Time Marches On (poem) by Richard Lee King on AuthorsDen

Time Marches On
by Richard Lee King → (All Poetry by Richard Lee King)
Rated "G" by the Author.

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Lately, I’ve been thinking about Time and its affect on our memory of how things were… It seems we tend to make things out to be much better or much worse than they actually were. Quoting one of my recent reviews of a fellow Denmate, “Time sometimes makes those old memories superior to the reality they actually were.”
*TIME MARCHES ON* The older I get the more my memory fades, yet at times it still seems clear. Often my older memories seem like they were just last year. With great fondness I remember many events from my youth, but often times my memories couldn’t be further from the truth. It was a mile and a quarter to school and yes, there definitely was a hill. But, there were also joys in that walk that I retain as memories still. We didn’t have bicycles nor did any of our neighbors, but a bus took us to the “big school” once we became 9^th graders. The winters seemed much harsher in our old un-insulated home, but to hear about it now, you’d think we lived in Nome. We didn’t get our first TV until I was around ten or eleven. Watching Ed Sullivan with Mom & Dad was like being in seventh heaven. Time somehow makes old memories superior to their actual being, but by today’s standards, on those old TV’s, the shows were hardly worth seeing. We only got two channels, three if you count the snow and since there was only one TV we all watched the same damn show. The Mickey Mouse Club came on about four or five and if I should miss Spin & Marty I was sure I wouldn’t survive. When Lawrence Welk came on, Mom was in control, but watching Champaign bubbles was never one of my goals. That’s when I’d do my homework, or finish up my chores. If there was nothing else to do we’d just mess around outdoors. Yeah, I remember those old days back there on the farm, that good clean country living never caused me any harm. “The older I get the more my memory fades, yet at times it still seems clear. Often my older memories seem like they were just last year.” Copyright © 2011 Richard Lee King. All Rights Reserved.

Reviewed by Annabel Sheila

Reviewed on December 5, 2011

You brought back a lot of great memories from my youth in this one, Ronald...with such a delightful lyrical lilt to your words...very much enjoyed this piece!

Anna

Reviewed by Christine Tsen

This was a great journey back, Dick! Your insights are wise and entertaining.
Blessings,
Christine

Reviewed by Ed Matlack

Reviewed on December 4, 2011

Tis funny, I was just remarking to someone how we seem to make our pasts look bad maybe to get some kind of pity, I don't know...better to forget the past & not worry about the future, live in the here & now from moment to moment...liked all your descriptions of your childhood...I remember watching the big TV (25inch) in the living room with mom & dad with the northeast winds blowing off the ocean & shaking the house...ed

Reviewed by Donna Chandler

Reviewed on December 3, 2011

As always, well written with excellent rhythm. You put into verse the exact thoughts of many.

Donna

Reviewed by jude forese

Reviewed on December 2, 2011

touches home ... well written ...

Reviewed by Janna Hill

It seems many minds are currently on the same wave length/topic of time, making this a "timely" write. And it's not just for those getting old(er). I think many long for a simpler time.
:) Janna

Reviewed by Joy Hale

Your poem contains the words of my own heart! I have spoken similiar words to my children and our friends often discuss the 'good ole' days" with us with such fondness. Time, my friend, will most likely never be the same again for us, but we do have a storehouse of precious memories and nobody can take that away from us! An absolutely wonderful poem and nostalgic look back at a innocent time.

Joy L. Hale

Reviewed by Patrick Granfors

You haven't forgotten the memories, you forgot which drawer you stored them in. Root around and you'll find that drawer. The dresser is probably in your mental garage beneath all the tools you didn't put away last time you used them. Patrick