Memories of old,
flooding fast through my mind,
some tinged with sadness
and some, sweet sublime.
A fireside reverie shared
with eyes so bright,
an audience of innocence
and excited delight.
The crackling logs
on the fires of time,
the little rapt faces as
you feed them a line.
Of thunder, lightning,
and rain as we run!
Football, toy-fighting,
such laughter and fun.
Flying a kite that
you made on your own
out of bin bags and tape
and canes tied and bowed.
A dam in the brook,
fighting flowing water
with rocks, wood
and uncontrolled laughter.
Till finally plugged,
the waters rise
deeper and wider
before delighted eyes.
Then comes the challenge,
“Who can burst the dam?”
No touching allowed,
just throw what you can.
Bricks and sticks
and boulders and all,
sploshing and splashing
they uselessly fall.
But the water's still rising
and there's panic in our eyes,
it'll soon reach the road,
“Better run for our lives!”
But wait, what’s this,
could this do the trick?
As long as a gate post
and three times as thick.
We wrestle and heave
and drag it uphill,
pushing and pulling
and testing our will.
Till finally atop and
we let out a sigh,
this might just work,
“We'll give it a try”.
Straining and grunting
and chuckling with glee
as we swing it between us,
one...two...three!
With a whoosh and a crack
our dam is no more
as the post breaks its back
and we’re laughing on the floor.
Such innocent times,
that can still make me grin,
they live in the mind
of the sweet child within.
Written by Darren Scanlon, March 2011.
This revised version written, 17th July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Memories of old,
flooding fast through my mind,
some tinged with sadness
and some, sweet sublime.
A fireside reverie shared
with eyes so bright,
an audience of innocence
and excited delight.
The crackling logs
on the fires of time,
the little rapt faces as
you feed them a line.
Of thunder, lightning,
and rain as we run!
Football, toy-fighting,
such laughter and fun.
Flying a kite that
you made on your own
out of bin bags and tape
and canes tied and bowed.
A dam in the brook,
fighting flowing water
with rocks, wood
and uncontrolled laughter.
Till finally plugged,
the waters rise
deeper and wider
before delighted eyes.
Then comes the challenge,
“Who can burst the dam?”
No touching allowed,
just throw what you can.
Bricks and sticks
and boulders and all,
sploshing and splashing
they uselessly fall.
But the water's still rising
and there's panic in our eyes,
it'll soon reach the road,
“Better run for our lives!”
But wait, what’s this,
could this do the trick?
As long as a gate post
and three times as thick.
We wrestle and heave
and drag it uphill,
pushing and pulling
and testing our will.
Till finally atop and
we let out a sigh,
this might just work,
“We'll give it a try”.
Straining and grunting
and chuckling with glee
as we swing it between us,
one...two...three!
With a whoosh and a crack
our dam is no more
as the post breaks its back
and we’re laughing on the floor.
Such innocent times,
that can still make me grin,
they live in the mind
of the sweet child within.
Written by Darren Scanlon, March 2011.
This revised version written, 17th July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
