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2012 Poetry Theme Challenges#21 The Best Years |
Some say childhood years are the best. The days we were free to play and imagine before the heavy duty side of life kicked
in and we had to earn a living, keep our own homes seem to be blissful indeed. These days kids seem consumed by hi-tech and not
the simple games of my childhood and I wonder how many of them will remember possessing a precious "twelvsie" marble, so called
because I had shattered 12 marbles belonging to my friends with it, or sending a Dinky car on a death trip on a plastic track
that spiralled down the stairs. So the challenge this time is the toys and games from our childhoods before the Xboxes and Wiis
took over.
Jemmy XXXX |
The Best Years
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Terry ClitheroeOpening my toybox after all this time Silent tears begin to fall down my face Seeing memories covered in dust and grime. The beings there all lie sentient now Uncared for, ignored, yet alive somehow. Yes! Aware and alive and still with form For what is memory but a previous norm? It's a place of solitude with so much around. There is no one to understand my place. Yet no-one would know just by the sound? Those within saw my look and my shame, They knew of my life, I was not to blame. So we sat and talked all through the night By the following morn everything was right.  ----- Colours From My Toybox It's something I did when I was alone, Cognisant now but never repentant To all intents, by my parents unknown. I did nothing I was ashamed of. Aeroplanes and nudes, I would paint Too young to know or care about love, My sketchings in a book, I wasn't a saint. Before I was taught to write in verse I used crayons and sketches as my escape Everyone seemed older which was worse. My parents would leave me in charge And frustrations and desires would discharge. But I didn't go to bed when I said I would My use of crayons was well understood. Perhaps by that time I'd seen too much strife And overheard too many conversations My crayons released my feelings about life. Even then realising the hypocrisy of adults My innocence belying awakening sensations, They refused to allow me in their council My coloured crayons, became my expressions. Noiseless always as my feelings were birthed On cartridge paper solid enough to draw on To hold my feelings, for what they were worth. Would you like to join me here in my recall? Watching the world go by, sit here quick Choose one of my crayons, here take your pick But not the dark red it's my favourite of all.  ----- Heartbreak in the Toybox Did you lie to me 'cause of what I see, Or were you just lying to feel good? Owli looks at you and then at me. He blinks, looks confused and cries, The others in the Toybox sit, stunned. Were you lying to you, believing your lies? Wambi, so tough yet so soft, sobs gently. And I have felt his pain times before He is crying because he trusted you, It's hard to trust, yet he did once more. My heart, yes it is broken! See, I bleed, And I gave to you, I gave all I had inside. Kanga looks accusingly at you and your deed We all loved you and were fooled as you lied.  ----- Hearts Lost in the Toybox The music being played is sad now, And Kanga wipes away a little tear, Even Wambi has a little sniffle to show She has gone away and they miss her, For even toys have souls and feelings. It began that first day that was just a blur I had ignored them for my other dealings Then I knew I had lost them to her, But I didn't mind, they had lost me. And ignored me, I was only a bother. Now a sad little band's gathered here, She hurt more than me when she went away Now each one's lost, and sharing the misery What would it take for her to stay? Even Owli is sad and speechless. The bright colours of the toybox Look drab, lifeless and meaningless. Kanga's swinging his tail in a corner Then moved away as unimportant, And in his home he is a foreigner, We all try to forget her, but we can't. An hour is too long without her, Two weeks has days too many hours, We want her here, now, right there. We must wait until cloth hearts heal And mine surely is my main concern But my heart is not made of cloth Will that also heal with her return?  ----- Her Toybox I spent so much time in love's joy I simply forgot all about myself Now I am just another cast off toy. Just gathering dust on your shelf. Promising you love me with a smile. The only one you love is yourself And I'm defunct no longer in style. The model you desire is new. Now I lie here just a cast off Not even a memory with you. Whilst you have moved on I've been replaced by a wannabe I'm wishing only that with time You will once against want me.  ----- Marbles in my Toybox I hold a complete universe in a small black tin Containing marbles, small round imagined spheres There a young boy sees his imagination begin. Forming stories, adventures I'd play my part The glass became the sea, the colour the land; A world with dreams and voyages on demand Holding a glass ball; an adventure would start. There in the Land of Nod reality was not fit On some worlds defending freedom, is the norm And free will has not been granted nor will it. In this Garden of Eden, anything was norm Strangely this globe is never cold, always warm. I will never ever part with this collection In writing my will I must use circumspection.  ----- My Toybox at First There was a time when my Toybox was all In there was Kanga, Wambi, and Dingo, my pals, And above us was Owli, the clock on the wall. When I was young I'd to talk to Owli all night Together we would get into a terrible maul In the deepest danger we'd hear his call He'd sit and listen and help, make things right. Together we'd escape from that dangerous state And later brag about what fun we'd had But who had saved us was Owli our mate. He just sat there, never saying a word But we knew who had saved us each time And never given him any credit, our crime In those days to apologise was just absurd.  ----- Tears in my Toyboxt I was 10 and playing with my friends My father saw me and packed a wobbly Your too old for this, this is where it ends. So I closed the lid on them and walked away My tin soldiers were the finest in the world, Only the meccano and leggo allowed to play So a different pattern of behaviour unfurled. During the week when my father was away I'd do what I liked because he couldn't see But at weekends I daren't go astray. Kanga and Wambi knew right from the start, And wise old Owli, obviously knew more. They knew that very soon we'd have to part They all knew our friendship was no more.  ----- Guilt is a Heavy Burdon I gave up everything for you You became my favourite toy There wasn't anything I wouldn't do. Wambi and the others look at me I see the accusation in their eyes And feel their betrayal justifiably I wonder, dare I compromise Owl sits there, he's far wiser than I But he just sits there and looks so sad As if to say; "why! Why! WHY!" I turn away guilt, it's a heavy burden, And use the excuse that I am older. But then I realise all of a sudden They too are older, and only need me.  ----- Future of the Toybox Today I was reminded of my past My grandkids were looking in my toybox And Kanga and Wambi cried out, "At last". Even Owli's replacement looked and smiled Realising that dream life had begun again. We have now a different Owl and child But the same Kanga and Wambi reign. The same Kanga and Wambi that I loved Have moved on but sense my lineage And will carry on knowing its approved. They will show the girls their dreams And with them their fantasies play Until adulthood and all its schemes Will ultimately seduce them away.  back to list |
Divena CollinsImages of play shall come into view When he opens the page of a book But what he see's may not be true As imagination takes over his mind Not everyone shall think the same And finds visions of another kind Imagination shall take the blame He see's before him green fields Flying high his kite over the brook Is this really what his image yields Or fantasy within a childs dream He see's what he wants to believe To be always what it might seem That only a dream shall conceive.  ----- Youthful Fantasy I recall days when my life was young So green the country had featured There at the top of my voice I sung I was happy to be there on my own For deep inside instincts had flown To a safe retreat I felt complete All my life I had been so discreet Where e`er feelings of passion lay If only to be complete upon my own It was here I forever want to stay Friends I had of beast and birds To them only I spoke soft of words Yet I found myself for many a day Yearning for more in a natural way.  Art By Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale back to list |
Jem FarmerStanding on the threshold of adulthood The building blocks and games became the past Long days of laughter turned and vanished fast The need for play we all misunderstood. I swapped the plastic dolls for crimson lips Replacing Barbie in fashion's parade Whilst swilling beer instead of lemonade And cashing-in the worker’s green payslips. The years have passed to times of looking back I wonder where it went off the dreamy track The career failed to path my way in gold From 9 to 5 never giving any slack I'm looking back and feeling time grow old As childhood dreams return to make me bold.  ----- My Dearest Fred Through darkest nights I had a friend To hold my hand and wipe my tears My broken heart was his to mend. His name was Fred, my special mate We came together, it was fate My other toys I've put away But Fred, he's here with me to stay. My childhood secrets we would share The hopes and dreams, and deepest fears When no one else was there to care. The only bear to hold my heart How years have worn your seams apart I've mended you from toe to head To keep you near my dearest Fred.  back to list |
Peter WillowdownLovely flower open your petals and let me smell you, wrap your arms around me and enfold me in your manifold charms. I am not a busy bee nor am I a humming bird but I will love you pleasantly, enraptured by your nectar. Lovely flower don't be shy I am weary but not wanton I am but a traveller, no common thief or highwayman but still I would inspect your treasure. Open your petals and let me bury my nose in your sweet and lovely fragrance, let me savour the early morning's dew drop on your trembling flesh with my eager and curious tongue - I am no drunkard or vagabond merely a man in need of such sustenance as only you can provide. Lovely flower open your petals open them wide now is the hour shower me with thirst-quenching love. I am not a hawk nor an I a dove, I am merely a man and a poet, fallen, fallen from above. The daffodil and daisy