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.

[kitty]

Life and the cycle of man! but some choose to be forever childlike in manerisms. Too true this poignant piece. I suppose a mother remains a Mom all her life!

[Onlyme]

Eloquently done expressions of a child to man growth, maturity and loss of innocence due to life.

[Einstein Noodle]

i appreciated your commenting on your son ... and experienced your poem more because I read it first ;) our children ... boys/men and girls/women are such an arduous journey to be sure....they lift our hearts to heaven and dash them on the rocks of their mis-choices .. all that after we have already suffered our own ... there are a lot of lines in this that spoke more loudly to me .. like: "cobbled streets of imagination," love that! ..and:
" has no burden to carry,
save to be cherished." ... looking back ..that would be my irresponsible flying ;) ... and again this: "one moment seen, but never to be again." ..followed by this "And then, in the air, there is rain," ...is so sublime to me ... the embrace of life .. choices ... consequences .... bundled up in our "wise" and old ages .... as the cycle begins brand new ... wonderful journey to read Beccy ... well done indeed ... there is a strong sense that you are speaking from the heart of well won experience ;)
E.

[Richard Charles]

Hi Beccy,

You writing is so beautiful. You do with words what an Artist can do with a paintbrush.

[Sami Khalil]

"the years of brick upon brick
the uncertainty of crossroads,
captures on canvas, bedtime kisses,
of laughter, breeding, salted tears,
the leaving of love, of forgiving"

[Paul Bell]

Fantastic journey, Beccy.
One I hope you're on for a very long time to come.
The years sure fly by. Happy more memories to come.

[h d e rushin]

it's subtle at first, in boys at least....they cling longer to a mothers love and scent than girls. Girls want an unexplained independence; a specialized matriculant from the womb. First, boys want to be older boys but not men. Older boys peruse over their surroundings for stimuli. Nothing can prepare you for manhood (or womanhood) for that matter...…….My mother sometimes asks me about a raincoat she bought for me 25 years ago...…………….those teardrops of memory will never end.

[Lydia Shutter]

The rite of passage...as moms we watch in awe, in love, and with a teary eye. What happened to the baby boys we carried? What happened to the little boys whose knees we healed with a kiss? Maternal love drips from this one. Beautiful! Lydi***

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

Beccy, your eloquent poem so poignantly describes the cycle of life, the imagining, the growing, “the moment ‘twixt seventeen and seventy”- so exquisite. Beautiful language, form, flow, cadence. Bittersweet message as wistful as the passing of time. We hold on to our children while we can. Excellent write.

[alanwgraham]

Beccy, this is a brilliant poetic journey into the mysteries of the human condition. You have given us so many beautiful phrases to punctuate our erratic journey through life -
'dreamers journey' ' unfolding of a flower' 'silver teardrops of memory' all resonate strongly with me.
This is really brilliant writing.
Regards,
Alan