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RUSTY CHAIRS

The setting moon supplies the light
along the path down to the pond
while in the east the sky turns bright.
Jeans brush against a wet fern's frond.
Tree frogs bid adieu to dying night.

Boots clomping on the old wood dock
quickly silence peepers' song.
The time approaches dawn o'clock.
Fading moonshadows are growing long.
Cattail awaits a breeze on its thin stalk.

I tip water from a rusty chair
condensed from over night pond mist
which still sends tendrils here and there
where water and air's border kissed.
A place which I, for seconds, share.

Then I bait my worn rod's hook.
When I cast the reel's gears scream protest.
This tackle's nearly as old as I look.
Sometimes older things are best;
a lesson not learned in some book.

I rest the rod on aging rail,
then take a swat at summer's bane.
Toward daytime's roost an owl sets sail.
I try ignoring my knees' pain
as thoughts drift off (it never fails).

Two other old chairs sit nearby
one for dad, one for my brother.
I look at them, stifle a sigh,
too long since we've seen one another.
Reckon I'll join them bye and bye.

Those chairs are there now for my sons.
It seems their lives don't have the time
to sit and rest their busy buns.
Well, perhaps another time
we'll sit and watch the rising sun.

Bullfrogs' final burps now greet the day
echoing an ending in the air,
chasing the last of night away.
A magic time I'd like to share
a time to think or wish or pray.

But even all an old man's wishes
won't refill chairs which time vacated
any more than they'll bring hungry fishes
to take that hook already baited
in hopes of coming sea food dishes.

So I bring myself back to the now.
My rod tip quivers...might be a bite.
Concentration wrinkles up my brow
just as my float sinks out of sight.
Thoughts of the past vanish somehow.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
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?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
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Comments

Great write!!! Very simply written but the message is so clear. I was remarking to my mother the other day how much things have changed since I was a child, how family has grown so far apart, either loved ones have passed on or they simply don't have the time, family functions or pasttimes seem to be a thing of the past. Your poem brought back some memories of various things I did with my father as a child, fishing being one of them. He and I used to catch peepers in the creek that resided in the neighborhood park. We would bring them home and turn them loose in our yard. It's ashame when our children grow, that they don't seem to have as much time as they used to. My dad is still the one person that I can sit down with and have an intelligent conversation with about sometimes nothing. I enjoyed the language, easy to read and easy to visualize all that was going on during your fishing trip. I like how you built the story step by step. Really good!!!

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

Any time a comment begins with "wow" I get the feeling I might have accidentally done something right lol. I'm pleased this brought back some fond memories for you. I'm just one of those see and say writers and always appreciate when somebody takes time to read something of mine............stan

author comment

Another lovely write they seem to drift from your quill to our eyes,
then on into the memories we hold, an empty chair or two, a thought of what will they do if they walked up to me here now, The flight of the owl to beat the suns rays one last flight.
As our memories flow past our thoughts, we can once again join those that we love, there reminding us anew,
Grand Memories Stan and they will out last you, to become a hand held out in a greeting that would melt the sun.
Yours Ian.T
Ps:- Would "Wooden" be better than wood S2 L1 ??
Then S3 L3 "here" instead of her ??

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

Thank you. I wrote this about 4 different times and finally threw my hands up and posted the results. I'm glad you liked it. I'm a bit rushed at the time so I'll check your suggestions tomorrow.You know I'm always editing stuff and all suggestions are appreciated..........stan

author comment

the critique for the others. I just want to rest my skinny buns in one of those chairs and put some bait in the water. I think that everyone feels like they are growing apart these days. Families just don't get together enough to enjoy each other the way they used to. Thanks for bringing back some memories of me and my boys. Good write as usual, ~ Gee

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I wish I Had skinny buns lol. I instead have well padded ones. It Does seem that the more ways we have to communicate with folks the less we seem to actually get together for just hanging out. I'm happy to have kindled some good memories for you...........stan

author comment

Although nostalgia isn't what it used to be, I really enjoyed your write. Stan, if you were fishing anywhere near me you would not be on your own. You have captured the location so clearly I think I may have been there sometime. The meter is a wee bit rocky in parts but not so it spoils the read. Well done for a good write.

Ian

TIME FLIES LIKE AN ARROW, BUT FRUIT FLIES LIKE A BANANA

I suspect all favorite fishing spots have similarities. And the best ones are in areas where old docks and a bit of wildlife and solitude can be found. Next time you're in South Carolina drop on by and we'll baptize some bait lol. Thanks for taking time to read this. I know the meter isn't perfect (little of my poetry has that) but I am usually willing to sacrifice that for more natural sounding writing......................stan

author comment

This is so Stan.
This gentleness is why I read you.
I would be remiss as an Official Mentor (Director or THE PROGRAM, mind you) if I didn't say the lack of punctuation makes me nuts!
But I wouldn't miss one of your eminently pleasant walks.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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I used dawn o'clock so that the time of year would be indistinct. I'm glad you like my stuff. In my opinion there are plenty of others who can cover the ugly aspects of life better than I. So I leave it mostly to them. I think I'll go back through and punctuate this just to keep your obsessive self in control lmao.Thanks for the visit...........stan

author comment

To do such a thing so I don't burn through my anti anxiety meds... gracious, just gracious.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
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I found a few edits to help rhythm while chasing proper punctuation lol..............stan

author comment

Those tiny little dots and dashes just do wonders to literature. There were only a few spots where the meter trouble me originally, so I didn't notice much different. But the dots connected much.
Thanks.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
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is terrible, it must give you fits, however I am sure you will keep me in line if you see fit!!!

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

Had to visit emergency room to have index finger looked at and drops put in eyes from the strain lol.........stan

author comment

You should have gone to "Spec Savers" LOL
If you have to go to the hospital for someone to see your index finger a new set of glasses is called for, you said that you were getting old ???
Did the drops make your eyes better ???
Hope you can see your fingers now..
Yours as always Ian.T
PS:- Hope you are better now, just had to say it lol...

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

my index finger has become toughened up by punching keys. The eye doctor said my eyes are fine it's just that my arms are too short...............stan

author comment

.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about

even before my Grammar passed away she was never a cop..................stan

author comment
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