Memory’s lightning flash briefly illuminates forgotten traces of the past
The smell of lilacs, a tree shaded yard, forest covered steep cliff rocks where sentinel pines stand guard
A small wooden mining house painted white ,father’s large rough hand his gentle might
Gathering humming moths in a Mason jar, long hot rides in an old black car
Soft covers in a velvet night, dreams of mermaids and of flight
The spring song of meadowlarks, fireflies, floating yellow sparks
A cardboard sword too soon bent, on a train trip with grandparents sent
Mother handing me her last cent as my lonely dog outside is pent
He grew old without human touch, as figurines of glass gathered dust in mother’s hutch
A Sunday school song, church sermons that went on too long
Sunday night tag with cousins round barn and trees, burying ourselves in mountains of dried maple leaves
A Victorian farmhouse with shingled roof, two stories high or more, cellar, library of religious proof, attic, dusty memorabilia to explore
An old tire swing high in the limb of a giant oak, muffled laughter’s ring as aunts, uncles, and grandparents spoke
A cast iron stove, the orange glow and popping of the fire, a pendulum clock, leather sofa, high ceilings, porch chairs woven of wire
Fishing from frost covered seats of a small flat bottomed wooden boat on a fall fog covered lake with weather too cold for one’s coat
Quiet white winter blankets of snow, turned to forts and snowmen, some for war, some for show
Sleigh rides, slides, noses too cold to feel, the smell of a warm home cooked meal
Clear skies, stars so bright, the frozen stinging bite, of a frigid endless night
The snows swirling whirlwind of dust, the crunching of its crust
Daffodils poking up through the ice, shedding my shirt at the sun’s advice
A yearning for summer’s sultry weather, cherry blossoms, peach and rose buds together
showing their first hint of green. Robins the hum of bees, the thrill of spring
Eating ripe apricots in a tree house with a friend, the summer breeze rocking the ship as boughs bend
over schools of grasshoppers swimming in wavy seas of dried fox tails, as we fired our cannon pits under the rustle of vast leafy sails
The whirling, gushing roar of an ice cold mountain creek
Amidst the white bark of quaking aspen, tall pines, and glacial peak
The sudden pull of a fish on the line, hot dogs, hamburgers, watermelon, my first taste of wine
A long past, warm summer night, the chirp of crickets stars so bright
The perfume of magnolia and scent of jasmine, the intoxicating thrill of first love forbidden
A future that looked so bright, with one that was so perfect, the first fight
Awakening before the sun, for work one wished was already done
Sweat, dirt, fatigue and fears, long hours, my child’s first tears
So many moves over the years, school finished, jobs lost, new careers
Traveling to a new land, walking the tropical beaches warm sand
Children's laughter, balls and dolls, now an empty house where no one calls
Their forms grown and gone, no more toys on the fresh cut lawn
At each other we just stare, the weather’s changed, a chill in the air
An eternal love faded, broken hearted, what was most important now departed
Friends and relatives where did they go, fallen like dry leaves, under the snow
Framed pictures of faces frozen in time, they no longer feel real, another place another clime, never religious now I kneel
Wrinkles, sagging skin, falling hair, a double chin
My father’s face appears in my mirror, what I once feared now grows nearer
The snows of age in my hair today, cold dark skies, so tired, sleep pulling at my eyes, to nap and let all this pass away
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: October 13th, 2026 03:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, Teddy.15, Thomas W Case, Friendship, Kevin Hulme, Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: Life.
Offline)
Comments12
Epic write. A Mason jar sounds like a posh jam jar in Britain.
I like the trip through life; it brings back the same memories.
The last bit, though, is that dreaded realisation that those years are well behind you and time seems to go quicker.
Feeling nostalgic now.
Thank you for the read Paul yes a Mason jar is one of those old bottles used for canning fruit back in the days that people used to do that. Times have changed and it leaves one feeling dated. I appreciate your encouragement my friend.
Lifes journey poetically spoken my friend
Thanks so much my friend for the review and support it and you are most appreciated.
most welcome
Such a stunning piece of poetry, life's season's memories and all. Here in Italy our older generations still keep some marvellous traditions and still pass them down. 🌹
Thank you my dear friend for the read and comment it as always is most appreciated and valued
The seasons are a rich tapestry! And the mason jars remind me of when I learned pickling and making jams and preserves.
Thank you Cryptic yes the seasons are indeed and I have reached the winter and look back on the rest with fond memories.
Dear, Soren,
Delightful and cheerful ramblings of a life well spent, full of adventure and a love of nature. Very kind of you to share a glimpse into your history and the world around you way back then. Thank you very much; a most enjoyable read, my friend.
Fond regards,
Tony.
I appreciate your read of this longer piece my friend. Can't help it though my life has be a bit prolonged for who knows what reason. Your reads and and comments are always highly anticipated and most valued. Have a wonderful day Tony
There’s a damn sweeping tenderness here, because the poem gathers an entire life through its smells, sounds, seasons, family rituals, first loves, losses, and the slow realization that the world you once knew has quietly disappeared. The final image of your father’s face emerging in the mirror is the keeper for me, because it brings all that childhood wonder and accumulated grief into one unavoidable moment where time stops being a memory and becomes the face looking back at you.
Thanks so much Thomas your words mean a lot and yes it was that image that stimulated the poem to begin with. I became shocked at how similar I looked to my father and how old I was.
Wow, this is a powerful poem about life's journey. Your poem explores the passage of time and the interplay of memory and nostalgia, reflecting on life's beauty and bittersweetness. You painted the highlights of cherished moments from childhood to adulthood, the joy of family and love, and the inevitable decline that comes with aging and loss.
Thank you so much my friend for the review. You are most correct in that it is a sweeping of childhood to adulthood where all lays in a pile ready to be swept out the door. You have encapsulated well the essence of the poem in you summary and seen its direction and final end. Your words are most appreciated Friendship.
When the last-second angel appears ,the panorama of an entire life flashes before your eyes...
Oh oh I better get ready it has already happened. Thanks Lorenz for the read and comment. Thanks for the heads up
Good write SB. Ahh, seasons. I thought 'That's a lot to be doing in one day'. Though I could just about fit all that into the extra one second we had one year. lol.
Thanks Orchi appreciate the read. Yes that would work in dream time where time is compressed.
Wonderful Poem on Life and looking back at the Years.
Father's face in the Mirror is Something I can relate too.
Well done.
Thanks so much Kevin your words are appreciated my friend
My Pleasure as always.
Wow, Soren. I found myself thinking about my own childhood while reading this. People, places, little things I'd almost forgotten. And then I started thinking about how much has changed since. Getting older is a hell of an experience, isn't it, my friend? Thank you for this one. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you my friend for the read and kind words of support and encouragement they are most appreciated.
Thanks Soren for tomorrow's (so to speak) referral. Missed completely first time round. World times do sometimes leave me out on a limb. Rich detail; glad I caught it.
I thank you Dave from the bottom of my heart for your reads and comments they mean a lot. Tomorrow I\'ll give ya another tale of my past, one most will think invented but I guarantee it is not. Wishing you the best and a wonderful day my friend.
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