Where did you go?

Childhood did I lose you

somewhere along the way

moments that simply vanished

events I can’t recall

 

I remember

curly blonde hair

pen marked forehead ~ I called

you Irene like my mum

pink lace dress, plastic clicking eyes

 

wrought iron fireplace briquettes

wood piled high watching as the

magic circling smoke wafted

up the chimney bricks

 

cushions stacked a castle made; sheets

from beds my little place –  with plastic

tea-cups filled with water, my dolls my

guests inside and parents not allowed

 

backyard play and fences climbed till

t

i

m

b

e

r

over I go head first concrete never

soft – sore head – painful head

cries to mum, I lived to tell the tale 

 

being minded playing marbles

hmm the large one is soooo pretty

GUlp

fingers down the back of throat

this I remember well

 

shuttlecock soaring into the air

laughter family brothers playing

dad in knee high socks

holidays with rain in tents 

 

strumming a guitar on fallen

gum tree; vacant paddock calling

out as center stage,  not so in tune

voices with my besty from next door

 

there are photographs

to remind me ~ not many but a few

this is only how I remember

how I’ll remember you 

  

 

For Poetics dVerse brought to us by Manicddaily, a/k/a, Karin Gustafson – The prompt for the day: some variation of “I remember”.  

 

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LIPTEMBER MONTH OF SEPTEMBER – Shaun from http://prayingforoneday.wordpress.com has kindly and generously written a blog for Liptember to help Kayla raise funds for the fight against Mental Illness. He has donated recently, as have a few of my readers. Please read and if you can donate (for those that haven’t already) we would be most grateful. Thank You!  

We are in the process of getting a Pay Pal address for those who have had difficulty donating.  

 

 

My wheels go clunk…clunk

there is no running
of bare feet touching grass
no climbing steps on ladders
her legs are metal circular wheels

food is cut minutely
so it just fits in her mouth
her hands are not controlled
she cannot hold a spoon or knife

her voice is often slurred
as she tries to conquer words
wants others to understand
the strain upon her face, most evident

she is a butterfly,
within her heart within her mind,
that soars into the skies, some
will simply fly higher

and some, will not take flight
but there is beauty
in each and every one of them
each one’s a butterfly

Poetics:  Written for Fred Rutherford’s  prompt  on Beauty is everywhere in anything…

For the wonderful DVerse.