This poem was written a few years ago, but I feel it more today.
While I Waited, Life Happened
By Glenda Council Beall
By Glenda Council Beall
In the waning days of fall vacation, leaves fly
like goldfinches, poplars’ jeweled showers
rain upon the mountains of West Virginia.
Temperatures plummet to freezing after dark,
but mornings crisp as caramel apples draw us
outside where cows seek sustenance burrowing beneath
tall weeds bronzed by season’s cold.
Three horses clip remaining blades from pasture overgrazed
in the drought. Smoke plumes from burning brush cut to make
the raw road, drifts across the pond’s mosaic surface.
I find myself nostalgic for my own country roots;
Soft sounds of mourning doves and lost calves calling
for their mothers; riding horseback in the woods, quail
flush and scare my pony; crows caw from stands of willows.
Boundless days stretched before me; days of wasted youth;
Hours of restless yearning, wanting always what I did not have,
waiting to learn what I would become, waiting to live,
oblivious to the riches I already possessed.
Given a second chance, I’d hold that gift of time cupped
tightly in my hands. I’d breathe, taste and savor every second
I have squandered — not fritter it away, but hoard each precious
minute, clutched firmly against my breast.
rain upon the mountains of West Virginia.
Temperatures plummet to freezing after dark,
but mornings crisp as caramel apples draw us
outside where cows seek sustenance burrowing beneath
tall weeds bronzed by season’s cold.
Three horses clip remaining blades from pasture overgrazed
in the drought. Smoke plumes from burning brush cut to make
the raw road, drifts across the pond’s mosaic surface.
I find myself nostalgic for my own country roots;
Soft sounds of mourning doves and lost calves calling
for their mothers; riding horseback in the woods, quail
flush and scare my pony; crows caw from stands of willows.
Boundless days stretched before me; days of wasted youth;
Hours of restless yearning, wanting always what I did not have,
waiting to learn what I would become, waiting to live,
oblivious to the riches I already possessed.
Given a second chance, I’d hold that gift of time cupped
tightly in my hands. I’d breathe, taste and savor every second
I have squandered — not fritter it away, but hoard each precious
minute, clutched firmly against my breast.
From Now Might As Well Be Then (Finishing Line Press. 2009)
'Given a second chance, I’d hold that gift of time cupped
ReplyDeletetightly in my hands. I’d breathe, taste and savor every second
I have squandered — not fritter it away, but hoard each precious
minute, clutched firmly against my breast.'
Wouldn't we all. And how lucky we are to have those moments stored in the treasure chests of our memories.
Glenda, although you wrote the poem years ago, I can see how it and the song are related.
ReplyDeleteSo very well done. I also love the poem and sentiment of savoring every moment that life has to offer. Thank you. :-)
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful, telling poem of wasted time of youth! If only we could have back those precious hours wasted waiting for life to happen, waiting to get older, for something to change.
ReplyDeleteAlthough I know nothing about poetry, I so much enjoyed reading your beautiful words.
Rob
I posted this the night before we held a tribute for my friend, Kathryn Stripling Byer, who was a few years younger than I. I thought about how short life is and how so much of it is wasted on the young or at least wasted on my youth. Kay and I grew up near each other and didn't know each other until I moved to NC where she had been living for over a decade. We had a kinship from our background. She moved on with her life after college. I stayed in the same place until I was fifty years old. I feel those years back in south Georgia were not very fruitful and I was not following my dreams.
ReplyDeleteI think that is why this song and this poem was what I needed to post here.