This Poem was Submitted By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-01-08 10:52:06 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A Bowl of Cherries

My home town rested in a hollow with a river running through and stately rock formations that hugged the sides.  One grade school, one high school, no stop lights, but we stopped at the corners anyway because a small sign said we had to.  None of the homes or cars had locked doors and Chief Jensen was the only officer on the police force.  I was among several seventh graders who decided to throw snowballs at passing cars on Maine street and we hit Chief Jensen's windshield, a feat accomplished without even aiming.  I was surprised at how fast he could run, he had to be at least 35 years old.  He chased us up the steet and into back alleys, I ran like the wind and climbed a rock wall to escape going to prison.  With heart pounding and lungs burning I vowed never to break the law again.  Rotting in solitary confinement for the rest of my alloted life was not my idea of a good time. In winter we went sledding and ice-skating, in summer we went swimming and roller-skating.  Gordon gave me my first kiss and I gave him a black eye with a quick right.  A few years later he tried it again and then jumped back, but I did not intend to inflict bodily harm anyway.  I danced, sang, played the piano, twirled a baton, and was never bored or afraid. Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries. Then I grew up.

Copyright © January 2005 marilyn terwilleger


This Poem was Critiqued By: Erzahl Leo M. Espino On Date: 2005-02-06 18:26:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Marilyn, Wow, wow, wow! I was blown away by your wonderful poem! It’s been long since I read such wonderful poem like this…I truly enjoyed this! A lot of lesson to learn, a lot of reflections, a lot of experience – contemplating! What I like about this entry is the honesty of the story, the playfulness of childhood memories and the personal touch of the author (having the exact names like “Chief Jensen”, “Maine street” and “Gordon” really adds personality to the poem and helps the writer and the poem to interact with the reader – effectively inspiring). Plus, you perfectly spice the poem / story with your talent of visual words especially on defining nature and the surroundings. “Rotting in solitary confinement for the rest of my alloted life was not my idea of a good time.” --- Very funny! How I imagine what’s on the mind of an imprisoned “seventh grade” kid. I liked how you add the word “allotted” for “life”. “In winter we went sledding and ice-skating, in summer we went swimming and roller-skating.” --- I like the construction of this phrase…separating “winter” from “summer” and listing the unique activities. It strongly reminds me my childhood days. I also enjoyed the rhyming “ing” which I find suitable. Also, I can’t help not noticed the uniform hyphen for the second activities of “ice-skating” and “roller-skating”. Surely, this is one of well-posited and enjoyable line of the entire poem. “Gordon gave me my first kiss and I gave him a black eye with a quick right.” “A few years later he tried it again and then jumped back, but I did not intend to inflict bodily harm anyway.” - Another striking and entertaining lines…can’t help not to smile with the humor. “I danced, sang, played the piano, twirled a baton, and was never bored or afraid. Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries.” --- This is just wonderful! No words can define the beauty of this powerful and unforgettable ending. “Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries” – this is so smart and original. Can’t help but remember the “Forest Gump” movie saying about life as a “box of chocolate”… Anyway, I still find this original and so very you Marilyn! Thanks for this beautiful entry! Surely, a rare find! I truly enjoyed the clever title! “Then I grew up.” --- Ah, perfection! The pause (space) before this line works very well with me! It adds impact to the entire poem. Well-done! Continue to entertain us with your poem, with your life! You have a reader here! Kudos and kudos! As always, Erzahl :)


This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-02-06 13:49:47
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.36957
What a wonderful scenario. Reads like a good short story. Perhaps a children's book? Remind me not to cross your path esp. with that "quick right" you have. Did you ever go any further with Gordon? C'mon now, tell me the down and dirty! You know, I have stories like this one but have never put them into this style of writing or format. Maybe I "should"...(hate that word). Thanks for the poem, sonnet,prose, whatever it was well done...and so life is a bowl of cherries (sometimes).
