When I was a child, bubbles and dewdrops
were instants in my dreamy days.
I would prance to brief lifelines
of butterflies swarming over alfalfa crops.
Earth and clouds, sparrows in the dust at play,
the tissue of every sound in luscious vines,
all true as stalwart poplars or Summer winds.
From the river’s edge, I’d jump bare skinned
into rippling waters to quench my thirst.
I’d swirl forward under noonday haze,
sensing freedom in meandering currents.
Uncharted bends traced flatlands
midst the hush of mimicked mutants.
Burning light shone down on my head,
I relished the immediacy of cold water.
Half dreaming, I heeded the emptiness of the wilds.
Grasshoppers, sunflowers, our solid homestead,
your hand in mine now that my legs falter,
everything holds enduring truths to a child.
Comments
i read the other one
I think will have to reread
then decide
but u r good in both
ma'am
Thank you, lovedly. I prefer
Thank you, lovedly. I prefer this one, myself. Thanks for commenting.
Thanks for commenting, Teddy.
Thanks for commenting, Teddy. Yes, I had a lovely childhood on a fruit farm in a green valley in Argentine Patagonia. The poem is mostly true, as I remember it.
All the best!
This brings to mind...
some of my fondest memories of childhood, where we visited with my mother's adoptive parents who had a small working farm in northwestern N.Y. I loved following my Uncle Byron around helping out as I could; [I was four or five], and then there have been a few times I have worked on small farms, either as a hand or just helping out friends. Your vivid descriptions have brought this back and I smelled the fresh mown grass, felt the warm eggs and the warmth of the sun, while picking apples. [Something we still do at local orchards]. Great stuff! Geezer.
.
Gracy
You sure have a way with words. This s beautiful it has a very dreamy quality about it.
Hi Gee, I'm glad my poem
Hi Gee, I'm glad my poem brought back good memories. The farm I was brought up on was enchanted, as I remember it. We all helped picking up fallen apples for cider or filling baskets with lupulo for beer (don't know the English name).
Another job was to collect the chicken's eggs in the evenings and feeding them several times a day. Helping my mother in her orchard was wonderful, as well as in the garden. But I would also escape to do naughty things while my parents were sleeping their siesta, they would have been very angry at my skinny swimming as it was a river, not a little stream.
Sometimes I wonder how I survived...lol. Thanks for sharing your own childhood experiences.
Thank you, lynn. I think some
Thank you, lynn. I think some may really be dreams. One's memory is tricky, and we poets, at least I am, prone to adding a touch of fiction.
Glad you like it. All the best!
Jerry, it's fun reading about
Jerry, it's fun reading about your boyhood tricks. Getting high on poppy seeds! Wow, we had poppies in the garden but it never occurred to me to eat them. We were far away from the hippie revolution and all that.
I did skinny dip, but alone and in a river. My parents were sleeping their siesta, they'd never allow that. It's a miracle I never drowned.
Well, I've been thru' many crazy things and here I am, writing poetry in the middle of a lockdown.
I forgive you, of course!