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Literature Text
Now is the time, I think, to say goodbye, my friend
to all those Summers past we can so easily recall.
Who thought those childhood days would ever end,
Looking back, my friend, I see we had it all.
The streets were ours, housed many treasures hidden,
The trees we climbed so fearless to survey
a world where boring adults were forgotten
and all of time was just a time to play.
Sticks were swords swashbuckling with intent
or wands that glowed with incandescent light.
Boxes were our houses free from rent.
Backyards were arenas where we’d fight.
Adult larders just existed to be raided.
Jam and cakes we’d consume while on the run.
We’d find a dirt hill as the day’s end faded
and return a little blacker home to mum.
Past memories are so clear and sharp my friend,
yet recent ones have vanished into air.
Are you listening? Can you hear me my good friend?
Or can it be that you were never really there?
to all those Summers past we can so easily recall.
Who thought those childhood days would ever end,
Looking back, my friend, I see we had it all.
The streets were ours, housed many treasures hidden,
The trees we climbed so fearless to survey
a world where boring adults were forgotten
and all of time was just a time to play.
Sticks were swords swashbuckling with intent
or wands that glowed with incandescent light.
Boxes were our houses free from rent.
Backyards were arenas where we’d fight.
Adult larders just existed to be raided.
Jam and cakes we’d consume while on the run.
We’d find a dirt hill as the day’s end faded
and return a little blacker home to mum.
Past memories are so clear and sharp my friend,
yet recent ones have vanished into air.
Are you listening? Can you hear me my good friend?
Or can it be that you were never really there?
Literature
how to raise a broken kid
i.
i was born in the eye of a raging hurricane
in the night where all the rivers
turned the water into tears---
there was pain and there was rain
and muffled whispers to my ears
from that day i recognize
the face and color
of my fears
ii.
let them claim me
let them drain me
till my last droplet of hope
let them crucify me hollow
through a kid's kaleidoscope
let them dress me with their sins
and their outdated type of skins
let them paint me with their colors
and pretend i didn't see
iii.
in the corner of the room
broken bones on broken bed
paint is dripping down the walls—
fading colors under red
i can't breathe and i can't
Literature
21st century child
The most important thing I've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is to never Never NEVER
let them come near your computer screen ever.
Oh yes, I know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
They will spend their entire day
Texting and clicking and typing away, but hey!
At least you can wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
What this social media and whatnot
Does it your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!!
I
Literature
Deliverance
Existing at the mouth of obscurity;
disoriented and misplaced by your
fickle exploitation as prevailing gales
usher my liberation and acknowledge me
as a woman redeemed from ashes.
I battled for every inch gained beyond
your insolence; no longer a forgiving hostage
of perpetual manipulation. Renewing a life
in the midst of immoral confinement, to save
a mind now flawed as it counters your hysteria.
At last, you have departed my punished
subconsciousness, leaving behind a marred
courage, eternally revived. The domination
that annihilated my faith has ignited a
persistence unrivaled by your miserable life.
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This left me with a very sad feeling. I have been looking through old photos, which no doubt prompted this poem. Growing old and looking back on childhood are favorite subjects of mine. This one touches on dementia. The childhood mentioned here is an unsophisticated one without gadgets, intricate games and expensive toys in the days when imagination was pretty much all that was needed to make use of everyday items and things that nature offered.
© 2016 - 2024 shelleypalmer
Comments13
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Beautiful Poem. The way it ended made me feel a little sad. The rhyme and meter are exceptional. Nothing seems forced, or out place. This poem is very well written. I enjoyed it very much.