tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post613473923739057265..comments2024-02-17T21:40:24.532-07:00Comments on Carol's Corner: POETRY FRIDAYCarolhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13294455230627182656noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-39112055361028910512015-08-18T03:16:30.159-06:002015-08-18T03:16:30.159-06:00Your brave words echo Mama's hearts so beautif...Your brave words echo Mama's hearts so beautifully, so honestly, Carol. I love you and I adore your writing.Laura Lynn Bensonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12105412258346062373noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-56371988960906990462015-08-17T12:09:20.924-06:002015-08-17T12:09:20.924-06:00Oh my! I have goosebumps.
The line:
"I want...Oh my! I have goosebumps. <br />The line: <br />"I want to grab his belt loops<br />and yank him backward<br />into childhood." captures my summer with my 18 year old testing the waters of "being an adult". I think I slept less this summer with her than I did all through her infancy. <br />Thanks for sharing your gut wrenchingly brave and honest poem, Carol. =)Bridget Mageehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18185985167366724404noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-71982939750713822082015-08-16T05:13:04.960-06:002015-08-16T05:13:04.960-06:00I like the little details (e.g. "flour-dusted...I like the little details (e.g. "flour-dusted boots") and that, although you are worried, he is striding out, making his way confidently. It's hard (impossible?) not to worry, but I hope that you can get a good night's sleep! Tabathahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14367572663591077922noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-50031496096786638202015-08-15T21:34:34.430-06:002015-08-15T21:34:34.430-06:00Carol, your reflective night thoughts give rise to...Carol, your reflective night thoughts give rise to the image of the worrying parent. We all seem to be involved with this to different degrees. I am thrilled that your man child has a job as sweet as it is. Carol Varsalonahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02589714711155938528noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-44282692375501087492015-08-15T09:10:54.119-06:002015-08-15T09:10:54.119-06:00The parenting path is fraught with worry and you c...The parenting path is fraught with worry and you captured it in this poem. Like Mary Lee, I was ready for a sweet donut poem when I saw that picture. Ramonahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15929914252480696798noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-62905610068032277352015-08-15T06:10:53.468-06:002015-08-15T06:10:53.468-06:00This is one of your best, I think. I was prepared ...This is one of your best, I think. I was prepared to go all "YUM! Donuts!!", but you caught me off guard with your imaginings. And that ending. Wow.Mary Leehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09078793537148794310noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-23030063282600801812015-08-14T15:50:52.953-06:002015-08-14T15:50:52.953-06:00Very moving poem. I love the last stanza--yank hi...Very moving poem. I love the last stanza--yank him back by his belt loops--great alliteration. Excellent music.Joyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01825251724115541708noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-19145937959762128352015-08-14T10:23:37.439-06:002015-08-14T10:23:37.439-06:00I love, love, LOVE that last sweet stanza, Carol. ...I love, love, LOVE that last sweet stanza, Carol. And how true - we raise them to worry about them for the rest of our lives, don't we?Tarahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13626451110946889157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7724394291330902141.post-36393990849132615812015-08-14T07:53:06.334-06:002015-08-14T07:53:06.334-06:00Oof. I like being older and wiser, generally. But...Oof. I like being older and wiser, generally. But one aspect of it that I don't enjoy is that I can't hold on to my previously blithe expectation that life is a harmless adventure. I imagine plane and car crashes too, slicings and burnings and freak swimming accidents--not, like, constantly, but way more often than I ever did. Your poem works the doughnut angle very nicely, Carol (and I'm primed to enjoy that because my son, nearly 13, is Duncan, called Donut while in utero!)Heidi Mordhorsthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16496427007514895950noreply@blogger.com