Beautiful poem. But you seem to have forgotten my role in that. I wrote you little books to read. In fact, I had a lot to do with teaching you how to read. I'm hurt. And you were three not four. Still you did a beautiful job on your poem. It reads well out loud. I too remember those smells of wood and paper. LOL
I'm sorry you're hurt Linda. I actually initially put both names in but couldn't make the syllable count work. I don't remember the little books, but I'm sorry my poetic license left you out!!
Yes we had cupboards filled with paper from the Hammermill and I would fold them in half and sew them together and draw pictures and write all the words Bonnie and I had taught you that week or. actually pasted them into the book while you watched.
lol! I remember the paper strips. Uncle Cab would bring bags and bags of different colored strips cut off the big rolls of paper and our job - should we choose to accept it - was to fold those strips and cut the ends for weaving into stars. this message will self destruct in 15 seconds...
We also had skeins and skeins of typing paper in the cupboards above the refrigerator, that we had access to anytime we wanted. That was how we learned to type at 8 years old. That is the paper I am speaking about when I say I made books for Victoria. I was allowed to have as much of that paper as I needed and I had my own thread and needles.
omg! do you remember mom used to hide her thin mints in that cupboard? we weren't supposed to be able to reach them but using a chair and standing on the cupboard we managed. lol! she would eat her mints and watch her soaps.
It was Bon bons with coconut in the middle and she hid them way up on top of the last cupboard over by the door. I was very agile and could climb cupboards and got us all one when they were gone.
Four years old scuffling in my blue and red slippers with room in which to grow. It was madness, always yelling in the third floor apartment where we lived.
The hall outside the door was dark as tar or a night with no star to light the way. My babysitter opened the closet door the mysterious one in the hall. Her scream split the silence and tore my gentle spirit.
I could smell eternal fear hear the yellow eyes staring into my new found soul. Frozen in one spot melting in the heat of panic frantic to get away decay emanating from the green wrinkled skin of the monster within that horrid closet.
WE RAN it's rancid breath on my neck. Light shone from the open apartment door refuge... my back was all a tingle. We made it and slammed the door. After that I wouldn't go to the corner store anymore... They threatened me with spankings, diapers, bed with no food. I didn't care, IT was out there Waiting...
I'm trying to remember who it was who locked us in the closet when she babysat... one of dad's cousins? she would have her boyfriend over. interesting write. well done.
My first memory could be one of three I truly don't know which came first my first day of kindergarten Linda said wait for me here I won't forget you she promised as we entered the big scary building. After school ended I did as she said I waited on the steps and waited... and waited...and waited... she forgot me. Not yet knowing the way I home I waited until she returned and took me home.
Or was it when Mickey, our older brother, pretended my stuffed donkey was drinking from our dad's beer glass and oh my! he dropped it in! we laughed and laughed as Mickey hung that poor soaked donkey on our toy clothes line to dry. Dad never knew the donkey had taken a dunking in his beer.
Or maybe when all I wanted for Christmas were leggo's so I could build the little room with windows and a door they showed on the package. I didn'tcare about the other things. Just that little one room I could pretend was mine. But every time I was almost done Linda would knock it apart. I don't know why. I would cry and start again. Finally dad had enough and built that little room for me and glued it so Linda couldn't knock it apart on me anymore. Mom got mad because I couldn't build anything else now. She didn't understand my need to have that little room. Only dad did and I would spend hours looking through the window...imagining.
I DID NOT KNOCK YOUR ROOM APART!!! In fact I helped you build it! And we made it out of tiny bricks, they were red. We could look inside and imagine it was our house. The poem was very well written but I don't understand why you guys forget that I was a very nice little girl. For goodness sake!
lmao! sorry Linda but you would kick it over every time you walked by...that I do remember well. come on! we were kids! we all did mean things to each other.
Vividly bright The light came through the window. I stood in my crib reaching out, Reaching for the light. I could see it, I could feel it, I wanted it, And I could not reach it, quite.
Interesting comment, I don't think pleasant enters into it, though there was some of that, however I think I am fortunate because I can remember so much from such an early time. Now however, well, they do say it's ok to have short term memory loss as time goes on.
For once a wonderful and easy to relate to theme to work on. Came right in, my first memory at under two years of age. Thanks Linda! Thanks too to the fine poems you ladies have already provided. Very evocative.
