It used to rain a lot
on our chosen place of shelter.
Solomn rituals soaked in licorice water,
dirt dug deep in spades,
lemonade lay in dusty hollows.
That was long before callow youth was spent
lounging among privet hedges
of pre-fabricated estates,
sucking cigarette butts
while endlessly waiting
We were infinitesimally small
yet somehow enormous,
with no idea of the power
sliding from our grasp,
while life slipped past.
25 Aug 08
Rated 8 (8.5) by 1 users.
Active (1): 8
Inactive (1): 9
(define the words in this poem)
(687 more poems by this author)
Add A Comment:
i love this recollection of innocence. the first paragraph makes me want licorice and lemonade, reminds me of tastes from my youth.
Bottles of licorice water made in the time honoured way and lemonade, i mean real lemonade, were the stock in trade of my childhood. I hold my dreams and go to sleep in despair at what how and who i have become.
Larry black hole Lark
Lame is such a nasty insult.
get over it or under it
Larry at the bar Lark
The first line is so simple, but also so compelling.
You forgo every fertile enjambment possibility for simplicity—very disciplined.
I think you should spend an article for your hedges. It would improve the rhythm of the line and invoke metaphorical thoughts.
“endlessly” and “infinitesimally” are unnecessary hyperbole.
The last line is so predictable that it becomes superfluous.
Good poem, overall.
I am gratified you saw straight through my shallow effects.
Larry pond life Lark
I am remembering forts in the woods, goodies cadged from home. I like the transition to more upscale outdoor places, where the growing seems to have ended, while waiting for life, which is marching on beneath your upscale shoes.
We seem to some how become disconnected from the vivid emotional life of our childhood and can never return
Larry poor youg thing Lark
love the observation of lines 10 to 13 (in fact the entire second part is great) - this is so spot on and evocative of that childish self-perception of being the centre of all life somehow... and yet each day slipping past... being dimply aware of the speed as they pass... and where one memory, somehow an endless day, an eternal sun in the sky and fields that flow over the landscape forever... stretches out and becomes so vivid as a memory. Staying with us as the definitive nostalgia that frames us for life.
it is all so small, but remains a giant striding through our beings...
love this .. the references are different... but the experiences are the same...
a very good write..
I appreciate the time and trouble you have taken to crit this poem