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This Poem was Submitted By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2003-08-18 20:44:28 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Home Town

Sleepy little town in a hollow spot with a river pushing through Maine street, five cent store, Piggley-Wiggley, mercantile shop Regal rock formations standing guard on sides and corners no strangers abide in this sanctuary only friends and families He grew up here, a little bend in the road, sheltered from snags of the world carefree, peaceful, devoid of fear He fished the river with its edges of trees hunted Antelope on the sage-brushed plains Then beyond the realm of sanity there came a war...he was twenty-four In a land far, away he lost his dreams he lay bleeding on sands of waste As colors of paste pooled into crimson, eyes closed he thought of home, proud of its vigor in a watercolor world where no war or squall abounds He died alone in that piece of hell his heart failed, but his soul went home.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas H. Smihula On Date: 2003-09-05 09:11:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.14607
Home Town catches my eye. Piggly-Wiggley I remember that game. Love this first stanza for it brings me into the town, not away looking in. You bring the sense of community into the second stanza giving me the feeling of security. You then change the picture bringing me an individual who ventures out into the world not controlled by the town. Love this ending of his soul going home or should it be back to the Home Town. Marilyn I really have seen a change from your original poetry that I saw two years ago. You used a lot of punctuation then; but now you have let the flow of the poem make those choices for you. There seems to be a much better structure and I only say this because this shows me you have not only paid attention, but you now express without being restricted to the thought by guidelines. Excellent work no suggestions for changes except I would have liked to have seen Home Town at the end or a reflection back to the 5 and 10 cent store. Thanks for sharing this one. Tom

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne Duval Morgan On Date: 2003-08-31 16:27:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.92857
Hi Marilyn, I can't begin to tell you what a honest rendering of a small town, it's simplicity, it's comfort and it's innoncence lay in the meaning of all the emotions this poems recalls for me, not so small now, and a lot more wordly these days, but as a youngester, the realize all this sights, and values, and innoncence, and it didn't sway or really change until my Uncle and his friends returned from the War, shot up, and now disababled with the rest of their lives to live. You recounting of this young man fate, is too touching to even comment on, all I can say is He went home, to capture the values the innoncence and to once again fish in the fishing hole, and God Bless him, it's a sad poem to relate to, and you the story in poetic form with a clarity the easily I recapture all the sensations of a time, and I wish many times we had never left there, but as the way of life, we did, but he remains in his santuary, in peace and tranquility. That's what this poem articulates so very well, enjoyed to partake in a poem so well written, yet so very sad. God Luck this month, and keep writing I throughly enjoy all you submissions even though my critiquing has slide, due to many different life influences, but this was an enjoyanle and well written encounter, very human touch to these words, as told from the heart....Best always, Love Jo Morgan

This Poem was Critiqued By: Debbie Spicer On Date: 2003-08-21 01:47:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Marilyn, Oh, how this poem brought forth the tears, which I attempt to hold back these days. This is an absolutely beautiful story of a boy, who grew up in a small hometown, to go out to war and lose his life. But in it, all was not lost and I see more hope than I see loss. You write as I only hoped I could but know I never would be able to express something this touching and intimate as this. You write of his time, growing up with rivers and stores, breathless landscapes of rock mounds, sheltered from the evils of this world. He knew the love of family and friends and the gentleness of having a close knit town an one that holds him up with love. All knew all and everyone supported each other. One line that jumps out at me is “sheltered from snags of the world, carefree, peaceful, devoid of fear.” I don’t believe I ever knew that, even though I lived in one town for most all of my life. It brings me peace and well being to read these lines. Yes, he had to go off to war, to that unknown place filled with impediments, lies, and obstacles. How could this young man get all of this off of his mind as he lay down, dying on foreign soil. What a beautiful picture this young man had, even though the worst happened to him. He could view in his inner being the peace and love, the beauty and calm, of his own hometown. He wasn’t lost in the hell any longer, but found the peace that passes all understanding. Marilyn, you captured a wonderful dream and known entity of one who has had the love and support, the hopes and dreams, and even though so very sad he wasn’t able to fulfill them on this earth, he did everything he was suppose to and died in peace. I had better quit writing or I will keep crying, but you amaze me with your poetry and your heart. It feels good to get back to TPL and I hope I can stick around for a time. I love your poetry and always will. I have a binder named “MARILYN”. I hope that is fine with you. I have missed you! With love, Debbie