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2005-02-03 18:31:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.67568
Marilyn,[cherry eater] You certanly took me back to my small town. Bigger than yours by a few more lights. No locked doors/cars either. In those small towns today it's different too. What you speak of was before drugs came upon the scene. And tv's influence just born. Your writing takes me along in innocense enjoyably and then cuts me off at the passage into adulthood! Then we all grow up........poo. Then we see what was there all the time. What is that the 'Buddah' said we're born, we suffer, then we die. on that cheery note I'll slip back into your poem. good job....... Take care my dear, Dellena'
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2005-02-02 11:55:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Marilyn: How odd that one of your lower-ranked poems showed 1st on my list today. I'll review because I love that song "Life is Just A Bowl of Cherries" and I also love a bowl of cherries with a dollop of cream. I'm not doing well here, Marilyn, on TPL, to wit: I lost three full critiques, just wham! into cyberspace. I deleted a review on "Narcissism" by Debbie Spicer because of the multitude of typos. Also, one of JoUp's pieces for the same reason and yet I know JoUp understands fully my problem. I'm afraid I'm brain-damaged; I felt a tia while in the hospital. No one told them I needed B.P. pills and I couldn't say much at all. Everyone tells me I'm not brain affected, it's the morphine that causes these side effects. You are writing beautifully now. I just saw "Through My Back Door" and it's a winner in every sense of the word but you have some strong competition as well. This one I'd call prose poetry(?) I like the format for your piece...it somehow fits. I've read the 1st paragraph and am charmed by the small-town memories. Likely most all members were caught up in the evocative nostalgia. Your details include the 1st sentence which would be a fantastic opener for a novel. (Did you see the Robert Redford-produced film, "A River Runs Through it"?) In your town, you have high school and grade school, one cop, one stop sign, no traffic lights. I'm wondering about the population because in Wyoming, I think you include livestock in the census. I told you I drove throu a place in NE Wyoming with a sign: Lost Springs, Wyoming Population 7. You segue to winter activities, sledding, skating, your first kiss with its subsequent black eye. (That is so cute!) The 2nd time he tried the kiss, he thrust and retreated rapidly but you were a different girl by then and he didn't have to run at top speed to avoid your tackle. I really like the sentence with the simile: "Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries. Then I grew up." Did you grow up or outgrow cherries? When you went back the first time, were things different? Was anything there? So often in the thinly populated areas of Texas, they disappear and kids have to find a bus to get to school. An enjoyable look back over your shoulder at what once was. I enjoyede every word. Best always, Mell
This Poem was Critiqued By: Kelly Denise LaBeff On Date: 2005-02-02 10:35:10
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.97368
Oh, Oh, my sides! You struck my funny bone! I wish you could see me now...as I sit here reading, I had to stop [reading] because I wanted to note how much I giggled over this line, "I ran like the wind [that's pretty fast]and climbed a rock wall to escape going to prison!"..."to PRISON" I remember that feeling, too! Amazing how everything in the 7th grade seemed like such a big deal, everything was a serious offense...okay, now I go back and finish reading..thanks for that out loud chuckle, and for taking the time and making the effort of pointing it out just like you did, it was great, awesome, and all that and I needed it! You did it again, I'm laughing in my seat at: "Gordon gave me my first kiss and I gave him a black eye [what a friendly exchange] with a quick right/[Gordon doesn't learn because....]years later he tried it again then he jumped back{I can just see Gordon afraid of you, a fist with pretty pink fingernails, I bet, but Gordon did learn, didn't he! Yes, those lips must have been irresistable and as for that blackened eye, another one from a girl nonetheless, I guess a little peck of a kiss was worth it - evidently}!" My favorite part is found in your summation: Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries! AUGH YES, they were indeed, weren't they? BUT, like you said, "Then I grew up" and suddenly life was pits and stems, a bowl needing washed, and teeth needing flossed, right? Got ya! Same here! This poem is pack-full, rimming, to the brim with wit, loads of it, cleverly and cunningly so! Humor is your zest! Or is it your ability to tell a tale? Ummm? I do believe both are of equal zest! Yes, I agree with myself, both is best! You go, poet terwilleger! More..let's see! Other displays of strength were also noted in the fields of active and still-life imagery and within the great details you spun as well, none too small, you laid 'em all out street by street and foot by foot. Also it was of interest to me you pointing out that to us "back then" [with a lot of stress being put on BACK THEN]a 35 year old cop was like what?---ancient, wasn't he? I remember thinking how very very old people were when they were 35 years or older,,and BACK THEN if someone was like 60 67 like my mamaw was, I would think something really stupid like "I'll never be that OLD - I'll never live to be that OLD!" I can't believe I used to think like that! Now, I am more prone to believe that living like only begins at around the age of of of like 40 or something really close! I do wonder, however, if that has anything to do with me being 39....okay, forty in July{I whisper-typed that!}? Any relationship, you think? I dunno, I just really loved this verse, marilyn, it was fun to read, it's a keeper worthy of sharing and rereading again and again when I need to laugh how about how I used think,,,just like you apparently,,,,way back then! Life is a bowl of cherries,,,39, no 40 of them! Thanks for sharing, Kelly
