In Broken Hearts of Tangerine

In our youth we live in reckless abandoned for love. In our twilight we yearn to leave behind something of value that reflects our love. So we are not forgotten...

In Broken Hearts of Tangerine 

By

Carlos Lorenzo Estrada

(In the Garden of Eden)

I wrote a song and buried it

Beneath a field of tangerine 

In hopes the words; fortuitous 

Would feed them like a stream 

Nourished by the love I wrote

And sweet in symphony 

The gift I give is bittersweet 

In the memories of me...

 

Author's Note

From metaphor, to story, to biography. Who hasn't in there youth buried in a backyard or beautiful field mementos of their youth. I know I did. I just can't remember where. But it is my hope that whoever finds those small trinkets find some use or pleasure from them. For they were left behind by my youth, as I too have left it behind.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Tis said that Man can but leave small reminders of self by action of kindness to his fellow man. To leave the reminders as offered in your lovely words suggest the leaving a bright glimmer of personal history. History falls literally by the wayside, far better to leave it contained like a jewel to be found some time by someone who in his or her time might do the same. I 'planted' an old cocoa time enclosing some bright red beads, a teeny Chinese dolly and a foil wrapped toffee!

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you Emmajoy for sharing your thoughts with me. I so appreciate it. In some ways I find the message of this poem somewhat sad and disconcerting. We often want to leave behind something promising to be remembered by without thinking we should have lived better lives as our example. Is it a part of our selfish nature to be so self absorbed and vain? This metaphor of a poem tells of leaving behind something bittersweet. A hope from sorrow. It speaks ill of the song buried to nourish a field with such sadness. But maybe in the end that is the only gift a heart could give. That in a sad love song it can inspire another to love better. I'm literally confounded by this poem. CLE

[emmajoygreen]

Perhaps one needs to be not only a true lover of words but also that urge to leave something others might enjoy or even, cherish. You have.!

[carl]

Lovely work, I should think the best that most of us could hope for was to leave bittersweet memories of ourselves. I'm sure we might hope for something sweeter, but expectation.... not for me. I remember burying a tin can in our backyard when I was about 14, oddly I do not remember what was in it. enjoyed your work very much, - thanks for the post -carl

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you kindly Carl for taking the time to share your thoughts on this poem with me. It was a bit odd writing this piece and now reading it again I seem to see it as a metaphor. Our yearning to leave something behind to be remembered for. Even if there is a bit of melancholy in it. Things have changed so much since I've been alive. We've gone from the yearning of hope in the 60's to more of a selfish nature in the 2000's. Each passing decade has been a failure on our part to live up to our expectations and aspirations. It's not about doing better as a species anymore. It's that we must do so for there are no better options in the survival of our humanity. The fruit planted in this hope is bittersweet, but a possibility to be better and grow towards a more enlightened species.

[Chris Shaw]

Dear Carlos your beautiful poem reminded me, that beneath a loose floorboard in the bedroom of my childhood home, I left a note with my name and age on it, saying how unhappy I was to be moving house. I also left a plastic bracelet and some foreign stamps. I wonder if they have ever been found? I haven’t thought about that for many
years. Your poem brought that memory back. I was very happy in that home.

The whole idea of writing a love song and burying it, is kind of sad, albeit romantic. You certainly sent me on a journey my friend. I hope all is good with you.

Chris

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you Chris for sharing such a beautiful memory with me. Somewhere in the backyard of my childhood home is buried a small metal cigar box with small toy soldiers in it and other items. I can't remember why I buried it. I was just beginning my teenage years. Perhaps it was my way of letting go those childhood mementos that reminded me of so much. Memories I wanted to let go and be rid of. To let the little boy go and become the young adult I yearned to be. You can bury those things but not the person. A hard lesson to learn. Hope all is going well for you to, dear poet. CLE