Forgotten Copse

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By Deliberately Evolving

Sun, 19 Feb 2017
  • 7001 reads
16 comments
 
 
I stumbled on a copse we used to walk,
my mother in tow of a gaggle of little kids of different ages.
I rose early with mine on Sunday morning.
Breakfast in a bag,
a flask of tea,
excited to take them on the walk I took
when I was full of life, like them.
 
The entry stirred familiarity...
an old friend perhaps,
Is that you? Just recognisable.
If I come back in a few weeks,
I thought,
the path would be ablaze with blue,
shaded forest blooms,
I vowed I would.
 
We followed the chatter of birds,
a meandering path of skittish squirrels 
and the intermittent percussion 
of a woodpecker somewhere high.
I knew this path. 
I heard distant sounds 
of the children laugh,
running in the dappled sun,
playing games of hide and seek,
monsters and treasures
in secret gaps in shrubs,
scuffed knees and rosy cheeks.
 
The path, I knew, ended at a field,
rough golden grass - our secret picnic place.
I saw it clearly,
felt the hot sun on bare arms
despite the bite of winters cold through my coat 
and the chill of breezy morning air.
Looking ahead, 
we're coming to the end 
and there instead,
like a boasting beast, standing smug,
is not a swirl of childhood memories,
all golds and wispy clouds across a sea of blue...
 
Houses. 
 
Houses crammed crazily close
squashed together, 
cars side by side, a road, 
no plant life.
 
Land sold off. 
 
I never knew. 
 
The sounds of the children laughing,
the calls of my mother,
her smile,
all faded in the face of a neat estate.
Disappointed, we walked back,
pointing out the nests, and birds,
the sticks and stones and this and that.
 
I'll find another copse, another field of gold
paint memories in my children's minds,
give them treasures for their hearts
to hold
and have to hope it won't be trashed 
for cheaper housing.
 
Certificate U
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Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Sounds as if you all had a good explore and wander in a lovely place and memories, even if disappointment in the curtailing. And it stimulated you to find another such place! Remember when my youngest were young spending school holidays finding lots of interesting explore-walks as my husband was by then working from home, and needed some quiet! Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

Golden memories brought beautifully back to life in this poem. There are places like this where I used to take my children, and now they no longer exist - but then people have to live somewhere, and at least you didn't find five mac mansions there. I like the positivity in the last stanza 

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Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for pick of the day. 

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

You brought back so many recollections of my own, that special place where magic filled the air, suddenly gone forever. Very sad as you say.

I loved the way you described your memories and thank you for sharing them.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

It's nice to know that everyone has a story the same. Sad about the loss though. Sometimes I think I might never do such a good job as my mum did.

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by Stephen Thom on

very pretty. liked the alliterative touches, 'swirl of memories', skittish squirrels, lots of lovely moments and word choices combining into a strong evocative piece

 

Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

Thank you Stephen. Appreciate the comment. X

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on

Yes, memories for me too. Blackberry picking on Barn Hill in Wembley Park. There were about 5 mums and 10 children. Right now the land remains and there are 2 massive horse chestnut trees that are in full flower on 30 April when I make the return trip for Dad's birthday.

Always a dilemma with greenfield sites. Land or housing?

Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

They disappear one by one. Sometimes they leave a green bit in the middle of the estate to remind you of what was lost.

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by airyfairy on

Congratulations on this beautiful reflection on how memories are made, held, and then remade for future generations. - it's our Poem of the Week.

Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

Thank you airyfairy - I'm glad you enjoyed it. X

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by celticman on

lovely and sad. but not too sad. 

 

Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

Yeah I didn't want it to be too sad, although I felt more a resigned disappointment than sadness I suppose.

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by MJG on

very much liked the feeling of being on the journey with you, 'intermittent percussion' of woodpecker - I could hear it so clearly.... I'd have finished it without the last two lines because the scene is already painted well...

 

Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

Thank you for your comment MJG. I'll have a think about your feedback. 

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by maggyvaneijk on

This has me itching to exit the city and go explorig by myself. I also really love the ups and downs in the piece and how it leaves you on a carefull, considered up.