Hometown sonnet

Arrow Street, leading into the square of Marshall, Missouri
Hometown Sonnet

The old hometown is aging, as am I,
The once wide streets grow narrow with the years,
As night descends, you all but hear a sigh,
For what once was has gone, and twilight nears.

Now friends and kinsmen number fewer, too,
And memories fade like the painted sign
Proclaiming that the city “Welcomes You!”
Strange how one’s soul and place so intertwine.

Life used to bustle round our stately square
‘Til commerce shifted to the edge of town.
The grand facades are now much worse for wear,
Some landmarks have been torn completely down.
The business of my life took me elsewhere,
Cracks grew in walkways of both man and town.


Notes:

Thomas Wolfe wrote “You Can’t Go Home Again,” but last year I made a couple of trips back to my childhood hometown. My high school class held a reunion, and there was the lingering matter of tidying up my late parents’ estate, which seemed like it would never get resolved.

I thoroughly enjoyed seeing my old classmates, and re-igniting long dormant memories. But, not all my classmates are doing well.  Not all of them made it back.  Not all are still alive.

The visits led to reflection, and that led to poetry.

 

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Hometown sonnet

Hometown
Life used to bustle round our stately square …

Hometown Sonnet

The old hometown is aging, as am I.
The once wide streets grow narrow with the years.
As night descends, you all but hear a sigh,
For what once was has gone, and twilight nears.
 
Now, friends and kinsmen number fewer too,
And memories fade like the painted sign
Proclaiming that the city “welcomes you!”
Strange how one’s soul and place so intertwine.
 
Life used to bustle round our stately square
’Til commerce shifted to the edge of town.
The grand facades are now much worse for wear.
Some landmarks have been torn completely down.
The business of my life took me elsewhere.
Cracks grew in walkways of both man and town.

 

 

Hometown Haiku (and a note for Father’s Day)

The Saline County Courthouse looms above the square in Marshall, Missouri
“Once, it was magic”

A recent trip back to my old hometown prompted some haiku.

Thomas Wolfe may have said “you can’t go home again,” but you actually can. It just won’t be the same as it was.

I’m not sure if there were any satori moments on this trip, but there were pangs of the heart. I’m posting this as a Father’s Day remembrance.

The old hometown seems
Smaller than I remember.
Once, it was magic.

Last time going home,
The old place sitting empty.
Memories and dust.

Mother and Father,
And all three of my brothers.
I alone remain.

Well over sixty
Dad built a barn by himself.
Now it, too, molders.

Father's old Bible
Held together with duct tape

Father’s old Bible
Held together with duct tape.
Now he’s face to face.

(A few years ago, on an earlier visit, my brother and I walked through the town cemetery)

Last time I saw him
We strolled between tombstones.
Now he has his own.

I left to find truth.
Yet here I am seeking scraps.
Scraps of memories.