My backyard fence was probably the most traversed place in my whole yard. To get to the fence, I had to squeeze through a narrow gap between a sharp evergreen and a pungent forsythia bush. As a child, this fence seemed like a great wall with an unknown force drawing me to the other side.
Before my parents allowed me to climb over my fence, I would sit under the yellow canopy of drooping forsythia branches and enjoy the sweet smelling flowers. I’d gaze through the chain link and imagine what great adventures I could have with the neighbor kids, if I could go over that fence. After school, both my neighbor and I would run home to our backyards to talk and pass sticks through the fence. To pass the time, we would spend hours trying to disentangle grape vines from the fence, stopping to snack on a few when they were ripe. We would weave crowns with the broken vines or wilted branches from the forsythia, and we would craft swords from fallen branches out of their maple tree. With these effects, we would wage grand battles through the fence until we were separated by the call for dinner. When I found a baseball in the school field, I could not wait to take it home to share with my neighbor. Together we wore the skin off that baseball playing catch, seeing who could throw it the highest or farthest, and trying to throw it through the diamonds between each link. The fence drew us together.
My parents finally gave in to my ample requests and decided that I was officially "old enough to climb the fence." I rushed out of my house and darted between the evergreen and forsythia to tell my friend the great news. After getting consent from his parents, I clambered up the fence for the first time. The first time was a struggle. It was hard to get foot holds in the small openings. It seemed dizzyingly tall. Although it was one small step, I was thrilled when I set foot in the foreign land because I would finally be able to explore what I had observed through the fence and dreamed about for so long.
His yard was full of wonders that mine did not have. He had a play set with two swings and a slide, a large plastic log cabin play house, and a deck, which was a novelty compared to the concrete slab my house had. I quickly looked past these things; why would I waste my time on a swing when I could run around and play games without a fence impeding me. When we played baseball, the section of the fence where our yards met was always home plate. At school all my other friends only talked about video games and television shows. I tried the video games they talked about, but when I tried them I never understood the thrill of sitting on a couch and controlling an image. Being outside under my forsythia bush or running around with my neighbor appealed to me. It was where I felt the most natural and where I felt I could be myself.
That section of fence behind the forsythia bush and evergreen tree impacts me still, even though I have moved away and have not laid eyes upon those yellow flowers in years. Whenever I am presented the option between watching a movie or going outside to walk or play catch, I will always opt for the latter. Something about a light breeze or a rustle of leaves or the song of a bird as it flies over helps relax me and ease away the day's tensions. I attribute this to the freedom I felt under the forsythia. Free from judging eyes, free from problems of the world, free from expectations.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object that he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him of the day, a part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
Climbing trees became a part of this child,
And playing catch, splashing in puddles, racing bikes down the block,
And tormenting neighbor kids,
And the falling down and the scraping of knees
Became a part of this child.
Nap time, time outs, smelling thyme and rosemary and lavender,
Digging through the crisp verdant garden
All became a part of this child.
Boy Scouts, dinosaur hunting, star searching, pencil drawing,
Became a part of him.
His own parents,
Reading aloud, arranging play dates, preparing snacks,
Supplying toys only to be forgotten about
for a stick or perhaps a box.
Mother off working, leaving by dawn, returning for dinner
And father, strict, the warden, always teaching responsibility,
Both becoming part of this child.
Vacations and swimming and visiting the grandparent and getting spoiled
Going to the zoo and seeing so many terrifying and exciting creatures.
His parents, always feeding and inspiring imagination
Becoming a part of him.
Walking to middle school became a part of him.
Lockers, combinations, IDs, pungent locker rooms, the labyrinth of halls
crowded and loud
The anticipation for lunch, the sweet sound of the three o'clock bell
The flurry toward the doors all became a part of him.
Pushups and crunches and laps and blown whistles
Loving every moment of the cool fresh air
Newfound freedom, licenses, cars, jobs
This responsibility became a part of him.
Plucking, scratching, squeaking, struggling, playing
Sounds of an unproven orchestra growing together,
All became a part of this boy.
Surviving the first day freshman year
So small, so young, so innocent
Growing, maturing, learning, all became a part of him.
