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Flower Children... [East Main St story]

True Spring started in May
Yard and alley 'tween the houses
Full of sun and warmth
Beautiful days

Full of breakfast
Sitting in the sun
The squeak of a screen-door
“Hi Mary!”

“Good morning children”
The scent of Lilac
Black ankle-skirts and shoes
On her knees; as if in prayer

Transplanted pansies
Stroll under the grape-vines
Bright parasols of color
In mounds of dark earth

Big shadowy spiders
In green leafy tubes
Draped with trip-lines
Invitations to dinner

Looking so nice
From the shade of her porch
Lemonade payroll
Candy bonuses

Mama's call to lunch
“Thank you Mary”
Shhhhh... It's her nap
Back across the age divide

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
Another "Memory of Main St."
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

have a bunch of childhood memories. Envy you
Love mostly the details about the garden, especially 4th stanza.
Regards

❤❤❤❤❤❤

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

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memories of my childhood. Not all of them good, but I am trying to focus on the best of the ones that I can recall from when we lived at 136 East Main St. Our next door neighbor always planted pansies in the Spring. She seemed to enjoy having my sisters and I help her. She usually had some left over that she would give to us to plant wherever we liked. Thanks for the read and comment. ~ Gee.

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author comment

Hi, Geezer,
So lovely. What gifts - both your memory and your writing. I was raised away from town, but my maternal grandparents lived in town and we visited several times a week. The alleys, screen doors, lilac bushes, shade of the porch, and lemonade payroll - days spent with my grandmother, Elizabeth. She was the Mary in your poem. When we sat on her porch, we'd actually yell back and forth to neighbors sitting on their front porch. Your poem brought that back. Back across the age divide...So descriptive. Sounds like there were some pretty wonderful times in your childhood.
Thanks,
L

some pretty good times in my childhood. I have very fond memories of East Main St. when my grandmother and great aunt were still alive and living there. I guess that is why they seem so vivid yet. I think that we would all rather remember the good times, than the bad. Thank you for your read and comments; it means much to me to have people understand and feel like my poems depict their memories too. ~ Geezer.
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author comment

Love your poem, Gee. It also brings back my own childhood memories. The title misled me, tho', because I thought it would be about hippies!
There's joy in your writing, so glad you wrote something uplifting in these hard times. Tx!

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

a certain kindness back in those days. We were raised to respect our elders and to interact with our neighbors. Mary was a kind soul, who had no children of her own and I never saw any other relatives visit her. We enjoyed her company and she ours, I do believe. I think that my sister and I were flower children, many years before the hippies. We practiced love and sharing as a matter of course. Thank you very much for allowing me to share these poems with you. ~ Geezer.
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author comment

was given to me by my mother, grandmother and her sister, great aunt Kit. [The subject of a poem all of her own]. It was through our family values and understanding, that we developed that soft heart. It pains me to see how little respect and honor of parents there is today. Not all, but a great number of children today are self-centered and have little regard for the niceties of interacting with their elders. What an honor to have met and have a friendship with Mary among a host of older people in our neighborhood. Thank you for your generous gift of time to read and comment on my work. ~ Geezer.
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author comment

Hi, I've returned to re-read your lovely poem about your childhood memories. I enjoy it more each time. Everything has been said, I'll not tire you again with my own memories, except to say that they, too, are wonderful (mostly).
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

this walk down memory lane puts me in mind of my Grandma Wright. my father's mother. She had a lovely garden, too. and she baked wonderful things. he kitchen was huge with two ricking chairs in it. we would sit and rock with the pies cooling on the window ledge. (she lived with my grandpa on a huge dairy farm in Wisconsin) I got to stay with them for a week in the summer. terrific memories.

*hugs, Cat
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for some years before we moved to that apartment. Our Grandmother and Aunt Kit lived there for many years. When Aunt Kit
died and Grandma didn't need such a big place, our family [father, mother and two sisters and I moved in. Mary was a kind and gracious soul that always reminded me of a nun. She wore black ankle-length dresses, black shoes and white or light colored blouses year 'round. [Hence the comment in the poem, "On her knees, as if in prayer]. Thanks for your memories of
your grandparent's farm. It makes me feel like I have touched another's story. ~ Gee.
.

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author comment

how sharp and clear your rememberances are. you always write a top notch piece, no matter what the topic! please overlook my terrible spelling?

*hugs, Cat
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When someone reads your work
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I understand what trials and tribulations that you endure, just to write, let alone make sure that spelling is perfect. No worries, as the Aussies say. I love that you also have those memories of your childhood. As to sharp and clear, I think that having had so many bad ones too; that I especially cling to the "good ones" so as to kind of block out the bad ones. There were times in school when we had been up all night with my father in a drunken rage and fighting, that I was in so much of a stupor, that I was put in the [slow] class, where I languished for most of the year; until my father was removed from the house. Suddenly, I awoke, and was moved up to Mrs. Moore's class. [Mrs. Moore Gsve More]. ~ Gee.
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author comment

the monster in our house was my mother. she was a nurse and a pill head. she got custody. was very abusive. I was the youngest. my dad was great. I would loved his having custody. I'm glad that things got better for you.

*hugs, Cat
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When someone reads your work
And responds, please be courteous
And reply in kind, thanks.

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