Smiles

Read of a simple man's work

one of meter and of rhyme

Whose tired footsteps echo

down the corridors of time

 

A torrid tale of longing

left by walks in thought and pain

Written for your reverence

not for authors only gain

 

For I'm a humble poet

of no specialty nor skill

Who sees the distant longing

of the child upon the hill

 

With days of constant labor

and long nights devoid of ease

I've seen the tops of mountains

Where the gods play as they please

 

Through haze and smoke deliver

my pen light upon the page

Records the music playing

from every day and age

 

To watch the gentle snowflake

alight soft on a child’s tongue

Releasing awe and wonder

of innocence in the young

 

While we the aged wonder

of moments no one could tell

Given no more to dreaming

our thoughts of where we last fell

 

For time is but an echo

of our loves felt, known and lost

Memories of our lives past

which were paid at such a cost

 

Let fly your soul immortal

stop to watch your children play

Their smiles define man's beauty

more than life could ever say

 

  

Author's Note

When we dream is it not the playful longings of the child upon the hill? Do those dreams not define our life's search and desires?

Reviews

[bluessadmood]

Oh God Mr Tate..i was so honored to review this masterpiece..
I would not expect nothing less from you..you know as i read it
I was like on a stage and you asked me to read it out loud
how exquisitely lovely it will come..i swear ..i felt it like a sypmphony
each group of words sounded like they were so high in pitch and then it got low
how you dessicate life and time ,how you humble yourself..God you were made for poetry
those tired footsteps down the lane of time telling tales of pain and ache and tired bones
its a constant labor and long and lonely nights still i stood on top of mountains where God used to play
my words though so hazed they would light a hundred miles from here to eternity and yet more
time only told how love was felt and lost ,lives lived and passed and just at what cost
what loveliness..great symphony from beginning to end..true master poet you are my friend
lovely write..

[Salvatore Buttaci]

Tate, here is your poem. I took the liberty of editing the punctuation so you can see it all at one glance. Because so many commas are needed, I would tend to leave all punctuation out of the poem. Also, in parentheses below I added "I." And "down a well" doesn't seem to work. Maybe you can change it to something different while maintaining your set-up rhythm.
__________________

Read of a simple man's work,

one of meter and of rhyme,

Whose tired footsteps echo

down the corridors of time.



A torrid tale of longing,

left by walks in thought and pain,

Written for your reverence,

not for authors only gain.



For I'm a humble poet

of no specialty nor skill

Who sees the distant longing

of the child upon the hill.



With days of constant labor

and long nights devoid of ease,

(I) have seen the tops of mountains

Where the gods do as they please.



Through haze and smoke deliver,

my pen light upon the page,

Records the music playing

from every day and age.



To watch the gentle snowflake

alight soft on a child's tongue,

Releasing awe and wonder

of innocence in the young.



As we the aged wonder

of lost thoughts no one could tell,

Given no more to dreaming,

we cast our hopes (down a well.) Somehow this throws off the good rhythm you've set up.



For time is but an echo

of our loves felt, known, and lost--

Memories of our lives past

which were paid at such a cost.



To save the soul of ruin,

stop to watch your children play.

Their smiles define man's beauty

more than life could ever say.



Tate

[R J Askew]

I've been thinking how to 'sell' myself in London, of the cut and thrust, the excitement and the terror of launching words at people. So I read your poet's poem with a certain humility as it goes to the heart of the matter, of taking joy in what we are and experience. These lines seem esp telling ...

'Written for your reverence
Not for author's only gain'

... if we write for our own gain and not for the gain of others how can we be true poets? The best line thought is 'Stop to watch your children play'. Mine are 18,14,12 now ... still keeping an eye on them.

[Nautili]

Beautifully expressed. The picture is so perfect! The flow of the poem was flawless in my opinion, and the imagery of children playing juxtaposed with jaded adults who have lost their hope is powerful. You are right, we can learn much from watching children enjoy life's little pleasures.

[RainyDay]

Oh man, you put our valiant efforts at poetry to shame! The beauty in every verse you write! You are far from a humble poet, my friend! This was thoroughly enoyable and if written by anyone else would neeed not a word of criticism, but I am used to your complete and utter perfection so I have one tiny thing to point out: Verse seven seemed a tiny-tiny-tiny (TINY!!) vit off-rhythm to me....but that's probably just me-I know very well how pronunciation can get lost in translation, so let's just leave that as a possibility!

Anyway, your poetry is just fabulous as usual. Beautiful, awe-inspiring work, for it's rhythm and flow alone! But you give us such an intriguing message too. Thank you.

[Elise-Christelle W]

Your poetry inspires. Don't ever lose that gift

[James K. Blaylock]

One word: Breathtaking! Be blessed

jkb

[Ebb and Flow]

I find myself in wonder and awe reading this. Children really do make our lives better. Their innocence, laughter and play...is there anything more wonderful then a child's smile?


Krys

[Magdelena]

If I can see past the tears maybe I could write.. You, sir, do not play fair. I am a crier. Not ashamed at all. Your work makes me weep! Not of sadness, but of its beauty!


Mags xx

[Katie]

The last stanza really sticks in my head. Although, the entire piece is stunning. Amazing job!

[Martin See]

your poem reads like the words of an experienced and dedicated writer...i find there's a much appreciated touch of melancholy that reaches my soul that only with time and experience sometimes brings...it is a touching and humble account of a writer that i truly applaud...this poem is testiment of your prolific works, it summarises your writing philosophy...it touched a special place in my heart...simply beautiful...