Cloudy tendrils cling to hillsides
As a child to its mother on school’s first day
The bus driver beckons
Come, this way to new worlds
Mother’s kiss lingers on rosy cheek
Solid and eternal as the hills
Tag: childhood
The Golden Lie of Youth
I recall the halcyon
Of inviolable youth
When life
Stretched out before us
As an infinite loop of fun
While pain and suffering
Seemed ephemeral
As an all-better kiss
And adulthood perceived
As a condition of denial
That play is anything but
A full-time endeavour
Long since has that glitter faded
Pain and suffering
Joined now as companions
But little desire has this adult
To deny a child
The pleasure of play
Rather play along
Perhaps to live again
The golden lie
Of youth
Embraced
The waves they roll
With languid reach
Well up on
The shallow beach
While out to sea
They roil and pitch
To salt the air
With fragrance rich
With mem’ries dear
From childhood clear
When castles rose
Above the sand
And mother’s arms
With gentle grace
Wrapped me in
Her warming brace
Just as this ripple
Ends its leisured pace
Around my shoes
With wet embrace
Instamatic Memory Machine
Much as I hate moving
And all that packing
Which takes forever
As I go through the shoe boxes
Of memorabilia
Stacked in the closet
Which have remained unopened
Since the last time I moved
And all that packing
Which takes forever
As I go through the shoe boxes
Of memorabilia
Stacked in the closet
Which have remained unopened
Since the last time I moved
I have to admit
To some minor or major
Moments of fascination
Or delight
Or longing
Emotion moving my core
With some rekindled
Long-forgotten moment
Or chapter
In a life becoming much too long
To hold all the memories
Within my mind alone
A birthday card
A letter written but never sent
Elementary report cards
And aptitude test results
A story I’d written
With misshapen letters
And a child’s innocence
A Dragnet drama
Starring a detective snake
Age eight
Imagination ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #129
In the dimness
I saw a monster on my bed
But just a towel
In a jumble
A child’s mind
Trying to make sense
I saw a monster on my bed
But just a towel
In a jumble
A child’s mind
Trying to make sense
In reflections
I see a dragon breathing fire
But just a building
With a light on
Like the child
Imagination still at play
Should the day come
When I see only what’s there
No monsters, no dragons
Which I playfully must slay
How sad I will be
In a world so plain and grey
Gone Fishin’
Specular reflections
Like shattered glass
Milfoil reaches
For the light
Like shattered glass
Milfoil reaches
For the light
The waft of
Lazy water
In the air
A worm
A hook
A bobber
A length of string
And a stick
Contented child
All summer long
Barbwire and Corn
Headlights play
Over barbwire and corn
And I remember a bus driver
On the long way around
During spring semester
All our windows closed
His open wide while he
Takes deep nasal breaths
Over barbwire and corn
And I remember a bus driver
On the long way around
During spring semester
All our windows closed
His open wide while he
Takes deep nasal breaths
“Ahhh!”
He theatrically intones
Before another whistling breath
“Smell that fresh air!”
Musky dung beyond barbwire
Making us gag
As we pass his home
In a small development
Surrounded by farmer’s fields
“Mr. Abbott!” sang the chorus
fireflies
The fireflies
In the bottle by
My bed at night
Twinkle like
The stars outside
In the bottle by
My bed at night
Twinkle like
The stars outside
They power dreams
Of boyhood flight
To other worlds
Beyond the stars
Houston, we have a problem
When I was a kid we had one of those huge station wagons with the fake wood side trim and a jump seat that faced backwards. My dad loved to drive, so every weekend we’d pile into the car, all six of us, and go for drives through the central New Jersey countryside.
Remember Me
In the dusky hour, the shops and stalls closed up for the night. The day’s crowds still dwindling as I wander the streets.
I am in Kashgar’s thrall. Its people, its buildings, its colours, its smells. Its efficient simplicity, driven by foot and hoof on these back alleys and lanes. The smiles; the furrowed brows; the twinkling eyes, the hard glares: of shopkeepers and shoppers.
Pix to Words 