Thursday, August 6, 2009

Read Write Poem, Prompt # 86



Survival


Grown without roots, 
still stalwart in my old age, 
I'll fall swiftly.


Good!
That's the advantage for rootless things,
not to be regretted. 


The back seat of a blue '36 Buick
was all mine, their tall backs 
topped by heads looking forward,
talking forward, were 
my parents.  We travelled.     
Lights racing by as I tucked in
for the night, or shadows scurrying
across hotel ceilings, traffic still passing,
are fondest memories.  The murmur
of their voices.

Words were my soil, books
rocks I wrapped around. Friends
blossomed in my mind.
Rootless things do not exist long,
But I do.


                 Wanda McCollar

Posted by Unknown at 9:03 PM

12 comments:

  1. DanaAugust 7, 2009 at 2:21 AM

    Nicely done. I love that image of looking at the parents from the back seat. And the interjection of Good! is so unexpected and delightful. Great stuff. I am so happy you did the prompt!

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  2. AnonymousAugust 7, 2009 at 4:07 AM

    i like this phrase a lot:

    "not to be regretted"

    it's interesting b/c it's in the passive voice but it's making an assertion. i like it!

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  3. rallentandaAugust 7, 2009 at 10:37 AM

    'Rootless things don't exist long
    but I do'
    Liked the ending shows your uniqueness.A sad wimsical little poem that I liked a lot.

    Now Wanda about purchasing words.
    I hate the word 'bosom' If I buy it can I destroy it and have it removed from th English language?

    This is a true story about a psychiatrist.A friend of mine visited one and in the course of the session the psychiatrist asked him where he would ideally like to live.He replied that he would like to live in a cottage like Sylvia
    Plath's in Devon UK. The Psychiatrist said 'Who's Sylvia Plath?'My friend left in disgust and cancelled all future appointments.Now that's a poet for you.

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  4. TamraAugust 7, 2009 at 3:31 PM

    I love these lines: Words were my soil, books rocks I wrapped around. Friends blossomed in my mind.

    Thanks for posting this poem.

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  5. UnknownAugust 7, 2009 at 4:26 PM

    Sadly sweet, or sweetly sad? Memories of a rootless childhood - but you're still here.

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  6. gautami tripathyAugust 7, 2009 at 5:54 PM

    Wghen writes poetry like this, rootless becomes meanigless!

    chemical analysis of a poet

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  7. UnknownAugust 7, 2009 at 8:20 PM

    Thank you all for taking time to comment. i really appreciate it.

    As for buying "bosom" to scuttle it - great idea if it would happen. Bosom worked in Shakespeare's day - he sure used it often. "I'll debate with my bosom" makes students giggle - the imagery is too much. Bosom should go in modern language - so should fleshy.

    And about that poet who dropped a psychiatrist who didn't know Plath - absolutley! There would be no bonding there, no therapy! Good story to remember.

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  8. NathanAugust 7, 2009 at 10:07 PM

    Having had quite a rootless childhood myself, I find this poem very powerful. Great work.

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  9. Wayne PitchkoAugust 8, 2009 at 4:31 AM

    nicely done......36 Buick...WOW

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  10. angieAugust 9, 2009 at 5:50 AM

    this is lovely.
    I really like this whole image:
    'words were my soil, books / rocks I wrapped around.'

    wonderful poem.

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  11. one more believerAugust 11, 2009 at 8:52 PM

    wanda, that is awesome!!! so many pictures i can identify with... haven't thought abt in years... you did a wonderful poem... glad i stopped by...

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  12. UnknownAugust 12, 2009 at 9:21 PM

    Thank you, one more believer. That's all any poet wants to hear - that another identifies with some of the imagery.

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