This Poem was Submitted By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2006-11-08 11:34:20 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Ghost Town
We walked the dusty trails of Cumberland
That Sunday afternoon when summer idled.
The sky sang in perfect pitch as blustery
Winds blew across sand.
A lone Antelope sauntered across
The dusty plain. Sinewy and wild
His gaze unconcerned.
We walked in the heap and sweep of
Of sage and silt to find a door
White washed with age, a single
Stepping stone served as a sill.
On the hill we found traces of
Textured cement the only vestiges
Of his boyhood home.
He drew on memories gathered
Over time and began to speak.
He told of nine siblings who
slept in one room.
Saturday night baths in
A galvanized tub.
Spoonfuls of sulfur and molasses
To ward off illness
He smiled when he spoke of finding
A lost dog on the railroad tracks.
He named him Shepp and took him home.
He wanted to see the world when
He was fourteen and tried to hop
A train. The only trip he made
Was to the wood shed.
I felt waist deep in images as he spoke.
The once wagon rutted streets were lost
Beneath our feet in earth blown by quickened
Breeze. Shadows of Cumberland lived in
His senses as we picked a path across the
Wilderness. The hushed silence seemed to
Speak in whispers of remembered heartbeats.
I loved this kind and gentle man
Who now walks the tracks of heaven
*
*
*
My father
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Copyright © November 2006 marilyn terwilleger
Additional Notes:
Cumberland is a ghost town in Wyoming. This story was told to me by my father years ago
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2006-12-04 22:48:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.61111
Marilyn,
Very nice poem of rememberances.
I love the verbage of days gone by. Sulpher and molasses and galvanized tub.
We walked in the heap and sweep of
Of sage and silt to find a door
White washed with age, a single
Every line dripping with memories of yesterday.
Like an old black and white photo......
Standing still so nothing blurs.
You captured your dad in the picture.
He evidently passed his 'senses' on to you.
And from you to us.''
You have a way..
Lovely,
dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2006-11-26 16:47:41
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Marilyn,
Your growth as a poet, emerges in this in-depth piece, from a reflection of fond memories of you & your father.
Such bold imagery, tied with an "earthy" feel, from the past makes this poem stand-out among others you've written.
Nice to know, you've memories of sharing a special bond with someone. I particularly like the way you ended this piece, the two lines of description, along with the asteriks to point out to the reader, who it was.
Very good touch to the poem.
The reader feels immersed into the past, and clearly gets the vibes from the experience you've written about.
Special lines to point out:
The sky sang in perfect pitch as blustery
Winds blew across sand.
I felt waist deep in images as he spoke. (Beautiful line)
The hushed silence seemed to
Speak in whispers of remembered heartbeats. (Wow)
This poem, is very, very good - and I felt honored to read it.
sincerely,
Denimari
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2006-11-19 13:51:38
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Emerson, Whitman and Thoreau began traditions for us that offered either
philosophical debate or drew upon posits that placed us in quandary. Thus
came such interesting structures as, "son, father to the man" and the
great, and still enduring debate, over, state versus individual, regarding
one's calling to an order higher than the laws of man.
So it is that your splendid poem here, might remind me of, not just one,
but all three.
You, as the presumed protagonist, are mother to the man, whether husband or
father, in the nurturing insights you gather on the sake of another's past.
William Blake, father to all such expanding ideas in poetry, founded the genre
with these qualities, but did them himself so far removed from personage,
as to have kept the distance between his audience and stage, like did Greek
drama.
Your poem is the progeny of all these forged traditions, while your addition
to the soup, is their utilitization into the highly personal world of actual
event. Like a culmination of what others have set for you.
You do them all justice. Your poem has maturity, emotional purity, and the eye
of a mother's love.
Now why do I lay upon the table a little journey into literary history? Well, the
answer is simple. You are favored in the comparison. And your skill in this
poem gives me license to place you in that esteem. It was kind of a duty to.
You are acquiring the ability to do more with imagery than provide a scenery of
sorts. You do so in: "when summer idled"; enhancing a point of desolation with
the roaming antelope, with "gaze unconcerned"; the winds blowing across sand.
This is the maturity of an accomplished poet, Marilyn. I've commented on this
attribute of yours before, but you're getting even better.