Born to an amateurish pair of hearts Who were still children in their own ways They tried and thrived to bring the best in me But I was a rebellious kid, unlike nowadays
I was a little prick who would shower innocent smiles When I break the vase, or paint the savvy wall And blame it on cousins who were sillier than me Since we were a bunch of carrots musing comedy.
Fun was a synonym, so was the rendering bliss Burning down pillows with Bishop's candlesticks I have always been the fiery, undoubted for my crimes And all blames went to others, as I whistled funny rhymes
Many Summers later, as I sit and muse The Topsy-turvy life has it's share of glories And yet again I do not blame my younger self For burning down spider webs or killing ants in rain.
Years from now, if my conscience live, I will visit The places where I existed once, and now my memory lives And brush my tip of fingers and remember the Gones And pray for their peace in memoirs ungone. And will try to enact those wayward foolish games That breeds like a flossy mushroom in my memory's grail And teach my future self, a miniature of my form How I too have my parent's amateurish heart.
A charming poem, and very sweet in the images of your childhood using such original ways of expressing them. I especially like the "bunch of Carrots"! very imaginative.
Okay, a new one for once.
ReplyDeleteLearning to Read
Many memories sit
in that nebulous zone.
Is it real or is it
second-hand, stories told
to me so many times.
Like when I was five, watched
tv, Mickey Mouse Club.
I decided my name
was Cubby and would not
respond to my own name.
Or the time my father
beat me within an inch
of my life for stepping
on his sore toe. I’m sure
I don’t remember that.
But I do remember
learning to read at age
four. My sisters sat on
the porch chatting, watching
me, their baby sister.
Look, Bonnie would write, show
me. I would wander off,
search inside the side door
of the buffet where Mom
stacked her old magazines.
Woman's Day, Family
Circle, Redbook, Life, Look.
Smells of wood and paper
mingle in memory,
and I know it’s real.
Beautiful poem. But you seem to have forgotten my role in that. I wrote you little books to read. In fact, I had a lot to do with teaching you how to read. I'm hurt. And you were three not four. Still you did a beautiful job on your poem. It reads well out loud. I too remember those smells of wood and paper. LOL
Deletelove it! I do remember playing "school" on the front porch. lol... summer days
DeleteI'm sorry you're hurt Linda. I actually initially put both names in but couldn't make the syllable count work. I don't remember the little books, but I'm sorry my poetic license left you out!!
DeleteYes we had cupboards filled with paper from the Hammermill and I would fold them in half and sew them together and draw pictures and write all the words Bonnie and I had taught you that week or. actually pasted them into the book while you watched.
Deletelol! I remember the paper strips. Uncle Cab would bring bags and bags of different colored strips cut off the big rolls of paper and our job - should we choose to accept it - was to fold those strips and cut the ends for weaving into stars. this message will self destruct in 15 seconds...
DeleteWe also had skeins and skeins of typing paper in the cupboards above the refrigerator, that we had access to anytime we wanted. That was how we learned to type at 8 years old. That is the paper I am speaking about when I say I made books for Victoria. I was allowed to have as much of that paper as I needed and I had my own thread and needles.
Deleteomg! do you remember mom used to hide her thin mints in that cupboard? we weren't supposed to be able to reach them but using a chair and standing on the cupboard we managed. lol! she would eat her mints and watch her soaps.
DeleteIt was Bon bons with coconut in the middle and she hid them way up on top of the last cupboard over by the door. I was very agile and could climb cupboards and got us all one when they were gone.
Deletelmao! nope...not that the type of candy is important but she loved those thin mints and those are the ones she hid. and she counted them!
DeleteFour years old
ReplyDeletescuffling in my
blue and red slippers
with room in which to grow.
It was madness, always yelling
in the third floor apartment
where we lived.
The hall outside the door
was dark as tar or a night
with no star to light the way.
My babysitter opened the closet door
the mysterious one in the hall.
Her scream split the silence
and tore my gentle spirit.
I could smell eternal fear
hear the yellow eyes staring
into my new found soul.
Frozen in one spot
melting in the heat of panic
frantic to get away
decay emanating from the
green wrinkled skin
of the monster within
that horrid closet.
WE RAN
it's rancid breath
on my neck.
Light shone from
the open apartment door
refuge...
my back was all a tingle.
We made it
and slammed the door.
After that I wouldn't go
to the corner store
anymore...
