The Gazeebo

A Poet's Place

The Gazeebo: Roses are Like Grandchildren

Except for the fact that, for the most part, the gardener expects that he’ll outlive the rose.  Of course, there are those sad and tragic moments where a gardener might die early in their life or the moments where the gardener has lived to a beautiful old age and dies peacefully.  But regardless, that rose is cared for and nurtured by both the bush that it came from and the gardener, who was the one to find its initial self just as a wee little bud.  Through the gardener’s care, that little bud turned into one amazing bloom, colorful and beautiful as ever.  The gardener knows that this rose needs to break from its parent bush to allow new ones to be born, and so it is put into a vase with that cool refreshing water to live out the rest of its life.  But, even though it did live a beautiful life, it’s always a sad day when a rose dies.  I mean, those last few days are it just losing all of its petals; it starts one by one, but soon two by two till the day you go to touch it and you unintentionally pull the last one from it.

And that’s the end of that.

Man, it was one sleepy Sunday.  We went shopping today though; I got some frames for a couple of drawings I did in an art class back in high school, as well as some new clothing for tomorrow’s follow-up interview.  I so hope that I get this job; if /once I do, I’ll be able to have more of a chance to get a car and then be able to visit some people I really want to see! 🙂

Now onto the poem; this one was written while visiting my property.  It was another self-portrait I had done that blew away and got caught under a tire, getting tire tracks on it.  I thought of a little bit of symbolism due to some of my past of being made fun of.  So, here it is; just know that I’m completely fine now 🙂

Tire Tracks on Route 23

Started as a creation by the hands of man,

a smile gleamed as sunlight shown on

eyes, a shadow darkening the forehead, very little

hair the man, its creator stroking

what was there.  Destiny, a plan for it to be born from

nothing.  Loved all the same, as it was in that

little room.  Years passed I, the creator watched as

I lived through its eyes.  People say that sticks and

stones are the only things that hurt, it’s a lie

for those words that we say bounce off the rubber

and land elsewhere like glue, cut the deepest.  You

can see scars and bruises but you’ll never

experience the tears that run down red cheeks as

it tries to close its eyes and pull the covers over its

face as the moon sits high.  You’ll never find its hiding

place on the playground as it draws smiling faces in the

sand, nor will you find the branch it sharpened but

never used.  No — you’ll see a smiling face at its

birthday parties as all its friends eat cake.  It’ll

look back on the photos at the faces, bored and wanting

to be elsewhere.  You’ll see anxious children wanting

to continue to play, not to take pictures.  But that won’t

matter for years later it’ll be free, it’ll leave

you and then come back home.  It’s something new,

those scars making it stronger, more beautiful

than ever, tears will fall no more.

But, I was talking about a different creation —

a depiction of it.  This started the

same by my hands but this had

a different look before the wind gods decided this

wasn’t finished.  Stained by grease, graphite

smeared, this is tire tracks on route 23.

© Jesse McDowell Lungren

Tire Tracks on Route 23


June 12, 2011 - Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , ,

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