childhood

when i was a child

clouds called to me

with windsongs.

dust devils danced

and dusted my low hanging halo.

lopsided palm trees,

bowing to the ice cream truck jingles,

were hippy headed parents

watching me wheel in the weather's rythmns

when i was small enough

i lived in my imagination

explored curbside kingdoms

and slept to dream.

when i was young

a plastic baseball bat

a ping pong ball

and my best friend's half acre backyard

stretched out summer hours

like buffet line bellies

i ate life

with the metabolism of innocence.

magic existed

and books were treasure maps

some of my best friends were

forever just beyond

the fence of fiction

their faces framed in sans serif fonts.

when i was a baby

my grandmother's vanity mirror WAS magic

reflecting awareness into my

question mark expression.

when i was a boy

nothing was better than hosing off

100 degree days in the front lawn,

getting pulled in my radio flyer wagon

as my parents walked through

80 degree nights,

and watching saturday morning cartoons

after a night of secret code making

with my fellow co-consirators.

laughter was a language with thousands

of dialects

music a heartbeat bright with my blood.

heaven was napping in a toasty window

shaped sunpatch

love was letting a cute girl

catch me during a game of tag.

when i was younger

things were bigger and brighter

paper airplanes engaged in

school day dogfights

where the only casualties were

papercuts and childish pride.

poems always started

"roses are red - violets are blue"

our television was like a distant uncle

only around enough to keep me spoiled.

when i was 6

nes

mario brothers

when i was 7

i accepted jesus christ as my personal savior

when i was 8

i was big enough to be baptised

and the years ticked off

like the metronome at my piano lessons

the future hung like a promise

like the savior hung on the cross

i was waiting to be born again

under the hippy headed palm trees

swaying with the wind's lukewarm lullabies

waiting to become a phoenix 

a blaze of beginnings

waiting to grow old enough to be young again

 

i guess i'm still waiting.  

Reviews

[Juliet]

My goodness, Brian. You swept me back in time and dusted off some forgotten memories for me. Thank you so very much. This piece is magical. Just magical. I love the ending, because it ties the piece together nicely, and because it is true. We are always trying to get back to that half-acre, aren't we? I may welcome my dreams tonight. Thank you, so much for this piece.

Thank you!

[Emily B]

and I thought I had read everything you ever posted, oh wow!

[Raef C. Boylan]

I enjoyed some parts of my childhood; wish I could recapture them as skilfully as you have here.
Glad you're re-posting work.
This piece spills over the page like the most refreshing popsicle ever invented in a kid's busy brain. The language and imgagery you've created are, in turn, exciting and comforting. I could feel both the delight of the sun and the reprieve of the shade when reading this. It's excellent.
I became a bit cautious towards the end when Jesus etc. came up; not sure if that's another poem waiting to be born, latching onto this, or if the poem stemmed from that reflection - therefore, I have no right to comment on how fitting it is...but I personally wasn't keen.
Or was its purpose to mirror the concept of things seemingly being a lot more complex nowadays?

Overall, great poetry.Thanks for sharing this one with us.
You are one of the Cafe's most talented poets.

p.s. typo:
"papercuts and childisih pride." [childish?]

[Angelheaded Hipster]

Ok...this is beautiful...it's got everything I could want from a piece.
It's quiet, peaceful, filled with such amazing visuals, and the imagery from the ticking metronome is just crazy f*****g good....

[Bethany Woody]

Growing up is tough, but we all have to do it. Except maybe those with that whole Peter Pan complex stuff. Haha. I think what you have here is the typicall everyday life of the average American kid. My childhood was much the same. As was my brothe's and my sister's. My kids are getting it to. The best thing is to just let a kid be a kid, instill good values and morals and then let them loose to see what they can do with all you have given them. Sounds like that is exactly what your parents did for you.
The piece is very good, with an over abundace of imagry that makes the whole thing jump off the page at someone with a vivid imagination like me. I could picture it all and I loved that abou this piece. And it is true that soetimes where we are going is where we came from. Inexplicably we are sometimes drawn back to our roots. My mother always tells me no matter what you can always come home. Home is like chicken soup when you are sick, a comfort for the weary soul.

[Star]

*sigh* I don't know if you meant it to or not, but this has such a feeling of comfort. It's like sitting down in the square of sunlight in the summer and watching the dust motes dance, or even climbing onto the lowest branch on the apple tree....at ages that certainly don't qualify as children LOL
LOVE IT!

[Cavol Forbes]

I reviewed your last poem and moved on to several other people and got bored out my mind. I decided to come back to a sure thing and find this gem. I thought it was great. I notice in general that you're enviously good at descriptions with similes and metaphors.

when i was young
a plastic baseball bat
a ping pong ball
and my best friend's half acre backyard
stretched out summer hours
like buffet-line bellies

That made me smile - for some reason those were my favorite lines of the poem. No suggestions on improvement.

[Sean Allen]

"when i was a child...
poems always started
"roses are red. violets are blue" "

funny that I just wrote almost those exact same words a week or so ago in a piece I posted called "To whom it may or may not concern" and I am much older than you.

You are correct that sometimes where we came from and where we are going is the same place.
But, sometimes we are already there.
sa

[Laura]

Wow! This poem sent me into a trance of my own childhood. Your descriptions are nothing short of incredible; from "slept to dream" to "waiting to grow old enough to be young again" I loved how it flowed from one image into the next. Your work is refreshing!

[Thrushsong]

Gorgeous. Reading this felt like taking a bite from a sun-warm fruit, juicy and sweet. The imagery is so full it's tasty.

[Staci Brown]

real intense poetic verse here hon! never lose the magick you felt as a child though. keep it close to your heart forever :) now... put these words and thoughts of yours to a story hon! i'd love to read fiction from your creative mind!

born again huh? damn i sure hope you're not gonna preach to me like others have on here lol

faerie blessings...