the glen
the path that winds downhill
is overgrown this year;
it catches the wheels of my cart,
spills out my water.
i am late to this painting party -
grapes are mostly eaten,
remaining guests sparse,
folding chairs scattered the length of its cut bank.
an older artist studies roots downstream;
mid-stream, a lady with laugh lines
paints the patterns of the mud bank;
downhill, an acrylic artist sits at the meadow’s end in sunlight.
i pick up discarded debris – pinecones, dropped moss,
a flower; nothing feels like i belong;
i fidget, drag my laden kit, listen to bridge rattle my wheels.
i just can’t locate my right spot.
i follow the west side of the steep-seated creek,
muddy banks cut with rivulets of recent rains;
all the favorite vantages are claimed
and the northern bridge, the worn wooden one - washed out.
i wander back, cross the metal grating of the south bridge -
wheels a noisy clatter as they advance and fall.
i know my tardy attendance disturbs contemplation …
my late arrival, my baggage, my inexperience.
i lug my hopes and kit to the meadow & turn;
that picnic area i just passed through
filled with dappled sap-green glow,
branches arched overhead, outlined in sunlight.
here i belong;
artists who came before me pose on waterbanks.
light & shadow dance iin light breezes
as summer waits on the wing -
this nostalgia calls for watercolor.
About this poem
Published in Write The Town 2016. Mid-Valley Poets Society.2016. Written on site at The Glen at Capital Manor, Salem, Oregon.
Font size:
Written on May 28, 2016
Submitted by Ariel on September 19, 2021
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:11 min read
- 4 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XXXA XBCD XXDE XFXX XXXX XXBX XXXE FCXX A |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 1,342 |
Words | 238 |
Stanzas | 9 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 1 |
Translation
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"the glen" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 13 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/109943/the-glen>.
Discuss the poem the glen with the community...
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In