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Open Poetry #47
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On The Way To The Bus Stop
| Open Poetry #47 |
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On The Way To The Bus Stop |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
 The season was mud..in fact mud-luscious, like in the Dylan Thomas poem, but there was no goat footed balloon man around. Winter was over, you could tell, by the green herb-grass scent, that overcame the snow-moldy fragrance--that drifts up from rotted turf.. As it does, just after the glove of frost has lost its grip on the warming earth. April had melted what ice was left with showers....It was time for goulashes, and yellow raincoats..kids in them, jumping puddles, on the way to the bus stop. Joy came easy, even when someone cut holes in your fun; Mothers with sharp tongues walking behind children, a little too far ahead. Women in curlers, holding robes together, where a truant button had skipped class.."you're gonna dirty your dress!"-"put that stick down!".. Guardiansslow in reaching the curb--Their first and third graders, already floating sticks in the gutter. Judgment's of the accused stand correct, but the demonstrators ignore what is said, about adjusting, behavior...How can one stop when your impulse is to sail the world, especially after it becomes your intent? A floating leaf, is a pirate ship, in the twirling baton of a child's imagination- attention is high money paid, when your strongest urge, is to float along Maple street curbs, on a crinkled, Blackbeard's galleon. With mind's not focused on where they were, but on adventure, that existed not in what was present, but far away on an ocean of excitement... The queens captain comes drifting over the wash in his orange schooner, to stay the little pirates from their crimes..the folding door opens... red lights blink-like flashing cannon's..and the buccaneers reluctantly enter the porthole of boring adult dreams... The order to board is demanded, so the kids walk the plank , that leads to their cabins, to be seated in preassigned order. Mothers turn, with a little sadness, as their minds move towards remembering... far by time-distant rides, as small hands wipe sweat-tears from the glass.. Rain-coat colors are a blur of yellow inside the bus; Movements through the smear are hard to see, things with fingers, small and pink wave goodbyes-to moms walking backwards..that don't see the puddles... that dampen their slippers...a match for small tears that moisten their eyes. note: Sorry the picture is so small. I don't know how to make it bigger? [This message has been edited by ice (05-27-2011 05:06 AM).] |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Ah, you brought back some memories here, Ice. A guy by the name of Charles Stuart and I did it all. Batman, pirates, the works. If I think back hard enough and read your piece seriously enough I can almost get that "feeling" I used to get when we vanquished the bad guys. Charles passed away about a month ago. Everybody is leaving me. Take care. ~ I went to a restaurant that serves "breakfast at any time" / I ordered French Toast during the Renaissance ~ |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
smile... a couple of sticks in a leaf would have to do when we couldn't sneak tin foil out of the house to make some masterpiece of Egyptian flotilla... and oh, spring, when the lizard eggs would hatch and those cute babies were everywhere. You brought me back to a world of wonder and I thank you. My mood needed this much.  This? "Judgment's of the accused stand correct, but the demonstrators ignore what is said, about adjusting, behavior...How can one stop when your impulse sail the world, especially after it becomes your intent?" There's so much mean in the world, Ford. *shaking my head sadly* *hugs prodigal poet* |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
Wow! now those are two special replies.:-) Thank you J.P., and Serenity..It seems these words,(which are in reality recolections)are able to move emotions and rememberance in others..that is the best compliment of all to a poet, in my opinion. Can someone please help me know how to post long lined poems in the "new topic" box? It doesn't seem wide enough for me to know where the end of the line is in the stanzas. I fixed a couple lines by messing with it, but couldn't on others..an e-mail would be appreciated.. thanks ford Come read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling And banish the thoughts of day. Longfellow |
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jwesley Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563Spring, Texas |
We were heavy into cowboys and indians and Tarzan (johnny weismuller Tarzan) so every chair arm was a horse and every door/doorway and tree-limb was a vine in the depths of the jungle, and poor Tuffy, bless his dog-lovin' heart, was a big black elephant!! Cool piece, my friend. j. |
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OwlSA Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347Durban, South Africa |
