I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Porch Swing.
The dogwood blooms have fallen off
Spring flowers passed away
The late sunset signifies
The end to the hot day
While crickets sing
Fireflies dance
And the sunset fades away
Porch swing creaks
And I can almost hear my grandma singing
Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
In my imagination
Barefoot in the grass
Avoiding the broken glass
Of the abandoned house
Once theirs
And the porch swing creaks
My grandfather speaks
To me
No one else can hear him
And I only see
Those trees
From the porch swing
All that’s left are memories
Where two people used to be
And all that’s left to see
Is an old farmhouse
And a silent swing.
July 9, 2009 at 8:41 am
It’s so cool to read these. I can’t imagine really what it’s like looking back over this stuff just for yourself. Crazy I imagine.
You wrote differently then…
(They put in emoticons! Did you SEE THAT?) Fantastic still, in fact I’m entertaining the idea that you must have been born with a pen and some paper in hand scribbling out fantastic prose of some kind (shrug)
This one’s no exception. Great little poem. Different in the style but the same as your recent stuff in the mood I guess…
You’re always completely alone in your poems you know? Even when you try to write someone else in there you’re still alone.
Great poem though. Definitely.
July 13, 2009 at 2:43 pm
I’ve really liked going through the old stuff and picking out ones to post, it’s very interesting, therapeutic, sometimes kind of haunting for some reason…anyways, I never thought about always being alone in the poems…but I guess I am, I’m going to be looking out for one where I’m not now…