Sometimes it seems that all my poems are rooted in memory. This one is no exception.
From those distant beginnings ... the foundation stones of all those "ordinary moments" in a young boy's life ... to today ... there's a long bridge of discovered excitement, adventure.
I often go trudging back across that bridge, in search of those beginnings, because I see them now as more than just ordinary events.
Isn't that always the case?
The poem:
ORDINARY MOMENTS
... in which I discover
travel-rounded stones
on the meandering
creek bed of my mind,
each a found treasure
whirring me back
to rainy days spent
with musty books, nights
floating in wood smoke,
mornings with eggs
frying in a dark skillet,
moments when the world
seemed to be
just waiting for me
to kick off the covers,
resume my pursuit
of this great adventure.
© 2001
(originally published in Midwest Poetry Review)
***
Today's word:
travel-rounded
2 comments:
your word pictures are so good in this poem...the reader can see, feel and taste them.
I forgot the smell of the wood smoke in my list of sences that came forward reading your poem.
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