedtofail]

Marrion I think your pretty right on about omitting some of the imagery. Hard for me to come to grips with it though. The broken glasses were my a personal experience that I intended to build this poem from. Art can be a funny thing though, when I try to force it, or make it do what it doesn't want to. Gonna take some more time to stare at this one to find the right combination.

---Shawn

[Marion Poirier]

Austin, this poem is one of my favorites of yours.
It's a series of random thoughts; in my mind it's
a stream of consciousness poem. If the broken
spectacles and nursing room hallways are important
to you, as obviously they are, perhaps a tad more
detail, the nursing home hallways I am associating
with the N's mother, perhaps incorrectly, but probably
needs no explanation; however, I'd like to know a
bit more about the broken spectacles, a few words
might suffice. You might want to eliminate like and
or in those lines and separate only with a comma,
keeping the semi-c where it is.

I think the "but" beginning last line should be
lower case or leave it out and make this a
sentence by itself to end the poem.
I don't see much to change in this one. Very nicely done!
Marion