Long Island wild rosesThis is a very short post just to show you my poem for Day 14. I hope you enjoy it. It's about my life years ago when we owned a house in Rocky Point, Long Island.
Long Island
The smell of wild roses growing along the shoreline
announces the start of summer
I tilled the soil each spring for my garden where
bright red cherry tomatoes and plump round beefsteak ones grew.
baby carrots fresh from the soil and nasturtiums growing nearby
The girls played on the bricks tightrope walking along the edges
singing and dancing while performing their productions
The hammock hung between the dogwood trees where I lay
facing the sky canopied with the fragrant leaves
Wild strawberries grew in the grass of my backyard and when
I mowed the smell of wild onions surrounded me as the tall
grass tickled my legs. Along the fence the roses bloomed in
paint box colors. White flowers painted with
red as if brushed by an invisible artist. On the side of the house
peonies grew in pink profusion. I’d cut them and bring them
straight to the sink. Their blooms held ants between the
petals so I’d run the water hoping not to flatten their beauty.
In front were the azalea bushes, white and pink bouquets and the impatiens
planted along the edge mixing with purple hyacinths
In spring the tulips grew in ordered rows.Later in the summer the gladiolas would
tower over all with their trumpet shaped blooms so heavy they would lean over.
I went past the house since we left. The new owners pulled up the garden.
Replaced it with ground cover. It’s as if my life were erased and all I have
are half remembered memories when my life was car pools, raking, mowing,
and planting a garden. When mother was my job and wife sat on the back burner.
Long Island, Suffolk county, Rocky Point you live as the impression on the sand
stays after the tide ebbs on your beaches where once we walked
our bare feet leaving no impression on the shifting sand.
Long Island
The smell of wild roses growing along the shoreline
announces the start of summer
I tilled the soil each spring for my garden where
bright red cherry tomatoes and plump round beefsteak ones grew.
baby carrots fresh from the soil and nasturtiums growing nearby
The girls played on the bricks tightrope walking along the edges
singing and dancing while performing their productions
The hammock hung between the dogwood trees where I lay
facing the sky canopied with the fragrant leaves
Wild strawberries grew in the grass of my backyard and when
I mowed the smell of wild onions surrounded me as the tall
grass tickled my legs. Along the fence the roses bloomed in
paint box colors. White flowers painted with
red as if brushed by an invisible artist. On the side of the house
peonies grew in pink profusion. I’d cut them and bring them
straight to the sink. Their blooms held ants between the
petals so I’d run the water hoping not to flatten their beauty.
In front were the azalea bushes, white and pink bouquets and the impatiens
planted along the edge mixing with purple hyacinths
In spring the tulips grew in ordered rows.Later in the summer the gladiolas would
tower over all with their trumpet shaped blooms so heavy they would lean over.
I went past the house since we left. The new owners pulled up the garden.
Replaced it with ground cover. It’s as if my life were erased and all I have
are half remembered memories when my life was car pools, raking, mowing,
and planting a garden. When mother was my job and wife sat on the back burner.
Long Island, Suffolk county, Rocky Point you live as the impression on the sand
stays after the tide ebbs on your beaches where once we walked
our bare feet leaving no impression on the shifting sand.
copyright 2010 by Barbara Ehrentreu
Until the next time I hope that you were able to load this now. I don't see anymore errors when I load the page, so let me know if you still can't get onto the page. Of course this won't work if you don't see what I just wrote.:)
So true. I often think about how we're all just "leasing" time while we're here in our houses and on this planet.
ReplyDeleteThe Native Americans understood this.
I like the imagery of you cutting the grass smelling the wild onions. I can just smell that and take in the whole scene. Sweet!
(I just did a post on smells, so maybe that's where my heads at.)
A lovely read on a rainy Friday morning.
GUYS,
ReplyDeleteI thought about what I wrote in this poem when I read your post. I was going to comment, but I was on my IPhone and didn't have the time. But I will go over and leave my comment so I won't spoil it by mentioning what I'm going to say.:)
So glad you visited and hope that the loading speed has improved. I had to get rid of a few widgets that were errors. Also I think Blogger has slowed down the speed of photos loading.
I think anytime you can engage your senses the experience becomes more real to you and more memorable. Poetry is the perfect way to express this and that's why I love writing it.:)
The beauty of mother nature, so precious and so quickly gone, with our thoughts..
ReplyDeletedorothy from grammology
grammology.com
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