the buttercup and rose... I loved them for a little while but then I saw you burning like a little golden chalice gleaming in the gloaming. I have run through twilight fields to seek you, my legs all torn with thorns; do not close your heart to me or give me to the Moon's white worms - open your petals and keep me from all cold and harm. I would climb the old forgotten staircase made of perfume and dreams and walk upon the mist-wreathed banks of the lovely crystal stream that meanders through the Land of the Everlasting where Angus Og walks forever between green hills and Pan is always playing his pipes beneath eternal summer stars... Open your flower now is the hour together our comingled essences will climb the staircase and the ladder; quickly now, before some mischievous zephyr blows this dreaming world away like a puff of incense or smoke. Up the gently spiralling slope pull me by the golden rope through the sky's secret trapdoor carefully concealed in Heaven's sweet-meadowed floor by God before he fled the world to chase a pretty flower girl. back to list |
Maryse and PeterScooldaysPeter Chocolate bear days and licorice dreams when you could buy Four Walkers, Four Fruit Salad or Four Black Jacks for just a penny, crowded shoulder to shoulder in the Tuck Shop before the school bell rang. Lucky Bags and Flying Saucers, Swizzles, Lovehearts and Aniseed Balls, toasted coconut tobacco and sweet cigarettes (a full chocolate Smiker's Kit ay Christmas with chocolate cigarettes and cigars, a chocolate pipe, matches and lighter). Floral tablets and Acid Drops, Kola Kubes and tubes of Smarties, Chocolate Eggs and frozen Jublies, jelly-beans and jelly-babies, sugar mice and twigs of Sticky Bark; wine-gums, toffee apples, and for the old ladies, butterskotch and barleysugar, Everton Mints and Old Fashioned Spangles. Mars Attacks and American Civil War gum and cards with pictures so violent and gory there were calls to have them banned... Is it any wonder that when we finally exited the Assembly Hall to go to lessons, having sung the praises of Jesus and been admonished to bring our School Fund in on time we twitched and fiddled at our ancient, initial scarred desks, flicking inly pellets of paper at each other, passing secret messages and drawing of robots and nudes feet and fingers tapping, tongues and senses buzzing far too much to pay attention to the mundane facts of Geography and History, French verbs or balancing quadrilateral equations, waiting for the eleven o clock bell signalling break when we all piled out into the playground to play football or tag or watch the inevitable fight in the corner behind the bike shed, shouting and eager for the first bright drops of blood to stain the dirty concrete red... Maryse I started school late, I was almost six I remember the first day my Mum took me in To register me and then to get the things I needed. I was thrilled with my books, bag, pencils, sharpeners and erasers My lunch kit and uniforms, white shoes and socks... We even had to wear a tie. But when the day rolled around that I was due to start I was a mess. I fought, and kicked and screamed. For weeks my cousin, older by four years, Would bring me home at lunchtime, She, perspiring, huffing and puffing. Me in floods of tears, sobbing. Sometimes she was sympathetic, at other times She would tell me, as she dragged me along, "I really don't like you Maryse Achong." After all I was taking her away from her friends and her lunch break, Though I couldn't care less... I just needed to get home. My parents tried everything. My Mum would make up funny songs as she bathed and dressed me At mornings and I would be crying. They questioned me gently, spoke to my teacher. It was Quite simple. My answer was: "I don't want to go to school..." why couldn't they just understand that. She packed things I liked in my lunch kit and I would leave with my Dad and older brother. He would give me pocket change for the tuck shop. By then I would be fine, but by late morning I would be bawling like a banshee. When my cousin couldn't or wouldn't bring me home, I would cry so hard that My teacher would drive me home. Then suddenly everything changed... I made new friends and began to enjoy school. I was up in the mornings, showered and dressed and eager to Get going... my parents, and no doubt my cousin and teacher, breathed Sighs of relief. Peter They say they are the best days of our life but for some they are days of endless strife, bullying and despair over coming exams, breeding grounds for drug addiction and petty crime - not everybody survives the system - how many shoot outs and massacres take place every year in the land of the free and virtual lack of gun control? Checkpoints at the gates in search of knives. It all seemed so much simpler forty years ago Where, I wonder, did innocence go? Maryse Even small islands in the sun Are under threat of knife and gun Within the very walls Of those once hallowed halls Of education, learning. Those were the days of fun and fears Of madcap joy, of bitter tears Yet still we always knew We were the lucky few And there were others yearning To have that chance; and now it’s free Some have no sense of loyalty They show no gratitude, Display bad attitude... Old values quickly spurning. What has happened to our children? Where did we go wrong? |
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