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2005-02-01 11:27:28
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
I really like the desciption here Marilyn Bowl of Cherries My home town rested [why past tense- is it not still there?] in a hollow with a river running through and stately rock formations that hugged the sides. [of the hollow or banks of the river - a little unclear-] One grade school, one high school, no stop lights, [wow - how great!} but we stopped at the corners anyway because a small sign said we had to. I like that - this recognition of our obedience to signs so strong that most people would stop at a stop sign in the middle of the desert with no traffic for miles. None of the homes or cars had locked doors and Chief Jensen was the only officer I like the use of "officer" instead of "cop" which shows the child's respect for police and a sweet naive innocence about them on the police force. I was among several seventh graders who decided to throw snowballs at passing cars on Maine street and we hit Chief Jensen's windshield, a feat accomplished without even aiming.[oh oh!} I was surprised at how fast he could run, he had to be at least 35 years old. I adore this child's perception that 35 is too old to run He chased us up the steet and into back alleys, I ran like the wind and climbed a rock wall to escape going to prison. [I can see the child's perception so clearly in in this scene -] With heart pounding and lungs burning I vowed never to break the law again. Rotting in solitary confinement for the rest of my alloted life was not my idea of a good time. Aw - poor kid! In winter we went sledding and ice-skating, in summer we went swimming and roller-skating. Gordon gave me my first kiss and I gave him a black eye with a quick right. Girls rule ! YEAH!! A few years later he tried it again and then jumped back, but I did not intend to inflict bodily harm anyway. Why not? Sounds like he didn't learn anything - I danced, sang, played the piano, twirled a baton, and was never bored or afraid. Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries. Then I grew up. Ah, yes, and saw the world in all its variety and complexity - lovely piece, Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-01-24 08:42:32
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.80952
Life was good indeed and then you grew up.......such joy this brings to my heart....love the way you have it written and the word flow that brings everything to life including the chase and with that many chuckles.......delightful indeed......then too I am sure there are many memories waiting to come out to play.......you have sparked a few of my own with this one......giving us a look at your home town in the opening brings us to where you are at this time of life and it must have been good living there, small as it might have been, love those little places with rock ledges, woods, animals that depend upon you for morning food, again my friend, this one sings......thanks for posting, for sharing with us, stay warm, God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-01-22 13:57:05
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.95238
A Bowl of Cherries - Marilyn, I certainly enjoyed the peak, and the Cherries, well, to many metaphors to count, let's hope they remain just sweet enough. My home town rested in a hollow with a river running through and stately rock formations that hugged the sides. One grade school, one high school, no stop lights, but we stopped at the corners anyway because a small sign said we had to. – The small town America has such a draw to me. Although I lived in a relatively small town, it was not the “America” small town. I am a bit envious reading this poem!! None of the homes or cars had locked doors and Chief Jensen was the only officer on the police force. – Those days were of another time. I think there are still places that are like that, and maybe that is the appeal of small town to me, that I can once again live that way, but I don’t know, I think there is an innocence attached to the time, that can never be recaptured. I was among several seventh graders who decided to throw snowballs at passing cars on Maine street and we hit Chief Jensen's windshield, a feat accomplished without even aiming. I was surprised at how fast he could run, he had to be at least 35 years old. He chased us up the steet (street) and into back alleys, I ran like the wind and climbed a rock wall to escape going to prison. With heart pounding and lungs burning I vowed never to break the law again. Rotting in solitary confinement for the rest of my alloted (allotted) life was not my idea of a good time. – this is such a universal feeling among children, yet I don’t believe I have ever written about it. I can see/hear the glee, and feel the wind, as you ran like the wind, and know the heart beating, then the relief…. how delightful to add this piece of “sermonized terror and glee” to your verse. I would have laughed, I think, when I finally got away. (About an adult running, my dad taught me that respect). In winter we went sledding and ice-skating, in summer we went swimming and roller-skating. – All rolled up in two lines is my childhood, kind of in a nutshell, without the complications, and you have left me breathing hard!! Gordon gave me my first kiss and I gave him a black eye with a quick right. A few years later he tried it again and then jumped back, but I did not intend to inflict bodily harm anyway. – I feel like I am sitting in my car waiting for Paul Harvey to tell me the “Rest of the Story”, you gotta ‘fess up on this, somewhere along the line!! I danced, sang, played the piano, twirled a baton, and was never bored or afraid. Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries. – Don’t know if you got your title from the expression, or the song the expression came from, but just in case, (and after reading your last line)… Life is just a bowl of cherries. Don't take it serious; it's too mysterious. At eight each morning I have got a date, To take my plunge 'round the Empire State. You'll admit it's not the berries, In a building that's so tall; There's a guy in the show, the girls love to kiss; Get thousands a week just for crooning like this: Life is just a bowl of . . . aw, nuts! So live and laugh at it all! Then I grew up. – Never a greater indictment than few words. Reminds me of a line by Saltheart Foamfollower, - to paraphrase – “don’t speak again for in one word you will make me weep”. That is the best type of line, and set up well. Marilyn, this is like the “readers digest” version of your life. It is enough to let me know you, (no black eye please), but also just enough to whet the stone. I hope there is a divergence that will hone the stone, for I feel I have missed too much in between. Maybe, just maybe, you can ask me along, as you walk home from school. I think I would like that.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Paul R Lindenmeyer On Date: 2005-01-11 10:06:05
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.25000
Marilyn, easy reading vignette of another time and another place full of innocence and fun. I truly believe it was a kinder world, and the years of innocence were indeed longer lived than this day and age. Throwing snowballs appears a far cry from drive by shootings and suicide bombers our children deal with these days. The key appears to be summed up in "never bored or afraid." Guess we'll have to pass on as much of that as we can, it was a delightful time to grow up. As Bob Hope would say, "Thanks for the memories." Peace, Paul
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne Duval Morgan On Date: 2005-01-10 21:53:22
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
How trueyour memories are, related the way you have here, you, as I did, grw up in the age of innocence, no crimes in school, no police intervention was necessary as it is today. There was a sense of doing it right, the biggest fear I had was doing something wrong, and being put on the carpet by my parents. There was a sense of honor, and respect for all life, not by just a few, but anyone going up in the laid back time of innoncence. Kids rode in their rebuilt car, the guys busting with pride they had a car, but then they had to work in order to have one. Tup our hometown was as laid back as your poem so apts relates to. It's a poem of remberance for me in many ways, so it hits a lot of sensation for me, never a policeman hustling crowds biggest exposure for them was the local football game on Friday night, or riding in a Memorial day parade, we've changed as a societry, but in each are memories like your poem relates to. You did a great job with your expressions, and memories of a quiet, peace loving time. When the second world war was over we living building homes and families unified, then Korea came up, and Tommy was a sniper for the Maries, my curousity was peaked, and I really became aware we were citizens of the world, then Viet Nam which robbed me of my innoncence, that things were changing drastically, a horrible time for a young Mariene wife with three children and a husband that served two tours, we never knew, more innoncence robbed, but I remember golden times just like you convey so wonderfully in your poem. No going back, just memories to sustain, and you pray Dear Lord keep these children safe, and put them on a path of contentment......yes, your golden memory serves you were, and you make me think that times, and people change, but we go on regardless. I like these people related poems, then make on able to continue...for people like you still exist, for that I thank the Good Lord. So once again your poem hits deep memory cords, and I thank you for lifting me out of a horrid time....Once again another poem I really enjoyed relating to. If you need quotes from your lines, I won't give them, for you know what you wrote, and why you needed to write this poem of remberance...wonderful for me to read and enjoy and join you on that wonderful memory road.....Love always, Jo