They threatened me with
spankings, diapers, bed with no food.
I didn't care,
IT was out there
Waiting...
I'm trying to remember who it was who locked us in the closet when she babysat... one of dad's cousins? she would have her boyfriend over. interesting write. well done.
DeleteIt was Elinore.
DeleteMy first memory could be one of three
ReplyDeleteI truly don't know which came first
my first day of kindergarten
Linda said wait for me here
I won't forget you she promised
as we entered the big scary building.
After school ended I did as she said
I waited on the steps and waited...
and waited...and waited... she forgot me.
Not yet knowing the way I home I waited
until she returned and took me home.
Or was it when Mickey, our older brother,
pretended my stuffed donkey
was drinking from our dad's beer glass
and oh my! he dropped it in!
we laughed and laughed as Mickey
hung that poor soaked donkey
on our toy clothes line to dry.
Dad never knew the donkey had
taken a dunking in his beer.
Or maybe when all I wanted for Christmas
were leggo's so I could build the little
room with windows and a door they showed on the package.
I didn'tcare about the other things. Just that
little one room I could pretend was mine.
But every time I was almost done Linda
would knock it apart. I don't know why.
I would cry and start again. Finally
dad had enough and built that little
room for me and glued it so Linda couldn't
knock it apart on me anymore.
Mom got mad because I couldn't build
anything else now. She didn't understand
my need to have that little room.
Only dad did and I would spend hours
looking through the window...imagining.
I DID NOT KNOCK YOUR ROOM APART!!! In fact I helped you build it! And we made it out of tiny bricks, they were red. We could look inside and imagine it was our house. The poem was very well written but I don't understand why you guys forget that I was a very nice little girl. For goodness sake!
ReplyDeletelmao! sorry Linda but you would kick it over every time you walked by...that I do remember well. come on! we were kids! we all did mean things to each other.
DeleteReaching for the Light
ReplyDeleteVividly bright
The light came through the window.
I stood in my crib reaching out,
Reaching for the light.
I could see it,
I could feel it,
I wanted it,
And I could not reach it, quite.
I can even see where a baby/toddler would think they COULD reach that light. Nicely done.
DeleteVery vivid imagery...you must have had a very pleasant childhood to remember back so far!!! Ilove it.
DeleteInteresting comment, I don't think pleasant enters into it, though there was some of that, however I think I am fortunate because I can remember so much from such an early time. Now however, well, they do say it's ok to have short term memory loss as time goes on.
DeleteFor once a wonderful and easy to relate to theme to work on. Came right in, my first memory at under two years of age. Thanks Linda! Thanks too to the fine poems you ladies have already provided. Very evocative.
ReplyDeleteYou are quite welcome Tasha!!! I guess I just don't think very complicated! LOl Glad you enjoyed it. I enjoyed your poem
DeleteThe memories of a Child
ReplyDeleteBorn to an amateurish pair of hearts
Who were still children in their own ways
They tried and thrived to bring the best in me
But I was a rebellious kid, unlike nowadays
I was a little prick who would shower innocent smiles
When I break the vase, or paint the savvy wall
And blame it on cousins who were sillier than me
Since we were a bunch of carrots musing comedy.
Fun was a synonym, so was the rendering bliss
Burning down pillows with Bishop's candlesticks
I have always been the fiery, undoubted for my crimes
And all blames went to others, as I whistled funny rhymes
Many Summers later, as I sit and muse
The Topsy-turvy life has it's share of glories
And yet again I do not blame my younger self
For burning down spider webs or killing ants in rain.
Years from now, if my conscience live, I will visit
The places where I existed once, and now my memory lives
And brush my tip of fingers and remember the Gones
And pray for their peace in memoirs ungone.
And will try to enact those wayward foolish games
That breeds like a flossy mushroom in my memory's grail
And teach my future self, a miniature of my form
How I too have my parent's amateurish heart.
A charming poem, and very sweet in the images of your childhood using such original ways of expressing them. I especially like the "bunch of Carrots"! very imaginative.
Deletei especially like the last verse. a very charming write.
DeleteThank you Tasha and Bonnie for your support :)
DeleteSo happy to see you back!!! I loved your beautiful poem. It gave me insight to a mischievous fun loving little boy!!! Thank you for your contribution.
ReplyDeleteThanks Linda. Glad you appreciated :)
Delete