Escape

[C Bets]

I was just thinking about this one today. It's one I did a while ago, and got lots of positive feedback at the time. Sharing...

This old road I’ve been down
A hundred times before
To the fishing hole in youth
And the saw mill when I grow’d

Where the nine-o-three did rumble by
And I’d stop
And stare
And listen

Its whistle would call me by name
A resounding echo lingering
In the recesses of my mind
And in my dreams at night

But today I wait no more
And follow this foot path
I know so well
Where it will lead me
To my unreserved seat
In the boxcar named “Freedom”
And take me to horizons unknown

And the yearning of better things
And bigger rewards
Will be replaced
With thoughts of home
Love and simple pleasures
That I’ve come to know

And I’ll miss you

[martin shaw]

You have something to work on here, but I would take foundations from your last piece and build from that. It pips this at the post.

[C Bets]

Okay - well, thanks for reading, Martin; but, not sure what you're telling me. This piece has no connection whatsoever to the other one I posted earlier. What exactly do you mean?

[Jena Grace]

I like it, Cindy. Very touching.

[martin shaw]

Sorry, I'm tired.

Your last piece was a step forward for you. This is good but not as good

[C Bets]

Thank you, Jena! And, thank you, martin -- that made more sense. LOL

[Amy Lou]

Hi Cindy, I'll come back when I've got more time, and I also feel insecure about offering advice on poetry. LOL I don't care for the word grow'd, but that's probably just me.

[C Bets]

...I don't care for the word grow'd, but that's probably just me.

Just so you know, this poem was actually created in response to a photo prompt; a b&w of a barefoot young man walking down a dirt road, suggesting a time period around the 30s or 40s. So, now that I think of it, I should probably have been more consistent with the voice throughout the entire piece.

[Amy Lou]

Yes, that really does help, I'll be back for you girl!!

[Amy Lou]

Hi Cindy, sorry for not getting to this sooner. Your comment about the photo prompt does help, and before you mentioned it, I had a visual of something similar. So the poem does its job without knowing of the photo. You are very good at poetry, this has a nice flow and tone to it. I found it to be very consistent, only the word grow'd bothered me, as I've mentioned, but it's probably just me. I don't really have much to add, only I wish Martin's post was still here, because I remember agreeing with what he was trying to say. UGH LOL I feel this could be more, it's good as is, but just sort of glides along weightless, saying a little something but not quite taking me there. Not sure if that makes sense? But you also know my abilities go better with fiction pieces and poetry is just something I write to express deep feelings.
I love your words!
Amylou


A hundred times before
To the fishing hole in youth
And the saw mill when I grow’d

Where the nine-o-three did rumble by
And I’d stop
And stare
And listen (the ands, held me back a little, I would prefer I'd stop, stare, listen)

Its whistle would call me by name (It's whistle called my name)
A resounding echo lingering (like this line a lot)
In the recesses of my mind (recesses in my mind feels a little cliche, I just wonder if there's a more unusual way to state this)
And in my dreams at night (this feels flat, give me more of what this means, literally in his dreams, or figuratively?)

But today I wait no more
And follow this foot path
I know so well
Where it will lead me
To my unreserved seat
In the boxcar named “Freedom” (nice)
And take me to horizons unknown

And the yearning of better things
And bigger rewards
Will be replaced
With thoughts of home
Love and simple pleasures
That I’ve come to know

And I’ll miss you