Eat more veggies, mind your joints, beauty is everywhere, all is impermanence, and very few things in life actually matter (see item 4.)
PROMPT: Advice
1
Tag Archives: Youth
Roosters of Youth [Haiku]
when I was a child,
roosters aggressively charged;
now: they flee, clucking.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
PROMPT: Youthful Attachments
Daily writing prompt
Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?
I had a guitar, a black and white Fender Stratocaster knock-off. [Actually, technically, I don’t think it was a knock-off, but rather the lowest of low-end mass-produced Strats made by a subsidiary of Fender, Squier.] What happened to it? I realized I was tone deaf and lacked the finger dexterity to be the sequel to Eddie Van Halen. So, ostensibly, it ended up donated or sold in a garage sale. There’s a small chance it’s taking up space in a closet somewhere, but not in my closet.
Not to reveal a pattern, but I also had a yellow and blue BMX bike that I was quite fond of. What happened to it? I learned that I lacked the flight characteristics to be a great BMX racer (or possibly I rode it until it fell apart into its component pieces.) Youth was a long time ago.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
Bridge Out [Free Verse]
When I was a child,
for a time,
the bridge was out.
They were replacing the rusty
iron trestle bridge
with a thick-slab concrete
monstrosity.
I could go down to the river,
and I could see the
scarred and marred
construction site,
& the big yellow machines
that sat dormant on the weekends.
But one couldn't cross the river --
not unless one was willing to get wet,
and was a better swimmer than I
(and it was autumn & the water cold.)
It was a strong current that swept
along between two steep banks.
It was not a great distance,
nor were they violent waters.
But that brown water moved with
such smooth swiftness.
I dream about the time the bridge was out,
now & again,
and wonder what it was
about those weeks
that still has meaning to my mind.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
Full Swing [Haiku]
pumping the swing, i quickly regain the rhythm of my youth
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: Dancing through the Graveyard
What’s the age at which dancing on a grave switches from an adorable bubbling over of life
to a
deplorable act of petty vindictiveness?
I saw a boy — clearly in the former category — pull it off,
but I knew that if I joined in the best I could hope for was an evil eye. And the worst would be to be slapped, kicked, or spat upon.
For I long ago crossed the river of innocence beyond which lie presumptions of foul intent.
An ever-watchful Orphean world keeps me from crossing back over that Stygian river.
Oh, to live life on the other bank.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
POEM: To BE… Or Not
“What do you want to BE when you grow up?”
They ask you when you’re just a little pup.
So, what part of what I must BE,
is different from the me you see?
Dad thought, “the part that they’ll pay you for.”
Like an allowance for finishing a chore?
“Yes, young man, but you can safely assume,
no one else will pay you to clean your room.”
Kids don’t think of being gainfully employed.
Which seems to make grownups quite annoyed.
At five, I wanted to be a cowboy.
“Son, there’s no jobs in that line of employ.”
That’s OK, then I’ll be an Indian.
“You’d have to be born that way, my friend.”
I wasn’t born a doctor, but you said that’s OK.
“That’s not the same, son, what can I say?”
I know what then, Dad, I’ll be the Batman!
“Come on, son, that’s not a feasible plan.”
You’re thinking Superman, Batman has no powers.
“Bruce Wayne by day, Batman at night, where’s the sleeping hours.”
You have a point there, you’ve got me stumped.
Thinking myself prematurely defunct.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 