Autumn embraced me, and I embraced autumn,
for autumn was all over,
making life glorious--
and I had spring fever that autumn.
An autumn with a touch of spring fever
has added intensity,
making the whole world look beautiful--
beautiful even beyond autumn-beautiful.
Entering the restaurant,
I found Bobby in his familiar spot
between customers and cooking--
seated at a two-seated table
that shared a party-wall with the grilling area,
deep in thought and cigarette smoke.
I asked after his family--
his sons were both away at school;
his wife and two daughters were at church that evening.
There had been a revival
during the previous week,
and Lisa
--the baby-faced baby-of-the-family--
had given her heart to Jesus.
Tonight was her baptism!
I asked if there were still time
for me to make it to the service.
Bobby thought that I still had time,
though the church was in the next village to the north:
Horse Cave.
I knew the area well
but was unsure of the location of the church,
so he gave me simple directions
saying
that, if I got there and was still lost,
just ask.
It would be the only Black church in town.
I turned left onto W. Main,
crossing the railroad where I noticed the bright light
of an approaching train in the near-distance.
I passed their house
and
--before I had hung a right--
I could see the crossing signals come to life
in my rear-view mirror.
After parking behind the church,
I got out into a crisp, autumn night
with its stillness broken by the mournful, growl-of-jazz howl
of the locomotive's whistle
and the repetitive clickity-clack of the passing train
that was first in the forefront but gradually faded into the distance.
Then, there was
near-silence again--except for the brief sound
of the minister's raised voice
from within the church.
Then, silence again...
The church looked fairly large from the outside,
but the sanctuary seemed cozy and intimate
--a place that took you back in time four or five decades--
and had a soft, almost-Heavenly glow about it.
Those gathered therein were well-dressed
without being pretentious.
Lisa, I found out, had been baptized
just minutes before my arrival
but would be getting received by the congregation
during a line-up Communion.
I took my place in line--
a line that slowly moved towards the front of the church
while Were You There? was sung in a soft, haunting a capella.
My part of the line moved to where Lisa stood
--dressed in a simple linen dress--
still moist as a newly-bathed baby
and
wearing a wide grin
that was, simultaneously,
open and shy
joyful and serious.
She was
--all at once--
a little girl and a woman.
She was
--several minutes later--
totally-overwhelmed
and
sitting in a back pew
snuggled up to her big sister like a tiny kitten.
Later
--out in the cool, crisp air of the October night--
I relived my own baptism in 1963
at the age of ten
when I felt Heaven hugging me
beneath the water for those few unforgettable seconds.
Since October of 1986,
I've had this poem inside of me
waiting for the right time to come together--
and
even what I've written now
only lets the reader experience these memories
as if through a glass darkly.
Please remember that Authors are looking for feedback (both positive and negative). If leaving praise, or a critique, please try to qualify your comments - something a little more elaborative than 'Good job', or 'A Bit Boring' is generally encouraged. Please remember this is a creative writing site, so comments should always relate to the style of writing and the content, rather than a discussion about the views expressed.
Paul!
Thanks so much for your beautiful words. Everytime I read my poem, I'm back there in 1986 again--and, everytime I read the positive feelings of another about the poem, I'm also taken back there. When I read the words of those who don't find this poem to be meaningful to them, I pray that it will be someday, because I want them to feel the experience as best as they're able to in a second-handed way. I have a picture of Lisa's mom at another website/blog. Don't have the URL handy here but will be sure to share it as soon as I'm able to. Currently, I'm working on a wonderful, wonderful website. That--and attending a conference over the phone--will be my main projects of the evening. TTYL! AJ :-)
Ainsley Jo,what a touching poem.I almost felt as if i'd made the journey with you.Loved your definition of autumn,i'm almost willing it on.Hope you're relieved to have finally put these emotions into words.Enjoyed the trip.All the best,Paul
Lori! It was so much more beautiful than I was able to describe it in a mere poem, but I'm glad that I was able to take you there with me as much as humanly possible! Blessings! AJ :-)
Rick, I think (gathered from reading your profile) that this poem doesn't appeal to you for personal reasons, and there's nothing wrong with that. I will have to check out your own writings soon, but I can at least begin to understand from where you're coming here. I've written about one of your personal turn-offs--not just something you kinda just don't care for but, instead, something that has caused you a lot of personal pain. Of course, I'm talking about how religion has been introduced to you over the years--sadly (I'm just guessing this, but I think I'm right), in such a manner that it made you want to high-tail it in another direction. I wish that you liked my poem, but it doesn't make you any less of a person in my eyes because you don't. Hopefully, something I write here in the future will be more to your liking. Peace! AJ :-)
Ainsley Jo,
Welcome to WIT! Even though Don has said it, Welcome!
What a wonderful first poem for you to start us with! Although, I do disagree with your last stanza. You have hardly left me with "memories as if through a glass darkly." I felt, heard, smelled, and saw clearly every line of this, almost as if I were there myself. You have done your work here and put a loving memory to paper that will touch all who read it. I enjoy writing, but I love reading, and this was pure pleasure to read.
Thanks for sharing, Lori
Ainsley, This is a family 'poem' a sort of diary entry in verse, as such it is fine, as poetry of significant universal appeal it fails on many grounds, there is no consistent line of thought or development, structurally it is muddled and weak. The comments offrered are mostly made on emotional grounds and although personnally rewarding say little that takes the form of valid analysis and help, one or two actuall praise some of the worse elements of the piece. This is not public poetry, it is for those close to you those who share a very personnal and wonderful experience that the world at large does not cannot share. I am sorry I can't offer praise on this occasion, Best wishes, Rick
Selena...Thanks for taking the time to leave the wonderful feedback. To be honest, I wouldn't want to change a thing about this poem, but it's nice to know how others see it, anyway. Although I'd already made the reader aware that this was a poem about a baptism, the part in the poem where I mentioned that Lisa was being baptized represented the moment when I'd found out the news from her dad. I possibly could have described the church from the outside more than I did, but I was, at that point, more focused on getting inside--just as I had been back then. I think that the poem gave the feel of someone who was running late and was trying to miss out on as little as possible. When we formed the line of singing, communion-taking and receiving line was when things begin to slow down again and become more intense in their detail. :-)
Ainsley Jo,
what a beautiful poem. the first three stanzas are stunning. the repition of autumn and spring tand beautiful really sets the tone for the poem, the timelessness of a ritual and the novelty of it as well. the stanza that starts "The church looked.." and the first two lines in it i would like to see rephrased, though. while so much of the poem is intimate, these two lines seem more far removed and i understand that you have not yet entered this realm, and thus some distance must lie, but perhaps a change to convey an emanating warmth could help this.
also, "Tonight was her baptism" can be omitted entirely, as it is in the title and it is obvious through the reading of the poem that this is what you are here for. just a thought.
there are too many images of beauty and eloquence to count
/deep in thought and cigarette smoke and mournful, growl-of-jazz howl/
of the locomotive's whistle
are just a few...
stunning.
selena
Thanks for bringing me here! This seems like a really wonderful place of which to be a part, and what I've read of your work shows is also very impressive. You should write about your own daughter's christening, what it was like, and how you felt. Just an idea. Perhaps--as I was with Lisa--you have begun writing it but it's growing within you so that it will come out as a rose instead of a weed. But, again, what's a weed, anyway? Personally, I think that dandelions are beautiful! :-)
Really enjoyed this, Ainsley Jo. You captured the feeling of this special time. One of the happiest times of my life was when my baby daughter was christened - tons of people came from hundreds of miles away and I was on a cloud all day and night. Great job, and welcome to WIT. :)
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