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Rock Throwers (from Boyhood Tales)
| Open Poetry #11 |
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Rock Throwers (from Boyhood Tales) |
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jwesley Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563Spring, Texas 
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There always seems to be a rock around when you need one. More so when you're young and into throwing rocks. Stops Sign were always prime targets. Every Stop Sign needed to be hit by a rock; especially if you were riding a bicycle, or were on skates. They weren't as easy to hit then, you had to consider speed, wind, the awkwardness of launching a missile while riding or skating; you had to do it with out falling off your bike, or tumbling head over heals on your skates, because, of course, you had to throw it as hard as you could. Of prime importance was the amount of noise it made, and if you could dent the Stop Sign with an ordinary throwing rock, you were treated with the awe of a hero. The ultimate hero, though, was the one who launched it from furthest back, hit it, and dented it too. Not all rocks are made for throwing and just like fingerprints, throwing rocks are peculiar to individuals. Shape, weight, size, graininess all had to be considered. You never knew if it was any good until you hefted it in your hand a few times. Then it went into storage; your pocket, until needed or replaced by a better model. Rock Throwers, like anything else, had classifications. There was Top Dog, the Man, the god; he could do anything with a rock. It was even rumored that the neighborhood God of Rock Throwers, could toss one out, hit whatever he wanted and have it return to his hand. I was a god, and I did my best to nurture that rumor. It was a lie of course, but my skill at rock throwing was sufficiently better than most, so perpetuated the lie. Then there were the Best Rock Throwers, the Good Rock Throwers, the Not So Good, the Newbies, and the poor kids that were better off just following along, watching everyone else; those guys were dangerous. Eventually even rock throwing gods are usurped. It's the way of the animal kingdom. But I was a god among gods; spoken of in hushed, reverent tones. My reputation grew from neighborhood to neighborhood, city to city, all by word of mouth. Six or seven of us were headed down Oriole St., targeting trash cans, trees, anything that needed to be hit. A Blue Jay flew past, crossing the street to land in a Willow Tree, twenty yards away. It disappeared behind a screen of leaves but everyone saw where it landed; several arms cocked, ready to launch a fusillade of stony missiles. "Wait!" I said, the voice of command. "Give me your best rock, Billy". A hush fell over the gang, Billy dug deep into his pocket, pulled out his prized rock; the god was going to perform. He hoped. I threw that rock with everything I had. It hit a foot from where I aimed; but the god was Great! Down fell that Blue Jay, into the scrub covering the ground; then up he flew, wobbling erratically, to crash by the fence of a neighboring yard. We ran the hundred feet or so knowing we'd find that Blue Jay; but all we saw as we got close, was a grayish looking rag laying up close to the fence. Where was the Blue Jay? We tromped around a minute of so checking bushes, in the ditch, the driveway culvert; no Blue Jay. Then Billy walked over to the rag, gave it a slight push with the toe of his shoe, yelped and jumped back; the rag had turned into a Mockingbird! It jumped into flight at Billy's touch, erratically flying into obscurity deep in the wooded lot next door. All mouths were open in awe as they looked at me, looked at the blood on the ground, looked at where the Mockingbird had gone; the god had thrown a rock, felled a hidden Blue Jay that flew into a yard, transformed into a rag, became a bloodied Mockingbird, then disappeared. Forever. Long live the god! The god has to chuckle every time he goes home, back to the old neighborhood, and sees kids throwing rocks; "Have you heard about the god of gods, " they ask, as we toss a few, me hitting nothing. "Legend has it..." they ramble on. The god has to chuckle. We all hope to live on, somehow; me, I'm that dream in the heart of every child; the height to be reached, the goal to attain, the spirit in the breast to succeed. Me, I'm a Rock Throwing God. w. james beard, jr. © December 2000 [This message has been edited by jwesley (edited 12-26-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 Wesley James Beard, Jr. - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Kethry Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082Victoria Australia |
james, what an interesting memory. Glad you posted it. Kethry Religion is for people frightened about going to hell - Spirituality is for people who have been there. Anon. |
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Sunnyone Member Ascendant
since 2000-07-06
Posts 5334Staffordshire, England |
Hi jwesley! I enjoyed throwing rocks, too, even though I was a girl!! Wow........this brought back some memories.......thank you, my friend!!  Write on! -<--<--{(@ |
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dragonpoe Senior Member
since 2000-11-12
Posts 608Palm Bay, Florida |
have loved all of these. Loved the ending. "I'm a rock throwing God" <-- so cool  With the word, I am mighty, with the pen I am free.. dragonpoe |
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