»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #11
»
The Chalkboard
| Open Poetry #11 |
|
The Chalkboard |
|
|
jwesley Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563Spring, Texas 
|
...guess this is more prose than poetry but thought I'd stretch the definition and try and squeeze it in here. jimmy The Chalkboard When I was a toddler, a crawling-walker, always looking up from way down there, my dad put a chalkboard on the wall. I had to stand up to reach it but I dearly loved putting my colored marks on it's green face. I'd spend hours just scratching, and covering, then using my hands, sometimes my tongue, and somehow my hair, I'd rub it all off and all over me. I later learned those hours, so wonderfully spent, were fifteen or twenty mommy minutes. And mommy; she so dutifully wiped off all the pinks, blues, whites and greens I'd worked so hard to acquire. Sometimes I'd cry when she did because I wasn't ready to be just plain, toddler-colored me again. I wanted to stand out, be a flash of color, a living rainbow, as I ran around the house. Sometimes she would let me - and I'd grab dog's tail and crawl-walk from room to room, a multi-hued, chubby grub from which dog kept trying to walk away. I loved dog too. When I was too old to toddle, adolescence I guess, the chalkboard had become a real mainstay in my life. It was still the bearer of my many scribbles, but it had also taken on periodic coats of real art. I'd gotten really good at drawing people, you know, a big round head, stick body and legs; and I even understood gender now, with a triangle skirt for my stick girls, and hair on their round heads. And real words appeared, much to my amazement, under the end of the chalk. Words that even meant something to other people. But I still saved some for me, some that only I could decipher, like psygimitgeed; mommy could be psygimitgeed, daddy couldn't; which meant I could sucker mommy into things, daddy was a lot harder, meaner. And then I turned thirteen, and this chalkboard which all these years was something for me and my friends to play on suddenly became the place to meet. Cryptic notes, phone numbers, doodles, and of course initial filled hearts would magically appear. Love, hate, friendship, sorrow and wondrous happiness all made their mark; many hands spoke and drew, in pastel colors, on my chalkboard, this living, constantly changing, diary of many lives. I'm an adult now, nineteen, a woman, and still pass that chalkboard on the wall, in the hallway. Mostly it's empty now, the only constant being my cell phone number; but occasionally, every now and then, something magically appears; a note, a phone number, something silly, or my favorite - I love you. That chalkboard, such an integral part of me for so many years, just hangs there, it's green face waiting; waiting for a splash of color from the nubby pieces of chalk still sitting in the bucket below with two much used erasers that are almost as old as me. It waits with the patience of a chalkboard for the child in us all, for the children I'll one day bear, for the loving touch of scratches, scrawls, drawings and words. It's just a chalkboard; a silly chalkboard but my, the wonders it has seen. w. james beard, jr. © December 2000 |
||
| © Copyright 2000 Wesley James Beard, Jr. - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
What images you left behind in the chalkdust of memories...and I especially liked the rainbow rug-rat...this is precious James, and a rainbow-colored-keeper! Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, than speak loudly and be bound. KRJ |
||
|
inot2B Member Elite
since 2000-09-18
Posts 2205Arkansas |
"It's just a chalkboard; a silly chalkboard but my, the wonders it has seen." Oh no it's not a silly chalkboard. I enjoyed watching you grow before my eyes. |
||
|
Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
And then I turned thirteen, and this chalkboard which all these years was something for me and my friends to play on suddenly became the place to meet. Cryptic notes, phone numbers, doodles, and of course initial filled hearts would magically appear. Love, hate, friendship, sorrow and wondrous happiness all made their mark; many hands spoke and drew, in pastel colors, on my chalkboard, this living, constantly changing, diary of many lives. =============== JW this is wonderful writing... so creative and unique and such wonderful moments of memories laced in innocence .. brought back many similar memories for me as well, of an old chalkboard hung in our playroom in the basement, me and lil sis spent hours on that thing ...thanks for bringin those memories up  excellent work jm Some people find subtlety in strangers if you find anything~let me in Your eyes~you see everything my eyes~I see it all together now~and I know |
||
|
jwesley Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563Spring, Texas |
Sunshine...yep, I remember my two rugrats being covered in chalkdust and loveing every minute of it. inot2b...thanks, my friend, watching my two grow was wonderful indeed. Janet Marie...Never had a chalkboard myself when I was growing up, but soon as I had kids I put two (right next to each other, about 30x15 inches each on the wall at crawl-walking height and finally moved them up to about 3' centered where they have stayed for the last 15 or so years. Mine are 18 & 19 now and they still use those boards as do all their friends. No one comes in the house that don't visit the chalkboards in the hall. It's probably the best thing I ever did. |
||
Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
JWesley~ This is just such a wonderfully written piece of loving memories. I am so pleased to read this one over again and to share it with friends. Thank you for being a writer and for sharing with us. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ noles1@totcon.com |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