This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2003-08-20 08:18:50
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.01923
My dear friend this one touches your soul......deeply it does and the images in closing is so very hard to let go....in opening you describe such a wonderful place to live, the young man himself growing there from little child to a twenty four year old (still a child in a mother's eye) and called to war......to a land so far from home, so all alone, he died alone.....of course you know his angel was by his side to take him home so he really did not die alone (just had to add that little info for it makes me feel better to say it)......the impact of the depth of loss one cannot say enough about....how tragic and i pray this is not your son you speak of my friend.......a mother and father's worse nightmare is to lose a child no matter what age and so alone as this.....the structure is good and allows for the words to just keep flowing and painting pictures as you travel through the little town and his life.....Thank you for sharing this withus, be safe and God Bless, Claire

This Poem was Critiqued By: Galen never received one at bir Arrowhead On Date: 2003-08-19 15:16:15
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
An excellent anti-war poem. Presents the bloody guts of war, the destruction and loss, rather than the glory of old. Not mentioning which war gives it a timelessness and timeliness, and prsents the idea that war has always been a nightmare and the death of the soldier so lonely and futile. It shows how basically death is lonely in the sense that when all is said and done, no matter who's there, each man dies alone. Death is something no one else can face for you or tell you how to do it. There are manuals on grieving, but little on death itself, mainly because no one has returned to write a manual for us. (Not counting Christ, of course.) Am I anyway on track? Is the above what you intended? Thanks for sharing.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jennifer j Hill On Date: 2003-08-19 15:15:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.06667
Marilyn, This is a great tribute to a young Hero. I feel you must have known this young man. I feel the world has lost something preceous here. This is a good descriptive piece that starts out at his home. Your description tells us alot. Home is where the heart is and in this home everyone knows and cares for all. Home equals shelter from the evils of outside world, Where dreams are made. He goes off to war, believing in a cause and has his dreams shattered The wording of this stanza makes my eyes sting as I think about the innocence of the blood spilled and how he must have felt to have his idea of what the world should be broken to bits: "As colors of paste pooled into crimson, eyes closed he thought of home, proud of its vigor in a watercolor world where no war or squall abounds" And he thinks again of where he grew up, the people he will never again see on earth. I would be bawling by now if I didn't have faith that he did go home... Home to his heavenly Father... Away from Hell.... Away from War.....Home. Thanks for the reminder to pray for our troops. Blessings, Jennfier

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2003-08-19 09:43:22
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Sleepy little town in a hollow spot with a river pushing through Maine street, five cent store, Piggley-Wiggley, mercantile shop Nicely descripitive,this introduces the sleepy town with an abundance of "l"s and strong visual nouns clothed in a good strong meter. Regal rock formations standing guard on sides and corners no strangers in this [sanctuary] [only only friends and families abide] [to make the most of the internal side/abide/ internal rhyme- just a suggestion] He grew up here, a little bend in the road, sheltered from snags [great ironic expression] of the world carefree, peaceful, devoid of fear He fished the river with its edges of trees hunted [a]ntelope on the sage-brushed plains Then beyond the realm of sanity there came a war...he was twenty-four [good startling orphan rhyme} In a land far, away he lost his dreams he lay bleeding on sands of waste As colors of paste pooled into crimson, eyes closed[,] he thought of home, proud of its vigor in a watercolor world where no war or squall abounds Strongly vivid and dramatic but is the country where he is from somehow not involved in this war? Did he join the Foreign Legion or perhaps he was an American volunteer in the Spanish Civil War? I had thought Iraq or Desert Storm - or any American fighting any war abroad, but this confuses me a little. He died alone in that piece of hell his heart failed, but his soul went home. Yes,any war is hell itself. Good poem Marilyn which grabs us and keeps us interested

This Poem was Critiqued By: Andrea M. Taylor On Date: 2003-08-18 21:32:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.39474
Marilyn, My first thought is that he not a stranger to you. I am so moved by the verses of this home grown young hero. "He lay....waste" and "Colors.....crimson" are visions that permeate one's chest and pierce the heart. A mother and father's son defending the ground he was uprooted from. His body may had its last breath on that stained sand of hell, but he was not alone. His contribution is not lost with you tribute. Thank you for personalizing one of America's quiet heros. Andrea

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