Compared to the world children are growing up in today----refugees, excess of media, global economy, climate change, mass shootings, etc.
It's true that you can never come home, but memories still linger. But do you remember life was so much simpler?
Playing in rock pools by the sea,
watching crabs scuttle, fish dash about
and anemonies grabbing my finger.
Climbing the old look-out tree.
Reading tales from The Olive Fairy Book.
Playing with the sounds of words.
Learning to draw and loving what the eye sees.
How painting could change my feelings.
My dog, Jamie, licking my face.
Imagining the Phoenix in the coals of the fire
while a wild storm raged outside in the night.
Learning from a friendly neighbour
which side of a pencil line to cut a piece of wood.
The smells of jasmine and pittosporum flowers in spring.
Hearing butcherbirds carolling.
The taste of a ripe yellow peach.
A long, hot bath.
The bright vermillion dazzle I could see
when I closed my eyes to look at the midday sun.
Spinning till I fell down dizzy
and the watching the world spin round.
I don't think i have any...
None.
living in south america before my family moved to nyc
Not a poet yet but trying to learn the art.
here's another of a different ilk,
the stilted grown up era...
Sage
(with apologies to Shakespeare)
Let me not in the carriage of false thought
Be carried far away. Sage is not sage
That travels book lost mazes ever fraught
Or runs the concepts lock'd in mental cage.
Rather; it is the sailing scrutiny,
That rides through storm wracked seas and is not broken;
It is the map and compass, to a destiny
Of no fixed place, that lets the heart be woken.
Sage has not thyme's taste, though many savours pass
And each invokes a longing, or disgust.
Sage is time grown up and growing still in practise,
Towards all that lives, the growth of love in trust.
And yet with all the errors I have made
I can never tell... whether I am sage.