Take out the two last lines. You've already said them...hell, you've embodied
them. Leave the poem where it rightfully belongs, more universal to us all.
But you have made it much harder in the voting for me. I may have to break a
promise.
JCH
This Poem was Critiqued By: Nancy Ann Hemsworth On Date: 2006-11-17 09:03:11
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
oh Marilyn I so enjoyed this ...the inline rhyme, which this is one"walked in the heap and sweep"nicely done and is a favorite style of mine and makes the poem sing. I also like the way your use the cuplets part way through to bring attention and make the reader change rhythm in the reading. This is so true to the poet and the best kind of poetry, emotional and drawn from experieces of life. I am writing a short story now in the works about my father's funeral and know the emotions that something like this can stir up, not only for the poet but the reader as well...lovely job, and thanks for sharing this so personal thing.
nancy
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2006-11-09 21:38:01
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Marilyn,
Ah such a sweet visage you've painted, I can smell the sage and ice wind, the freedom and spirituality that permeats the place you've pictured for us. Very well done and thouroughly enjoyable. Thank you so much for sharing this with us. I needed the respite.
Lora
This Poem was Critiqued By: Terrye Godown On Date: 2006-11-08 22:05:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Wow Marilyn, this is just an absolute best seller, which provides a virtual escape to the west, as if the reader has suddenly awakened in in a John Wayne dimension of sight and sound. Your lead off is great. I can't explain why exactly, but I found the use of the word "pitch" to disturb the visual somehow.. kind of lead my imagery to more piercing heights than the sauntering, unconcerned antelope reflects. Maybe mellowing that line some:
"the sky sang a blustery accapella
as the winds blew across the sand"
"We walked in the heap and sweep of sage and silt" - This is fantastic! Just that limited description of the homestead was enough for the reader to paint this image without hesitation. The second to the last stanza is also superb, Marilyn. Another part that you might tweak a bit is in that same stanza where you have:
'Shadows of Cumberland lived in
His senses as we picked a path across the
Wilderness.'
Wondering why you used the "his" instead of "our" there, since this was about your experience becoming a temporary part of this old vignette. Perhaps the shadows "came alive" in "our" senses as we picked a path...'
I was inspired by the nostalgia Marilyn and how the spirit of your father seemed to breath a gentle life into the fading ghost town relics. I did hate though, to think of him merely "walking the tracks of heaven" instead of finally receiving an eternal ticket on some heavenly train! Maybe you could at least paint the tracks gold for him!
Ending the way you did, using the asterisks was a perfect because they seemed to symbolize footsteps, either yours or his maybe, slowly being covered with the sands of history and sentiment.
You did a GREAT job on this and I think it will get all the attention it deserves!
Cheerz!
Terrye
This Poem was Critiqued By: Ellen K Lewis On Date: 2006-11-08 18:49:31
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
oh Marilyn!I love this homespun tale! So easy to picture that old town. Would be a great fireplace tale. (I think of Garrison Keeler reading it aloud with the talent of a great story teller.
I like the patterns; as uneven as they are. I guess that's why this is extra good when read aloud.
Sunday afternoon when summer idled.....a favorite line
The sky sang in perfect pitch as blustery
Winds blew across sand.
Just as a suggestion, I can't picture this. Maybe because I live in Kansas where the wind blows constantly and does alot of talking...I don't like the connection of blustery pitch with blowing sand.....I don't mean to be picky! It just seems to contradict itself. It seems like you need something more hollow, more empty, echo's of silence?
The hushed silence seemed to
Speak in whispers of remembered heartbeats....something to go along with this erie feeling?
I really like the way you ended it. This is a great poem! I love it!
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2006-11-08 18:03:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
What a lovely memory to treasure and to bring to life the images of your father and his own time as a young man growing up. So many things mantioned within these lines brought forth tales I remember my own gramma telling of her younger days when she too had a rather large group of siblings around her. I guess all families had one room in which the children slept and bath time was okay if you were first in line.....memories run deep and I am glad you have shared some of yours. My dad was the best and it seems yours was right up there as well..........good structure, word flow, images, filled with so many feelings . Thanks for posting, God Bless, Claire
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