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On the cusp between child and puberty
I'd sit listening to my grandpa talk
on his shaded porch just him and me;
all around chickens would peck and walk.

And I'd watch his old eyes too
as he told tales about his long life.
It seemed in his stories he could view
times long gone , his departed wife.

Then like a flash grandpa was gone
his gravely voice never more heard.
Those eyes I used to focus on
departed like his final word.

As teen years turned into manhood
and my father became a friend,
often times he'd seem to brood.
Did he see his approaching end?

Or was he also looking to his past
when he could roam for miles and days,
those years which had passed far too fast.
Was it memories which made his eyes glaze?

Now at seven years and three score
I peer into old eyes once more
eyes which see what went before.
They gaze back at me from a mirror.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


getting too predictable huh? I might have to write something totally unpredictable lol

author comment

that last line, not being in rhyme. You know, I felt this poem deeply, as I do most of your work, but this one hits home pretty hard. I have had occasion lately to see myself as others probably do; [damned video-chats]! Like seeing a stranger! I guess we hold a different image of ourselves in our minds, huh? I guess I will cover all the mirrors in the house and keep my peace of mind. I too, enjoyed the progression of son to father and grandfather. I never had a living grandfather, so the only images I have are a few old photos and memories of my grandmother's memories. Children, take heed; listen to those tales of the old days and the impact of how they affected your father and in turn, you. Great stuff!
~ Geez.

It seems that the days and hours that people
are available for chatroom are staggered and
not a good match for most everyone. How about
if everyone just shows up at the door, whenever
they have a few free minutes?

Say before then say mirror out loud and tell me they don't rhyme lol.

author comment

you needed to rhyme "mirror" with "more".
Great stuff though! As Gee says, I can forgive you for the half_rhyme in that line


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

Follow me

Maybe it's an accent thing but whether or not it was done to get the message across. As was the change in rhyme scheme which is what I expected to be pointed out lol. Always good to see you......stan

author comment

you are right, I didn't read it out loud and that's why it didn't seem right. Joke's on me. ~ Geez.

It seems that the days and hours that people
are available for chatroom are staggered and
not a good match for most everyone. How about
if everyone just shows up at the door, whenever
they have a few free minutes?

did't rhyme and I had to do something about that. It took a half day before I read it out loud and discovered it already did lol. My pen was smarter than me

author comment

This reminds me of my teenage years when I had to listen to my grandmother tell stories about my grandfather's youth and many events that took place in the earliest
part of 20th century. The stories were so real that I felt as though I was part of the entire experiences my grandmother narrated chronologically. In truth, nothing feels as good and fulfilling as hearing firsthand about the lives of one's forbears. Thanks for the poem.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

Yeah it's sad thing that so many young people these days attach no value to their elders' oral history. Thanks for the visit

author comment

Hi, Stan,
Quite the masterpiece, here. You have a beautiful poem, but most of all you've captured the sentiment and emotions to the circle of life. So well done.
Thank you,

Hardly a masterpiece but thanks for saying so. Always good to have you drop in

author comment

My heart is bleeding -- absolutely breathtaking. The transition of perspective, the last two stanzas, the story, the rhyme...everything about this poem is spot on and creates a beautiful poem. Amazing job as always.

"The true alchemists do not turn lead into gold; they turn the world into words." -William H. Gass

So I can assume you liked this scribble? lol. Thanks for your kind words

author comment
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