Molly's Musings

Daydreaming and thinking about the time and space of the past...

Molly's Musings

 

Gazing out at the faraway islands,

She imagines the handsome faces

The British killed,

Buried here, leaving behind young widows,

To assess the ocean alone.

Her eye on one point on the horizon

As she thinks about reckless pirates 

going to the Indies

Or Charles Town.

Her mind on

The sandy shoals between Beaufort,

And the Atlantic waters,

She once visited a place on Bogue Island,

That had a decaying fort,

And an inlet where old ships came to visit

frequently,

They were rumored to be the protection

Against Indian bandits,

The army camping there never completed

The southern walls,

Musket balls could be 

lingering in the dirt,

Along with buried wreckage,

Summer is ending,

And she often thinks about the dead 

regiment in

The fall,

As her garden dies,

What haunts this land

are the lingering ghosts

Of those men and boys that left Beaufort,

Promising letters to their waiting ladies,

However, 

All they became were moving targets 

for the British invasion

As their muskets fired,

Local uniforms were covered in crimson stains,

Dark holes and charred souls linger

In old passageways,

Their ladies long dead,

After sleepless nights thinking

Deeply about their lost kisses.

She doesn't like loving these trapped 

ghosts

Anymore,

As she stands at her open door

Watching the glint of the rising moon

On her moving sea in front of her.

She would rather think of a tranquil location

In sunny Beaufort,

Where a meadow is filled with grazing cows 

and full 

Pecan trees. Green apples are brought to them,

As a bluebird

Moves from branch to branch

Above the herd,

And the pecans fall and fill the open air.

Now she sits on her porch swing,

Thinking of a studious painter, she loves

Living in New Bern,

Where he works on detailed miniatures and his

Art will be moved weekly

and arrive in distant places,

She longs to pose for him again soon.

Her knees draw up,

And she twists her hair slowly

Thinking about him and his socked feet

Smiling at her as he hands over

A little painting of her.

Her secret treasure, in an ivory frame

And the size of a thumbnail

Her having a picnic with him,

Born from a hastily drawn sketch in ink,

Now, vibrant in flowing oils,

She leaves 1782 behind with a fleeting

Thought about a lost letter

She discovered yesterday morning

While cleaning the crowded attic,

She Imagined the smell of it,

As her eyes read,

About somewhere inland,

And a Sunday camp filled with pain

Over lost cousins,

And a sweetheart missed with

Hopeful desires,

The miles of unknown

Pressing into her mind

A whistle of a Cherokee arrow

Breaking the silence

Of the frontier there inside

Her daydream,

Would the island slaves solve anything

With the Lord's prayer?

The gilded-edge scene is buried

In her thoughts

As she watches their sun disappear

Leaving the colors of her fall behind to

Hide in the shadows of the casting

Boughs among the flowing hills

Beyond the seas and distant shores.--J.E. Cook ©2017

 

 

 

Author's Note

Thank you for reading my work!

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I love the way you start this, looking out at sea, then come this never-ending flow of sometimes-connected, sometimes not, thoughts. This would be the essence of an old person's mind, one who's lived long & wide & interesting adventures, as one blends into the next. Your imagination must be extremely vivid & over-active to be able to come up with all these great details about so many aspects of life & history (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Josie E. Cook M. A.]

Thank you for reading and commenting here!
It was not about age really---more like a woman missing her lover or lost love and reflecting it. Her thinking inside her head as she takes in the view and the history of the land around her. :)

[.]

A very interesting write, Josie.

It certainly reads like a series of thoughts on the past flowing down the page; musings on all areas of history that hold fascination. Being a devotee of all things historical myself, i really appreciate being placed in the thoughts of this person. Who exactly is this Molly? I really would like to know.

As with all your writes, your level of description helps to create a vivid mental picture in the readers mind, placing them right there where you want them to be.

A very wondrous piece of writing. Enjoyed immensely.

[Josie E. Cook M. A.]

Thanks so much for your in-depth review of my POV poetry featuring my character, Molly and her musings by the sea from her home in NC. She is a fictional woman of my mind. She misses her true love. So, she is thinking about the history around her.