As life Ebbs

 

I see through the eyes

of my childhood.

I project my memories,

black and

white and

grainy on

whitewashed walls

that meant something

to me

once.

I walk through

these nameless streets,

where so many

beautiful girls

made me swoon,

where jacarandas

and olive

and citrus trees

whose twigs are laden

with twittering sparrows

stand in glorious bloom,

with youthful legs,

brisk and easy.

strutting along.

dancing more

than walking.

And they take me places

that are no longer there

(at least, not in the shape I remember,)

but that I can clearly see still.

I walk past faces that I knew,

but they are few now

and no longer carry

that luster of youth.

I barely recognize them.

They are now strangers.

and it could be

I am a stranger to them.

and to these streets.

and to these walls

closing in on me.

The lilt of home

is lost

as life is

ebbing

haplessly.

Reviews

[IMOGEAN]

I thought this to be quite whimsical, thick with nostalgia and an ode of acceptance to life's changing tides. I read the piece out loud in order to find proper rhythm for the flow of words. I would suggest reformatting the piece, breaking it into stanzas, and adding punctuation. This will create a whole new feel to the poem, and add to the affect on the reader.

Please understand that my review and advice is only my opinion. Take what you feel is of use to you and discard the rest.

Oh, and I would not change a single word, because the wording itself was well written...

Imogean~

[Emily B]

oh, my . . .

[JohnL]

I seem to be in a period of nostalgia just now, both as a reader and as a writer. And I like it. We have so much to learn from the past, be it happy or sad. Mine was happy, but took in a World War. Without it, we can have no guidance to future dirction. We stand on a spot, not a line, so which way shall we go? And you have drawn a line with your poem. To me, its form is part of what it says. I agree with Imogean that from a writing point of view, perhaps more structure would be better, but taking all into account, the short line form suggests a path, with each paving stone being a thought, sometimes random, others linked to the ones that come next. I hope this makes sense - I'm writing by feeling now, not by studied structure. The poem carries beautiful imagery: 'olive /and citrus trees /whose twigs are laden /with twittering sparrows /stand in glorious bloom,'. Sadly, however the tone here begins to go downhill as age erodes the joys in memory and we are led towards an unavoidable end. Perhaps the imagery should inspire us to plan for the future and to fill life with things that will make the tail-off less depressing, or perhaps start a bit later in the poem. These are only thoughts for another, perhaps more optimistic poem. I agree with Imogean, these words are wonderful, thought provoking and sadly, true. Leave them alone.

[Damien Dsoul]

Your voice is diffident, calm. Your tone is controlled, and yet it's searching ... probing ... asking questions that seek rhetorical answers.