Apr 3
CHINGACHGOOK SPEAKS
still see the saw
cutting through time
the small boy's mind
Da's spirit level
disappearing all the time
becomes my Star Ship Enterprise
the saw hums to itself
time eclipsed
with the smell of pine
the song of the saw
sunbeams & sawdust
dancing in time
and lo
wood becomes window
the small carpentry of miracles
a heart-shaped block of wood
becomes my saddle
on his crossbar
we fly through time
tame hills
the tick of bicycle wheels
lost in speed
down down Dobbin's Hill
we the bubble in the spirit level
we haunt the dumps
hunt for a wheel here...a frame there
Da creates a bike
new bikes from old
our "Frankenstein bicycles"
we the new masters of speed
"Look at me...lookame...no hands!"
the hill smiles to itself
"wheeeEEEEEEOOOOOOOOPS!!!!!"
trees breaking gently in our hands
become our bows and arrows
stolen from young plantations
I a nine year old Chingachgook
limp horribly home
an arrow in my left calf
my Da shaving wood
it curls
to his whistle
sawdust amongst his curls
my Da smiles
as the wood comes good
I still see the saw
pine
opens memory
*
We had to look upon a loved object( as a poetry prompt )and not mentioning it...free associate 15 words and write the poem from this list. THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS is and still is a fav. book of my childhood( I have still not finished growing up )and it bleeds into the memory of helping( little help that I was )my Da making a window...making a bike...making a fretwork Arkle...whatever he turned his hand to...whether it be a crop of potatoes or a cuddle...his hands were the hands of a God creating my childhood for me.
I never got around to reading THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH but loved the sound of it....Dobbin's Hill( which I cycled down as a child and ran up as a soldier )became the Great Snake( what Chingachgook means )and I indeed made myself a Chingachgook. The rest is just memories held in haiku and bursting in time like bubbles.
From 30/30 prompt. . . I was reading THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS and helping my da with his work...whether it be wood or bikes from different bits.It was that eternal summer of childhood and I desired to be Chingachgook. Out of this tale of time lost...time found is woven the present poem. Here be the words that helped in some way went to the making of the poem. My da worked in wood...I work in words.
THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS
MAGUA
UNCAS
WAH-TA-WAH
THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH
HATCHET
NATIVE AMERICAN
LEATHER BOUND BOOK
PROUST
TIMBER
WOODEN JIGSAW
FRETWORK
TOOLS OF TRADE
SUMMER
HAIR
still see the saw
cutting through time
the small boy's mind
Da's spirit level
disappearing all the time
becomes my Star Ship Enterprise
the saw hums to itself
time eclipsed
with the smell of pine
the song of the saw
sunbeams & sawdust
dancing in time
and lo
wood becomes window
the small carpentry of miracles
a heart-shaped block of wood
becomes my saddle
on his crossbar
we fly through time
tame hills
the tick of bicycle wheels
lost in speed
down down Dobbin's Hill
we the bubble in the spirit level
we haunt the dumps
hunt for a wheel here...a frame there
Da creates a bike
new bikes from old
our "Frankenstein bicycles"
we the new masters of speed
"Look at me...lookame...no hands!"
the hill smiles to itself
"wheeeEEEEEEOOOOOOOOPS!!!!!"
trees breaking gently in our hands
become our bows and arrows
stolen from young plantations
I a nine year old Chingachgook
limp horribly home
an arrow in my left calf
my Da shaving wood
it curls
to his whistle
sawdust amongst his curls
my Da smiles
as the wood comes good
I still see the saw
pine
opens memory
*
We had to look upon a loved object( as a poetry prompt )and not mentioning it...free associate 15 words and write the poem from this list. THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS is and still is a fav. book of my childhood( I have still not finished growing up )and it bleeds into the memory of helping( little help that I was )my Da making a window...making a bike...making a fretwork Arkle...whatever he turned his hand to...whether it be a crop of potatoes or a cuddle...his hands were the hands of a God creating my childhood for me.
I never got around to reading THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH but loved the sound of it....Dobbin's Hill( which I cycled down as a child and ran up as a soldier )became the Great Snake( what Chingachgook means )and I indeed made myself a Chingachgook. The rest is just memories held in haiku and bursting in time like bubbles.
From 30/30 prompt. . . I was reading THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS and helping my da with his work...whether it be wood or bikes from different bits.It was that eternal summer of childhood and I desired to be Chingachgook. Out of this tale of time lost...time found is woven the present poem. Here be the words that helped in some way went to the making of the poem. My da worked in wood...I work in words.
THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS
MAGUA
UNCAS
WAH-TA-WAH
THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH
HATCHET
NATIVE AMERICAN
LEATHER BOUND BOOK
PROUST
TIMBER
WOODEN JIGSAW
FRETWORK
TOOLS OF TRADE
SUMMER
HAIR