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wanda S. Thibodeaux On Date: 2005-01-09 15:40:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Dear Marilyn, Gosh, it does sound good. Sounds like the town I came from. After years, we finally got one stoplight. We were uptown then. Your description of being chased by Chief Jenson is hilarious. I never woulda thought it! We didn't have snow, although I am profoundly sad that we didn't. You hear them say in songs and such something about one horse towns, those who grew up that way have such a grounding, I see it in my grandchildren. They do not have the fun we had as children. It seems we learned so much quicker- ways to be be independent. The world just seemed to fill up and now there are so many city children who will never pick up pecans, thrill to the call of a whippoorwill, leap half naked into the creek, run through corn fields until somebody gets wind of whose doing it...oops, that must be Chief Jenson's corn field. You took me back and in a good way, Marilyn. Thanks for the country run... Glad you had a good youth. Thanks so much. My best always, Wanda
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-01-08 14:44:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Marilyn: Delightful, uplifting prose poem. I wanted to play with the formatting -- but that's my nit-picker coming out. I love the atmosphere you created, and the opportunity to know you better. You certainly were (are?) feisty! I am still smiling at the final line -- very TIC -- "Then I grew up." The poem appeals to the nostalgic in me, and of course made me recall many events from my own growing up. My home town rested in a "hollow with a river running through" and stately rock formations that hugged the sides. One grade school, one high school, no stop lights, but we stopped at the corners anyway because a small sign said we had to. None of the homes or cars This is beautiful. I love the sounds in the words I've placed in quotes. It sounds like a lively place with security as the rocks hugged the sides of your town. I also lived in a town with "one grade school, one high school" but we did have a stop light. You depict something that is precious because growing more of a rarity -- a simple way of life, without the fearfulness of bars on the windows and doors, and security systems, and keyless remotes. had locked doors and Chief Jensen was the only officer on the police force. I was among several seventh graders who decided to throw snowballs at passing cars on Maine street and we hit Chief Jensen's windshield, a feat accomplished without even aiming. I was surprised Ooops! There you were, starting out life as someone who is probably still remembered for the "feat accomplished without even aiming." <smile> at how fast he could run, "he had to be at least 35" ---Laughing! (I would write out "thirty-five") years old. He chased us up the (street) and into back alleys, I ran like the wind and climbed a rock wall to escape going to prison. With heart pounding and lungs burning I vowed never to break the law again. Rotting in solitary confinement for the rest of my alloted life was not my idea of a good time. I didn't do that, but at a similar age (I think) I decided to wash down the teacher's blackboard with soapy water and a sponge. So I filled a bucket from the janitor's closet with hot water, and began the project, after setting the bucket in front of the closed door to the classroom. I thought the teacher would be gone longer! But he came back into the classroom early (In those days, teachers could leave classrooms unattended, and count on most students to behave themselves!) Naturally, the bucket of hot water was knocked over, spilling soapy water all over the floor, when the teacher opened it. Then another time, same teacher, I asked to borrow a needle and thread to sew on a button on my jackshirt. (Remember those?) When I was finished, I returned the still threaded needle to the teacher's chair where I thought he would see it when he returned from yet another classroom break. Instead, he sat right on it! Needless to say, he was not pleased! In winter we went sledding and ice-skating, in summer we went swimming and roller-skating. Gordon gave me my first kiss and I gave him a black eye with a quick right. A few years later he tried it again and then jumped back, but I did not intend to inflict bodily harm anyway. I danced, sang, played the piano, twirled a baton, and was never bored or afraid. Gordon was pretty brave, as he "tried it again" and comically "jumped back." I picture you as a feminine whirlwind of fun and activity, ready for anything and certainly someone who wasn't going to allow any 'funny stuff' from a guy! "Life was good, like a big bowl of cherries." Reminiscent of the song, "Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries." Then I grew up. You have some great images and action here -- personally, I'd break it up into stanzas. I enjoyed it to the hilt -- but for the sake of greater distribution, it would be easier on the eye that way. Fabulous! Best wishes, Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2005-01-08 12:10:12
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Marilyn--Yes, life was quite simple and oh so much fun then. What a vivid picture you paint with this nostalgic look back. My childhood was just as memorable but down south on a farm with nowhere near all the wonderful activities you city kids could get involved in-smile. Mostly, I can recall the lazy days of summer down at the swimming hole. I can remember three paved streets but no sidewalks in our rural town with only caution lights blinking. I saw my first policeman as a third grader when some teenagers were killed in a car accident. You've brought back some bitter- sweet memories that were good to revisit, especially when compared to current situations. This plain languaged, straight forward and down-to-earth post, in my opinion, is aptly titled and greatly enhanced by a stupendous twist/turn ending. Thanks for this. TLW
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