Granny Malloy

[Poppy]

She lived next door in an old
clapboard house.
Gosh I must have been eight
to her eighty.

Mostly she just sat in her chair by
the north bay window.
She would stare outside obvious
of some memory.

I would stop by the old place nearly
every day or so.
You know these old houses
mostly the smells.

She had a new story to tell each
time I came in.
About a one room school or when
the James Boys dropped by.

She would talk about growing up poor
and meeting her love.
Of raising her children, who both were
fine men.

I don’t know why I just thought about
this dear lady. And
I wish I had kept a journal for her wise
sayings and such.

But a young boy doesn’t think of
those things very often.
He only worries about the moment,
puppies and stuff.

[motherhubbard]

I wish I had known that eight year old boy.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I wish I had known that eight year old boy.

You know that wonderful singing group, "The Staples Family"? It feels as if we have our own equivalent here, our own group of loving choristers, singing of your love for each other and providing us the deep pleasure of looking or listening in!

And I kinda think you do know that 8-year old boy...

[Pendragon]

I think somewhere inside of every man, that little eight-year-old boy lurks. At the time, people ignored him, never dreaming of what he might remember one day down the road. And yes, at the time, we were concerned about puppies (in my case, my cat), and stuff, but we took time to notice the neighbor who was the Elder of a mostly Black Baptist church, the one who farmed and worked as an orderly in a mental hospital, the one who stayed drunk and whose wife was a nurse, how nobody stayed long in the brick hose on the corner, the artist lady in the white mansion on the hill, the black man who was the best painter in town, and the stories they all told me...

Great poem Poppy... got my memories to stirring

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/Bravo.gif

[PrinceMyshkin]

I think somewhere inside of every man, that little eight-year-old boy lurks. At the time, people ignored him, never dreaming of what he might remember one day down the road. And yes, at the time, we were concerned about puppies (in my case, my cat), and stuff, but we took time to notice the neighbor who was the Elder of a mostly Black Baptist church, the one who farmed and worked as an orderly in a mental hospital, the one who stayed drunk and whose wife was a nurse, how nobody stayed long in the brick hose on the corner, the artist lady in the white mansion on the hill, the black man who was the best painter in town, and the stories they all told me...

Great poem Poppy... got my memories to stirring

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/Bravo.gif

And every one of us, dear Pen, has such treasured or pained souls within us, a great community of the vanished - the vanished or the merely absent. No one who has been loved - and noticing is a kind of love - no one who has been loved is ever truly lost, never truly lost.

[firefangled]

The language in this is so perfect. It seems like you are just casually telling us this (maybe as you're throwing out line and pulling it back in). The ending especially gets me because it seems somehow very purposeful for its effect but at the same time never loses the same tone as the rest of the poem...puppies and stuff...so perfect. Thanks, Poppy.

[Poppy]

The language in this is so perfect. It seems like you are just casually telling us this (maybe as you're throwing out line and pulling it back in). The ending especially gets me because it seems somehow very purposeful for its effect but at the same time never loses the same tone as the rest of the poem...puppies and stuff...so perfect. Thanks, Poppy.

Fire, I am so new to this. I am unsure about timing and the rhythm that is proper. I like telling stories and I suppose making them one on one is just how I feel. I really thank you for you comments and those of the others. I know I can learn from all of you.

[CdnReader]

Poppy, your poetic voice is poignant and your poems speak of simple truths. I very much enjoy reading your work here. Keep it comin', ok??

I think this little one might fit here.... :)

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No need for you to be a man...
Your grown-up world will never stand
The test of time, so set it aside
And let the little boy out from inside.

He'll teach you so much about
Love and truth and kindness and lack of doubt.
See the world clearly reflected in his eyes...
Perhaps it's only the innocent that can be so wise.

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cdn/16feb07
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