A Beach, Lake, And Owl

Rating: 3.2
Sun soaked revelations
on a patio deck.

I had long forgotten
the simple joys
Of returning to origin.

In its bosom,
the well worn comfort
Of familiarity,
combined with the
clear remembrance
Of lake breeze air.

Every milestone,
And accomplishment,
All seen by the unending tide
Of water in motion.

From the eyes of my window:

the first breath of my brother
and the last sight of my cousin.

The first taste of a woman
and my last meeting with her.

All trials,
Tribulations,
And friendships
Have come, gone
and began again
here.

Lonely winter nights,
The ferocity of the wind off the beach
almost too much to bear.
Nowhere to go,
Except the solace of a guitar,
You taught yourself well back then.

My first car,
Driving around in circles,
a "summer town" deserted in the winter,
And a father
Eager to pass this rite to his son.

Later,
Cracks in a marriage,
like holes in a wall,
and a lonely teenager hoping for the best.
Ultimately,
reconciliation.

My first taste of addiction.
Parents out of town,
I wanted to be the "cool kid".
A party remembered,
The stench of cigarettes,
Never
Again
Forgotten.

All within these walls.


Outside,
Clear hot air.
I lay back
And gaze deeply
Into the trunk,
of the tree,
I have seen all
My life.

My great aunt used to tell me
that on the branches,
Of this particular tree
Sits a wise old owl.
He will watch over you
During this life.

To a child
An owl shaped branch,
Can give breath quite easily.
Yet I never truly understood
Her message.

Now
That branch is long since gone,
As is she.
And at times when I need her wisdom
Most
I remember the owl.

Today it is clear to me.

Just as the roots
Of a tree anchor
mighty oak,
My home
Anchors me.

I lay back
In my chair.
Feet up,
exhalation.

I am home,

Rooted once again.


Copyright (c)David DeSantis
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: childhood ,memories
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COMMENTS
Coach Roth 16 May 2008
A winding journey through your life both real and metaphorical...good write...Coach
0 1 Reply
Loyd C Taylor Sr 12 May 2008
Hello DAvid. A delight poem of memory of some good times and wisdom. I play the guitar as well, self taught. Thanks, LC Taylor
0 1 Reply
R H 10 May 2008
oops - meant to type reflection!
0 0 Reply
R H 10 May 2008
This is a truly wonderful piece of relection David, the clarity of thought takes the reader deep into the heart of the poet as an array of visual milestones are brought to the fore like the 'unending tide of water in motion' you describe. An ebb and flow of firsts and lasts, things that have come and gone and 'began again'...whilst all the while grounding your very existance. A mature and revealing composition with an almost meditative feel. Love it. j x
0 0 Reply
Paul Butters 10 May 2008
Great poem. One of my favourites. Plenty to ponder, with another glass of wine! Cheers. Paul.
0 0 Reply
Anita Atina 10 May 2008
Wonderful writing David.
0 0 Reply
Alison Cassidy 09 May 2008
David, you have such poetic maturity for your age - this poem might well have been written by someone in their autumn years, not one still savoring the delights of their twenties. Your story is a series of snapshots, as if the reader were flicking through the pages of your family album. The images are clear and precise and there is a warmth in the telling which is most compelling. A most attractive poem. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
0 0 Reply
Jurietta Duraan 08 May 2008
Absolutely stunning, David... no memory is ever lost, whether it be good or bad and all of them shape who we have become... I think your aunt would be mighty proud today.... Yuri*
0 0 Reply
Abha Sharma 08 May 2008
the memories of childhood...the wisdom showered by the elders..all is recalled time to time, they are engraved in us and help in our survival...good expression... **Abha**
0 0 Reply
Janice Windle 08 May 2008
Hard to say anything new about this poem - you have a clear voice, and it's a lovely, fresh, imaginative statement that reminds older people like me that nostalgia doesn't belong just to us - time is moving on for the young as well. And you capture that feeling of transition between home and childhood and independence, too - now I remember it like yesterday, having read you reverie on it.
0 0 Reply

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