New for old

Beyond the scent of first being

lies the dreamers journey, 

cobbled streets of imagination, 

where youth rises, celebrating 

the passing of innocence and

building mountains of desire.

It is like the unfolding of a flower,

only briefly gifted, but as the child,

so beautiful in its simplicity; 
knowing it only has to be,

has no burden to carry, 
save to be cherished.

             

                        ~            

There is an interlude then,

a relentless slip of time, 

often mistaken for the moment 

'twixt seventeen and seventy;

a bargain struck without hindsight

and sealed with a monthly paycheck.   

They are the years of brick upon brick

the uncertainty of crossroads,

captures on camera, bedtime kisses,

of laughter, breeding, salted tears,

the leaving of love, of forgiving,

one moment seen, but never to be again.

 And then, in the air, there is rain, 

silver teardrops of memory

that fall in metronomic cadence;

as the old, unfettered by the past, 

become ghosts, still dreaming, as 

the newborn child becomes the man.  

Reviews

[Beccy]

My son is soon to turn twelve. Still so very young, but already I can see the flexing of his wings, the subtle change of mannerisms as the child seeks to become the man.

Those mistakes you mention are inevitable CD; and we can only trust we will be there to soften the landing.

Beccy.

[Ken Simm.]

A Mother speaks. So much that is bittersweet in this. Happy, proud and sad. A difficult feat. But the so is Motherhood.

[barleygirl]

I had no kids & I’ve often quipped that I’m lucky there are no measuring sticks to show me how fast life is zooming by. This is what your poem reminds me of, even tho I haven’t experienced it myself. You do a great job showing how that happens, what it looks & feels like, to have one’s child growing up & turning into a human that one might not have imagined or planned for. It’s so hard to accept the possible fractures that such growth might bring, as one’s child breaks away to live independently & often quite differently. This world is theirs now & we don’t get to drive anymore (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I thoroughly enjoyed this write full of brilliant observations. I believe love lives in sacrifice, responsibility and hard work. The child sees this in the parent. The parent lives this for the child. The elderly have been both but are all too often discarded upon society's rubbish heap. The heart of the child should return to the parent and the heart of the parent should be able trust in the worth of the parenting, even in old age. I believe in this. I cared for my own mother in her last years and was her caregiver until she died. It did little to repay all her kindness and devotion towards me all her life. But it was a conscious effort on my part to ensure her quality of life as it drew to a close. I wish everyone could see through the eyes of their own; children and parents alike. There might be much less harm and hurt in the world. Bless.

[CD Campbell]

My son is about to turn seventeen. I watch him make the same mistakes I have and there is nothing I can do but stare and relive my own. I get older, we get older, every line of your poem is like a little dagger that prick, prick, pricks me with every word and draws little beads of blood that are reminders of time passing.
They recall to those who are in their middle years of beginnings and endings. Both within the grasp, but untouchable. We can only hope but to teach and for a little knowledge to stick, then prepare the way to lessen the loss of innocence that we cherish inside our children's eyes.
I read a little melancholy in your words on this one, it could just be my mood today, but they are far better than no words at all from you. CD

[MsJewel]

Such a beautiful insightful write. I love the last verse especially..and then, in the air, there is rain, silver teardrops of memory...such lovely use of language. Absolutely stunning in every way. :) Julie

[emmajoy]

You amaze me, this is a truly moving write, full of phrases that exceed normal thought. Life has so many twists and turns, it's a mysterious carousel ride.. lights and all. I think your darling boy has a wonderfully far thinking, far seeing mother who does more than more.

'And then, in the air, there is rain, ~ silver teardrops of memory ~ that fall in metronomic cadence; - as the old, unfettered by the past, _ become ghosts, still dreaming, as ~ the newborn child becomes the man. '

What a remarkable mind, heart and skill you have. xx
'

[Sami Khalil]

An amazing write on a personal journey of a child or any human journey and what it all entails. A very good perspective of unfolding events and expectations. Language of motherhood used is marvelous.

[Jimmy Yetts]

Utterly lovely and deeply perceptive.
A magnificent portrayal!

[KCthelastboyscout]

This is a remarkable achievement in writing.one of the best poems I ever read in the cafe.bravo to you !!