Ice, it felt as though you were writing about my childhood (with a few changes like my friend’s gate 2 doors up the road being 2 horses – she rode the one with the latch for reins, but I rode without a bridle) and memories of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “My Bed is a Boat” floated into the back of my mind, as I floated smiling through your beautiful dreamy poem in the front of my mind. I love Longfellow’s poetry, especially your signature quote from “The Day is Done.” I love all the responses, especially Jimmy’s comment about every chair arm being a horse and his precious darling Tuffy-dog being a big black elephant! I suspect that Tuffy enjoyed being an elephant and I KNOW he enjoyed being part of the games of Jimmy and his friends. Owl [This message has been edited by OwlSA (05-27-2011 02:44 PM).] |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Ford...you do bring back childhood, which even though different, has the same in imagination and belief. I rode a plum tree horse through a meadow of tall weeds, myself..then walked the rest of the way to school, only stopping to blow dandelions. |
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OwlSA Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347Durban, South Africa |
I love Martie's memories too. Ford, you have opened a treasure chest of a PIPful of exquisite memories, in the hearts of the holders and the readers. Owl |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
This line caught me quote: As some know, I didn't know ice in my beginnings but I knew puddles, and what you didn't relate as memories I'm sure that all who have read could add to it their own regions' memories... like bikes and bare toes and stopping quick on sandy roads directly on a red ants' hill... and what I called a "pepper" tree when surely it was something different but the high branches held me and its little nut-berries smelled peppery... and being a tomboy meant hating the idea of following Mom into Sears to buy a training bra when there was nothing to train... and writing a story in the eighth grade about seeing the year 2000...which was going to be in some future lifetime that one could hardly comprehend it... Yours is yet another keeper, Ford...and it is fun finding all of the poems that make me remember...thank you. Bless you. |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
I am completly ovewhelmed by these replys, actually a little misty eyed... You know, the way you feel when someone makes you feel so good something stirs the emotional rendering of a tear in the corner of your eye.. A good tear, a love tear.. a tear that cannot be explained because it comes from that place of happiness inside, that sits right next to sad.. But once in a while jumps up and says, it's my turn to fall; then by shear joy, it wells. I love every reply here, all are special. Namaste ford |
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OwlSA Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347Durban, South Africa |
Ford, I, too, know that power of warmth that flows from human interaction and appreciation, very especially here on Pip. I am glad you that you do too. However, if you will forgive a cliché, what goes around, comes around, and seeing that you consistently spread that warmth, kindness, concern and appreciation to so many of us in Pip, and then on top of that, you write such beautiful poetry, it follows that people will warm to you and your excellent poetry - not in any way denigrating the replies at all, but letting the sun shine on them - and most of all explaining them. Smiles. Owl |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
OMG, Diana...to use another cliche.. That is an amazing reply...thank you. Come read to me some poem, |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
quote: This alone is enough to bring deep emotion, dear Ford. That's the core of childhood. Children live in an expanded world and it is such a pity that adults build fences for them. A delightful, profoundly stirring work! And puddles of course are one of the greatest pleasures of every child. I called my Mom "little puddle" (Pfützchen), it seemed strange to those who couldn't see beyond appearances, but she was just an example of pure delight ... Love, Margherita  "Love is the One who masters all things; |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
Yes, lovely Margherita.. "That's the core of childhood. Children live in an expanded world and it is such a pity that adults build fences for them." That expanded world is the core/heart of a poets mind.. those who write have never grown up, and that is said in a very positive way. We that ride the luck dragon Fighting off the nothing In a world of never ending stories, We have brought along (Many times) from childhood memories.. We write them down because we have not lost the sense of adventure..and magic I can tell that magic exists in your poems And in every poem I read.. And they call us lost boys and girls, Because we still believe in Peter Pan.. Wait!, there is a brightness in the eastern sky this morning.. perhaps it is tinkerbell.. perhaps it just looks like the sun, to any other than a poet? Namaste ford Come read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling And banish the thoughts of day. Longfellow |
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