The topic of Sunday Scribblings this week is Misspent Youth.
Near the Window
The lamp near the window glowed long into the night,
the wonder of words kept me turning the pages.
Curling up with Nancy Drew, Bess, and George
creating a life of intrigue and mysteries to be solved.
Finding poetry at the public library and saving words
as I hunted and pecked on the manual keys.
The stereo filled the hall room with beautiful sounds.
I wore out certain songs as I listened again and again.
I joined the Broadway cast of My Fair Lady and Oklahoma too,
and The Ray Conniff singers backed
me up on Somewhere My Love.
How many times could I repeat Three Dog Night
singing One
While belting out the lyrics with a makeshift microphone?
Near the window I could breathe in spring,
In winter the panes frosted, then melted in a thaw.
If opened in summer a breeze gave a small reprieve,
Burning leaves crept in at the closing of fall.
The neighbor kids gathered for Kick the Can
or Spoons, but
I cocooned myself in my bedroom upstairs.
Finding comfort near the window with my pile of books.
Broadway seemed visible, images from poems remained.
I didn’t pine away about a misspent youth.
I still carry the words and remember the poetry,
And l hear those melodies when I
sit near the window in my childhood room.
by inlandempiregirl
to find other Sunday Scribblings go here.
Near the Window
The lamp near the window glowed long into the night,
the wonder of words kept me turning the pages.
Curling up with Nancy Drew, Bess, and George
creating a life of intrigue and mysteries to be solved.
Finding poetry at the public library and saving words
as I hunted and pecked on the manual keys.
The stereo filled the hall room with beautiful sounds.
I wore out certain songs as I listened again and again.
I joined the Broadway cast of My Fair Lady and Oklahoma too,
and The Ray Conniff singers backed
me up on Somewhere My Love.
How many times could I repeat Three Dog Night
singing One
While belting out the lyrics with a makeshift microphone?
Near the window I could breathe in spring,
In winter the panes frosted, then melted in a thaw.
If opened in summer a breeze gave a small reprieve,
Burning leaves crept in at the closing of fall.
The neighbor kids gathered for Kick the Can
or Spoons, but
I cocooned myself in my bedroom upstairs.
Finding comfort near the window with my pile of books.
Broadway seemed visible, images from poems remained.
I didn’t pine away about a misspent youth.
I still carry the words and remember the poetry,
And l hear those melodies when I
sit near the window in my childhood room.
by inlandempiregirl
to find other Sunday Scribblings go here.
Great imagery, I felt like I was sitting there with you!!
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed reading this, I could relate too...
ReplyDeleteThis brought back lots of memories of my own youthful days!
ReplyDeleteI absolutely loved this post! I, too, was a young bookworm, and this resonated with my memories
ReplyDeleteWell done on so many levels.
ReplyDeleteI loved this! Cocooning yourself in your bedroom...pile of books...A lovely way to spend a childhood!
ReplyDeleteKaren: Thanks so much. Imagery is often a challenge for me.
ReplyDeleteCrafty: Thanks
Becca: I am glad it helped you remember also.
Thanks granny smith. It was a refective piece for sure.
go figure: Thanks so much. I keep saying on need to work on my poetry.
Rondi: There were some fine moments in the upstairs room!
I read Trixie Belden. Very much the same as Nancy Drew...just a few years older.
ReplyDeleteWe sang Bob Dylan on our fake microphones. One was made with a whiffle ball and a stick.
ReplyDeleteImage full words! I, too, was an avid reader as a child and dreamed of living in a library but kick ball and sandlot baseball attracted me, too. Ray Conniff. I remember seeing his performance in Moscow...
ReplyDelete