I sit here in my favorite spot….. As the winds send the trees to sway……. Children gather at my feet, to hear of my Good Ol’ Days…………….. I tell them all my stories until the sun begins to wane….. Mothers start to calling ….. because it’s suppertime again………. I wipe a tear from my face…… as the children walk away…………. Because through my stories I’ve become …part of their Good Ol’ Days ……….
General
Comments are closed.
4 Likes
1208 Views
Share:
I like the style and format this is written in. Using the ellipses instead of line breaks adds a nice flow to the piece and conveys the leisurely feeling well. The only things I would suggest are 1) correct the spelling of “trees,” 2) take out the comma after “face,” and 3) extend the ellipse a little after “become” to keep the visual aspect more consistent.
I really enjoyed this delicate piece!
The nostalgia in this piece is so overpowering. For some reason, reading this reminded me of my grandpa, and how so many elderly whose children have grown up and left their house can resonate with this notion. However, at the same time, the narrator seems to be the air, the very ambience, as if it were omnipotent, existing only in memories of their loved ones. I don’t know which one you intended it to be, but I think that’s what makes this piece so great. It can be anyone or anything.
I think the way you wrote this, not in stanzas, but in continuations of lines and the various multiplied ellipsis that break the lines makes the format interesting. The break in the lines seems to be disjointed thoughts, that can’t exactly concentrate on the nature that surrounds him or her or the the melancholy that revisits over and over again. However, despite the sadness that tinges the piece, I think there is something beautiful about how “stories” are the way the person is remembered, because stories will last forever, even when the author doesn’t. I always think that is the most memorable way to leave a legacy because part of the author is always, always alive within their stories, and through the audience that reads them. The generation that you show in this piece, of the mother, of the children, once agains brings the nostalgia piece.
I clearly loved this piece, but I do have some questions. Is the narrator supposed to someone gone, but exists in spirits, or someone living who has to witness their bygone days? And I think it would be interesting if this were written as a poem.
I wrote this with the intention of conveying that children gather at an Old Man feet to hear stories of when he was young, and through the stories he tells he has become a memory to those same children….. Everyone’s youth is their own Good Ol’ Days…… But I loved your duel interpretation of it…. Thank you
That is such a lovely imagery. I immediately thought of The Giving Tree reading your comment, and I know it’s a bit irrelevant given that the poem is abut a tree and a boy who grows into a man, but your comment and the poem itself left me with such a Silverstein-ish feeling. And that is a compliment I swear! Looking forward to reading your other works!
I enjoyed reading this piece. It reminded me of a conversation I would have with my parents. I got a warm feeling while reading your work. The rhyming helps to tie the whole piece together.