Moving in day, Spring 1985

Moving in day, Spring 1985

A Poem by Beccy
"

From a long ago memory

"
A weathered 'for sale' sign came into view;
and to our left, behind overgrown laurels,
a long vacant, three gabled house
brooding, shrouded in mystery.

The gate creaked, surrendered reluctantly
to the push of eager hands, led us to
a garden of faded glory; though it had 
a beauty still.

"It's huge," I said, 
wide eyed at eight years old,
"where will my bedroom be?"
"Next to mine," my sister said, not so
wide eyed at eleven, "bags I the biggest."

Inside, dust motes danced in harmony  
to our clustered footsteps;
new air flowed through the rooms,
timed exactly to beguiled exploration.
"I'll make the phone call," my father said,
"oh, and bags your mum and I the biggest bedroom."

 Grandma's rose bush is still there,
the one she gave us when we moved in. 
It became too big to dig up; 
but I took a cutting when we moved on
and it grows stronger every year. 

© 2019 Beccy


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I like the way this speaks to the lives of houses. No matter how long we live in them, we are often only borrowing them. In a sense. And all of the history you allude to in this poem, becomes part of the memory of the bones of that house and its grounds and will transfer in ways to the next owner.

One thing I love about moving into a new home is discovering the garden. The old fruit trees or roses that have seen heaven knows how many springs and continue on in their blooming as though nothing has changed. The scene you've painted for us here is alive with memory, but also wonderful in the way that it keeps the mind moving forward. Carrying the rose bush elsewhere to continue in another space. That's a wonderful idea--like spreading the beauty of home abroad.

Lovely work, Beccy.

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Beccy

1 Month Ago

Thank you for your lovely comments.

It was our family home for almost thirty years. M.. read more



Reviews

I like the way this speaks to the lives of houses. No matter how long we live in them, we are often only borrowing them. In a sense. And all of the history you allude to in this poem, becomes part of the memory of the bones of that house and its grounds and will transfer in ways to the next owner.

One thing I love about moving into a new home is discovering the garden. The old fruit trees or roses that have seen heaven knows how many springs and continue on in their blooming as though nothing has changed. The scene you've painted for us here is alive with memory, but also wonderful in the way that it keeps the mind moving forward. Carrying the rose bush elsewhere to continue in another space. That's a wonderful idea--like spreading the beauty of home abroad.

Lovely work, Beccy.

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Beccy

1 Month Ago

Thank you for your lovely comments.

It was our family home for almost thirty years. M.. read more
Moving into space is always exciting and every inhabitant leaves its mark and energy upon the place. A menagerie of memory. Engaging write, Beccy:)

Posted 1 Month Ago


Moving for me was fraught with peril and not knowing what was going on as a child. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I enjoyed the move like this. You paint the familial memories so well. Great writing.

Posted 1 Month Ago


The excitement of moving home as a youngster. Such a very special occasion. You bring this to your readers in a delightful voice Beccy. This nostalgic poem is packed with beautiful imagery and feeling. The rose did it for me. So touching. Lovely work.

Chris

Posted 1 Month Ago


This is eloquently humble in its descriptions and dialogue. I dont ever remember moving day to be so exciting or memorable. The expansion from the first viewing of the new house, to claiming rooms, to the dust motes and roses is really charming and it harkens back to an innocent time we wish we could visit. The rose cuttings at the end is a great flourish...... Awesome work.

Posted 1 Month Ago


What a wonderful memory - so well written. The last verse left me with a smile. My Grams and mother had beautiful rose bushes. :) Julie

Posted 1 Month Ago


How well your words have taken me with you to see that marvelous new (old) house. Things like that become part of us forever. Like the rose bush, roots sprouted there that continue on.

Posted 1 Month Ago


This is poetry with a pulse. It moved me, especially at the end, when you took a cutting of Grandma's rose bush. Here's to Grandmothers and old houses...and the poets in us all!

Posted 1 Month Ago


That house must have seemed like a castle when you moved in.
Time moves on, but great memories always remain as the rose bush tells us.
Now we need to know. Is the cutting a rose bush in your garden now.

Posted 1 Month Ago


Paul Bell

1 Month Ago

So you're still in the house, fantastic.
This comment has been deleted by the poster.
This comment has been deleted by the poster.
The house of three gables...eat your heart out Hawthorne....
this is insanely good with its conversational tone but with how you get us to visualize so well.
The house sounds great....i just love old houses...and wouldn't have cared if i got the smallest bedroom.
j.

Posted 1 Month Ago


Beccy

1 Month Ago

My parent's moved on in 2012, downsized to a smaller, much newer place. By then my sister and I were.. read more

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Added on September 29, 2019
Last Updated on September 29, 2019

Author

Beccy
Beccy

Northampton, Northamptonshire, United Kingdom



About
I'm forty two, single and have a lovely thirteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..

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