The kite

Returning to fly yet again.. ..

Standing tween reality and fear, not knowing what.. how.. but,

Ralph felt his kite-strings tug.. from his Summer holiday plump

right hand.

Round blue eyes popping, brow at a frown, he watched it soar

over the promenade's deep planted palm trees ; 

climb the breeze, its wispy two-tone green long tail

waft-dancing in the sea-side air. 

Ralph stood, hands in fists, pink lips taut round,

wet with nervous spit. Suddenly.. 

the kite hiccuped up.. up.. over smoke-grained chimneys, its

rainbow tail swirling and curling like an exotic bird fleeing from

a painted white cage. Seconds... seconds ... dis- appearing, 

dipping over.. dis.. appear..   drowned in invisible space.

Promised another kite by grandpa, chin quivering, hand raised

motionless in the sea breeze the six year old -

usually a right chatterbox, was silent, numb.

He stood staring at the emptiness that had swallowed

his precious kite.

He shook his head.. shook it again.. inhaled, nodded, stared then

first mouthing the familiarity of the word, yelled, YESSS!

Suddenly, suddenly, decision made he took a stance,

like a mighty athlete arms moving to and fro - fro and to..

feet dancing on the spot - briefly bending backwards,

blue eyes blazing, Ralph ran like a bullet,

Pushing.. pushing.. up upwards, arms, legs, wildly turning

like the sails of a windmill threshing at invaders trying to reach

the sand spread shore - salt spray sweating.

On and on he went, back and forth, each time,

increasing momentum .

Still held by intention Ralph seemed weightless, yet

posed in bike pedalling position!

A blink of time. A blink, a trial.. 

He fell, tumbling with a thud

onto a patch of sun-baked sand

Hurt, deprived.

face hidden in his hands

shoulders shaking, heart breaking,

the little lad wept:

unable to float, unable to soar,

he'd never catch his kite -

the one with a curling, swirling tail.

The small sad boy lay on his red, blue and white towel

sobbing.

Face buried in his sweater, finally, exhausted,

he fell asleep.

His face still pale. Eyes red.  Arms limp but hands clenched

 

The grey haired man nodded, winked at grandpa. He slowly

leaned towards Ralph, now sipping a drink. His face blotchy.

'Excuse me, son, don't want to bother you but, I found this

on the roof of my car a while ago. It's not yours, - is it?'

Author's Note

painting: R. Paulson

Reviews

[Dave W.]

This was great, you are a very prolific writer....

[emmajoygreen]

Thank you so much, Dave W. I love to scribble for self and if other people enjoy the joined up writing, well then, am smiling happy. :) < I am !

[Dave W.]

Well keep scribbling away, you are an inspiring writer.

[emmajoygreen]

Try stopping me, i might scribble more than I write, but do love to use words! Again, than you, sir.

[Marie]

Oh, I love the happy ending to this amazing poem. The story of Ralph and his kite is superbly crafted in the most captivating way. I adore the kite hic-cupping and the stunning visual detail you use to describe it twisting and turning "like an exotic bird fleeing from its white cage!" I could feel Ralph's sadness as he lay on the sand, pale faced, having lost his kite and I rejoiced when the old gentleman returned it to him. I was drawn so deeply into the story, it was like I was there in person. A beautiful work of art created by your golden poetic pen in this superbly penned write, dear Emma. A privilege to read, as always and thank you for writing it and thank you for sharing it. Outstanding write...

[emmajoygreen]

Marie, thank you and thank you again for such generous words and how you understood how - when at any age, losing then having back means so, very, very much. Is something to share - for sure. :)

[Marie]

Most welcome always, Emma :)

[emmajoygreen]

Smiling and waving.. ..

[Marie]

Waving and smiling back, Emma...

[Coyote Poetry]

A perfect ending to the story in the poetry dear Emma. You took me back to chasing baseballs hiding the neighbors yards. dear friend, you brought me in and held me to the last words. Thank you for sharing the outstanding and fun poetry.
Coyote

[emmajoygreen]

You, sir, are always so kind when you review, thank you. I wrote these words a while ago but, even though mine, I see and feel that wee boy's sadness and efforts to help such a first time problem.. Far too early to know such sadness: a near loss of something so precious.

[Coyote Poetry]

A kite is very precious to a boy dear Emma. A good kite cost some money. A fun read.

[Gee]

Tis now I felt, the young lads sadness, when both my old mum and Debs passed but sadly they only ever return to me in dreams that are becoming less frequent and their images more and more hazy:(
Good morning sweet, sweet lady:)
Hope you are well and not drenched

[emmajoygreen]

Many thanks.. so much hurts, leaves us reeling and hurt, raw and more. Find photos and put them in shadows for you to move them into the light when you want, Gee. You can never lose love, only mislay it visually.. but only that.

[Tom]

The adventurous fun, the drama along with stunning scenery and ofcourse a happy outcome.. Poetically penned prose at its enchanting best, took me way back as a young boy, those happy times when my late father would make my brother and I a kite then together we waited for the wind to rise so we could get into the adjoining fleld to fly and soar like a buzzard..

[emmajoygreen]

Such a kind review and one that shows how wonderful father you and your brother had. The dear man taught you how it is to fly - like a buzzard. That's a gift to cherish forever and
always.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

maybe we try to fly too hard...and then when the string breaks we fall just as hard.
Will there be someone there to find us and bring us back to the self we used to be.
I feel this piece in one sense.
My poems are kites...they fly well sometimes but when the string breaks...
the words end up on the roof of someone else's mind...and they either think the kite/poem is worth saving or they don't. But seldom are they brought back to me.
"Excuse me, jacob, this poem isn't yours is it?"

[emmajoygreen]

What a beautiful response, extraordinary thought, you have found in my post, dear sir! Your mind really is a beacon of interpretation - and more. Thank you.. and more.

[emmajoygreen]

Perhaps the fact that people remember your words, they do return to you but in the ether that is outside these oft erratic walls! People know what you write is yours and yours alone. As is Ken Simm's.

[Ken Simm.]

A lovely lovely story that gives whatever you, the reader wants to put into it.

[emmajoygreen]

Like jacob, you are able to read into the lights and shadows of a post, maybe venturing further because you must. Is it an instinct perhaps or a need to find what comes to mind. Is it insight, a vivid imagination or the need to compliment what has been laid on the public plate? What- and whichever, many thanks, sir Simm.

[Samuel Dickens]

The last line makes me smile. It seems I knew another young lad who was a lot like Ralph, bad luck with kites and all. That one chased the fleeing kite string through a grassy field and didn't see the barbed wire fence. (The punctures in his belly were quite small)
I love this vivid portrayal of the wayward kite and the boy whose grief lasted not long at all.

[emmajoygreen]

To have you - the prime story teller, say such dear thoughts is a great compliment, Sam! I wonder who was that small boy you mention - and if he still has wee scars? Bless you and thank you so very much.

[Andra Davis]

The ending was my best surprise. Good things happened when that day was at its worst, yes? Well written.

[emmajoygreen]

Many thank yous, Andra. So glad you liked the ending! Writing has to end happily when it comes to 'littlies'!

[peter Charlesworth]

Enthralled > from soaring free in the sky > to the final crash and sadness
Recovery

I was hoping to go out for another flight > Ah well tomorrow will be fine and just enough breeze

[emmajoygreen]

Many thanks, Peter! Hope tomorrow's weather improves for you!

[peter Charlesworth]

July and thinking of turning the heating on and drizzle
Hope that it picks up for our late hol in Septemer