Tag Archives: childhood

The Ditch and the Den

The repetitive patterns in the winter leaves made Clarke feel like he was playing on a carpet; from a once forgotten lounge.
Swallowed by the forest, the air felt milder; an invisible, unscented smoke hovered high above the refrigerated mince of woodland soil.
On the ‘Otherside’ (from beyond the ditch) were perfect branches and twigs a plenty; perfect for finishing the greatest den.

Clarke jumped into the ditch whole-heartedly, a ditch created by the landing of a clumsy giants arm, and he disappeared toe to head in the deepest, softest patch of leaves imaginable.

Miraculously, Clarke discovered he was on the ‘otherside’. Standing there, looking on at his parents; they seemed statuesque in their mid stretch and bend to collect their woody additions.

‘Mum… Dad?’ He called out to them nervously. 

They couldn’t hear him or see him, for they may as well of been painted on canvas and hung as stillife in a hallway.

Clarke panicked, and jumped into the very same patch of leaves.

Relief immediately surged through Clarke’s small frame… He felt he was somewhere safe after all. Clarke ran like a bouncing, rolling jack to his parents who continued to forage with renewed vigor.

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Home Time Vignette

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Flow your tears
Connecting with rain
Dripping with gravity
Drop racing
Off your chin
Swerving
Plummeting down
Your raincoat
Leaping
Dangling precarious
From your footsteps
Nourishing on touch
Do upon their landing
Shake dandelion manes
Electrify buttercups neon
Daisy-chain a pathway
To somebody loved
Someone who waits for you
To dry your cheeks
Dehumidify lingering mists
Hold chilled emotions
Like a cool pebble in a new sun
Smoothed with soft fingers
Under crows feet
And umbrella
Then you disappear
In a buttoned fabric shelter
Merging tributary
Into heavy flesh of loving arms
Home time

Slow Bugs of Late Summer

 

 

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Drowsy

Late summer bugs

Fly dive

Looping

Scuttle drunken

Lazily in ale

Under chilled verticals

Daggers of British rain

Flooding them magnetic

Unto themselves

Toddlers

The unloving

The programmed

Flutter precarious

With microscopic futures

Gumming abreast

Billions of batches

Altogether connected

To impossibly dense

Wolds of forestation

Of extraordinary family trees

Slowed to pause

 

 

 

The Very Young

Boy running near a beach in sepia

 

 

The water rushes in

As an irresistable force

Towards distant twinkling lights

There

Miniature soldiers

Talk amongst each other

And their glow bugs

Sleep flying

Over and on crumbly cake ramparts

So overlooked

By a hovering fluoresent luna

Showering its moonbeams

While particular water

Lick sandcastles

Fragile upon themselves

With amateurish foundations

And so it’s true!

By children they are best made

They so do implore

The Little

Are softly strengthening

Tatty-bent-books

The boundless

Seeping

In old folklore

 

Daydreamer Setting555999

A drawn boy walking in a bubble

 

I notice that you’re a dreamer

That you continue to stand there,

With Sir Polar Bear;

Engulfed in its colossal shadow,

And I can see that you know,

That I know

That you know this too.

It seems you can be forever surrounded,

By an endless sea of molten metals

Your mysterious lands;

Crumbling,

Decomposing with rust;

Endlessly being anchored –

By your hidden flamboyance

Always to be taken –

By complex science

To a certain past

And a future lost.

 

Childish 80’s

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Dry felt-tip pens

Odd florescent socks

Tracing paper

The Muppets lunchbox

Sweetshops

Dull board games

Lots and lots of dice

Shortened holidays

Longer Sundays

Missing the bus again… twice!

Morning Telly

Pop! Go the ants

Nothing and everything

In soaking wet pants

World cup dramas

Bad wrestling fights

Unwelcome relatives

The endless summer nights

Bad haircuts

Cracked pavements

Thick scabby knees

Puddles

Beer sweets

Sherbet dib-dabs please!

Fake blood

Loading times

The gallop top 40

BUNDLE!

Less of your cheek

Naughty-naughty-naughty!

Too short in the trouser

Satchels

Gizmo top of pet names

Xmas, birthday, Xmas

Nonsense ball games

First love and embarrassment  

Marbles on the drains

Saturday + Sunday = two day week!

Diving paper planes

The register

Good… morning… Mrs… Teacher!

Worms and Daddy longlegs

Scare girls but won’t eat ya!

The dreaded Chinese burn

Now wait your ruddy turn!

 

I could go on…

 

Magic Stick

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The stick, without a doubt, was unique, magical, no longer was it lost amongst the woodlands fallen, a delightfully crooked stick had tickled my fancy, held my attention without ceremony.

Waiting for me to notice it, call it to my hand; to grasp it, hold it aloft my busy dome, with childish influence.

The stick imprinted its distress and aged decay onto the palm of my soft, puffy hand; in the colours of the earth and leaf.

This staff, or a wand, some kind of weapon of my calling, or just an old warped walking stick, was to defend myself against the unknown, in shadow, as I sometimes danced staccato through woods and hedge way.

Unscathed, my unspectacular home door, now unlocked, into my actual security. I leave the stick outside, importantly, in the back garden, propping up the garage of course.

Now, somehow, my stick has gone, from too much time being forgotten, time stretched so thin, washed out, into an unnecessarily detailed painting of an adult realm, crumbled into invisibility, to earth, maybe it has travelled back to its place where I first owned it… maybe.