School dances and football games and musicals and stress
Cool clay carefully sculpted, melodic rhythms played in tune, rubber ***** quickly dodged
AP class after AP class, notebook after notebook filled meticulously
New friendships formed, old friendships strengthened.
All this became a part of this child.
These became a part of that child who went forth every day
And who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
Speckled shells lay shattered
Upon the verdant green grass
The robins ruffle their feathers
Feeling warm wind for the first time under the yellow sun.
Bravely hopping from the nest
A quick fright before they take flight
Black shadows soaring swiftly
Over the verdant green grass.
-AM
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
Let's have a party
And run down to the WOODS.
Dance in the pines
And let the speakers entertain the creatures of the night.
We’ll bring Light bulbs
And let them twinkle among the hanging branches
Reflecting green off of the moss and leaves
Run through the ferns
And fall drunk within the logs and dirt
Maybe WE'll be dead in the morning...
But at least it will be peaceful
The birds will watch us sing from their nests
wondering what strange creatures are plaguing their peaceful woods.
As the night passes,
We will sleep.
and wake in the morning
Lucky that we survived the night.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 3:53 AM UTC
From the saunter downtown
to the carnivals Ferris wheel
it is my wish today to tell you how I feel.
A year has now passed
come and gone
my how it flew by so fast.
Oh the times we have had.
Too many to count
bocce and ice skating and stargazing, so rad!
It’s eleven eleven so make a wish,
perhaps a reluctant dance or sing along song?
Dream on my darling, for that is rare
Just because I am nervous,
don’t think I don’t care.
Sometimes I am as reserved as a bear.
Football games, eclipses, and smoke breaks out back
from my cave to your cave
no one else can match
Oh the times we have had.
Too many to count
yoga and dinosaurs and movies (good and bad).
Climbing, hiking, running
and laying on the floor bumming
Make all the days rush by.
From the top of my trees,
to the bottom of my heart
my affections are great, and I cannot wait
to see you soon
-AM
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Flying in the skying so bule and wide
diving and swooping through branches so fast,
zooming past widnows and houses and cats.
Licking their lips and ready to pounce,
claws like switchblades silce the air.
Feathers ruffled and muffled and shuffled
dirfting to the ground weaving to and fro.
-AM
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 12:47 AM UTC
A brilliant flash.
Powerful, mysterious,
scaring young children
-AM
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
The sky darkens as clouds tumble in,
dusk at mid-day.
Cold water falls, and bombards the earth,
leaving dimples in the hard dry soil.
The clouds boil as they pain your face.
Your tears are hidden but not forgotten,
masked. Just as your eyes grow dark,
black tears drips downward, leaving
a sinuous streak across your cheek.
The water envelops you, caresses you,
but you resist its baptism.
-AM
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
A man named Lonely walked down the soft beach,
hand in hand with his wife Vainglory.
The opulent sun slowly rested lower and lower on the horizon,
Seagulls swooped, children chortled.
Sand blew around their ankles and empty pleasantries filled the air.
Lonely and Vainglory could talk for hours yet say nothing.
Waves flirted with the Earth, and Earth flirted right back,
clouding the water with clumps of tumbling sand.
Hand in hand they both wandered elsewhere. Bodies together, minds distant.
So beautiful Vainglory was. She knew it, he knew it.
Every morning Lonely reminded her, telling her, charming her.
It was habit.
Taking it for granted, smiling blankly, in one ear out the other.
Coexistence, habit, kelp.
She stepped on the head of a bull kelp, popping under her weight.
The acrid smell, buzzing flies, salty air returned him to the present.
Still walking. Talking.
Looking back, their footprints in the sand danced around each other,
light on their toes, skirting the ebbing waves filling them in.
As their steps fade, he wonders if they can find their way back.
Hand in hand they trod onward.
-AM
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Mere Mere on the wall,
who is the kindest of them all?
Your reflection shines and shimmers bright,
through the darkest dusk of night.
No matter how much pain and gloom,
it will not jade the memory of you.
Fondly and kindly i look back so far,
In the reflection there you are.
-AM
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC