Park benches.

A thousand miles away;

perhaps in contemplation
of the son you left behind,
you are playing your guitar.

Even above the gusted November

wind that chills to the bone,

I can hear the melody; 

as can the red/gold tinted leaves 

that dance in skittish

attendance at my feet, 

lost as I am to your beautiful music.

Time slips, clouds close in

and I gather my coat, watching 

the green painted swing as it 

sways creakily back and forth;

and I wonder if it hears the music,

or is simply keeping in practice

for the coming spring and the

fondly remembered laughter 

of a child at play.

Soon then, the wind stills

and the slenderness of my arms

are like the rusted chains on the swing,

strong enough only for measured burden;

and the distance between us,

though counted in miles,

might as well be the far side of the moon,

although love, like laughter, only ever fades.   

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

the last stanza here is as important as any love poem can conger or imagine. And there is that
irresistible promise that surrenders to separation and thusly submits meekly and adjectively
to disappointment. When you write a poem Beccy, all the assertions implied by the speaker
are true even when poetry itself (the art of it) asserts that blessed modicum of trivial
untruth. But we never doubt you and in the end, cry when you cry.

You write poetry like an unearthed, liberated lady of a different century, only this time
breached of etiquette and propriety and allowed bravely to tell the story of heartache
without being trivialized. This is as good as modern love poetry gets..

thanks for sharing it with us.....dana

[Tony Jordan]

fades...but never dies. I feel this one.
The idea of the swings keeping in practice and remembering blew me away.
Gorgeously bitter-sweet Beccy.

[andrew mitchell]

How one can watch time go by, until shaken to reality. Lovely flow and sweet Imagery Beccy.

[Tom]

Time moves on and kids grow up, fly the nest and quite often to foreign fields at that but those endearing memories linger of youthful, bygone times.

Wistfully penned with angst, yearning and autumn imagery aplenty!

[Kathy Van Kurin]

Beccy,
"Park Benches" Thought I would come by and read a little. A quiet place to reminisce and realize what we have in memory. Thoughts of past relationships so precious now loved even more as pondered. My children are all grown and gone but they are in my heart. Blessings in your life and writeing. Kathy

[SkinlessFrank]

this is music that is triste and we hear it well because of memories you conjure up that many share

[1VJ]

Outstanding poetry, a bit somber but amazing. Love 'that dance in skittish attendance at my feet'.

Definitely 100/100

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was excellent poetry and very beautiful, quite moving. I enjoyed.

[Robert Haigh]

Sad and wistful, with a bruised kind of beauty. Good use of language. I enjoyed reading this. ~Robert~

[CD Campbell]

This is a beautiful poem. I once became transfixed on this pretty women some time ago across the room at a bar. It's been years and I don't remember the place, but still remember her. She was by herself and drinking something clear on the rocks. Vodka or gin? I don't know. Anyway, she was incredibly sad, almost to tears. I couldn't and didn't want to see her smile. There was such a magnificent beauty in her sadness. Your poem reminded me of that moment. There can be overwhelming loveliness in the most tortured of occasions and feelings. The imagery was great. CD

[Terry O'Leary]

Oh... I just love the guitar... and your poem too!!
Terry