"But in the grey of the morning
my mind becomes confused
between the dead and the sleeping
and the road that I must choose"
The Moody Blues Question
I remember a secret place behind new house construction
still untouched, with a little brook; I knew the hidden entry.
It was September, yellow leaves nattering on thick birches
with impossible blue sky behind. My solitary sanctuary.
I've not been back but know
that a sub and casino took its place.
SUVs, neon signs, leaf blowers,
but in my mind it's still my private place.
My wandering discoveries now unfold in recurring dreams
of curious, fey, deserted neighborhoods found just beyond a rise.
The streets are new, but the homes deserted and crumbling
with just a face here or there behind a curtain, calmly waiting to die.
In these latter years, one seems
as real and compelling as the other.
I once saw a pheasant burst from a bush
and a grackle's lost feather flutter.
___________
for Word Garden Word List--Autumn.
Music: Frank Sinatra The September of My Years
I wonder if they filled in the little brook, which was habitat. This poem reminds me of Kelowna, where I grew up and raised my kids. As a child, the small town was surrounded by apple orchards. Now the orchards have been replaced by miles of condos and it is a city. The huge apple packing plant just closed. So hard to find those peaceful spots any more. My heart LIFTS reading your closing stanza. I have lost track of the days. I will come to the List soon.
ReplyDeleteYou’ve conveyed the atmosphere of Autumn wonderfully - the words crackle like leaves - nattering is perfect - and the memory and looking back crisp and reflective. And a perfect balance of past, present and future. Thank you also for your comment at mine - Jae
ReplyDeleteA secret place, a solitary sanctuary, "my private place" -- These are where we store beauty as in a poem, separate from the decay and exploitation of the world, as you show so beautifully, Shay.
ReplyDeleteSomething very song-like about this one, Shay. I always feel something harsh but sweet when I hear songs like your Sinatra, and especially Autumn Leaves...there is that same sense of things lost forever, yet changed into the imperishable stuff of the heart, so not lost at all, merely transformed. I especially like "nattering" and the last stanza that shapes and points the thoughts of the whole.
ReplyDeleteYou've captured the transience of autumn beautifully. I love the "yellow leaves nattering" and the haunting reality of "a face here and there behind a curtain, calmly waiting to die."
ReplyDeleteIt's funny how the gaudy cheerfulness of new builds can feel so soulless sometimes, isn't it? Too much neon always gives me that feeling.
I am thankful the private places I found in the little woods around the home where I grew up have now returned to nature. Two years a go I drove by and all you could see was the small house peeking out at the gravel road. I live in Houston so there are very few quiet, secluded nature places. It is haunting how the shallow thrill of new construction truly has no lasting depth. Your words are beautiful. Thank you for them. They took me home.
ReplyDeleteAutumn does hold a sense of change and yet a certain stillness. I love how this holds the beautiful hidden place, that with all the change it still holds a place in your heart. Beautiful Shay!
ReplyDeleteAgree with HW (as always!) I thought the “ yellow leaves nattering on thick birches” was top drawer. And the last two lines bring us back to the world.
ReplyDelete"The streets are new, but the homes deserted and crumbling
ReplyDeletewith just a face here or there behind a curtain, calmly waiting to die."
That is intense imagery, Shay!
Beautifully rememberd and penned. Your poem made me remember the new house construction in my childhood neighborhood and how we neighbor kids used to explore within after dark. Boards. Nails. Unfinished rooms. No parents cautioned us, though they knew. Parents didn't seem to worry as much those days.. I hadn't thought about that in a long time. Your poem took me back.....
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