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poetry

Being ten

I remember wild mushrooms,
how green it all was,
the roughness of stone
against the smoothness of child palms,
soil trickling through inquisitive fingers.

The dog would pant in happiness,
run with the wind in a small eternity
as we sought sticks to fight and win
our imaginary battles.

When it rained we took shelter
beneath ancient trees,
whistled bars of music
as the silver spray sheeted down
and the horns of cars sounded in the distance.

Then, as the day made a last valiant stand
against night and hunger strained our bellies,
we drew sustenance from worn school satchels;
fish paste or strawberry jam our ever preference,
occasionally a slice of home made cake
stolen from larders never quite fulfilled.

And afterwards, there were just as rich fruits
to be culled as we made our carefree way home
beneath a watchful, smiling moon;
the haze of evening bringing an understanding
that another perfect day was ending.

Still though, our wings were not clipped,
nor would they ever be in a time
where naught counted save the call to arms;
and where the friendship of the day lasted
longer than the travelling of the sun.

6 replies on “Being ten”

Hi Douglaus

Oh! to be ten again and experience those afternoons with friends and the imaginative wonders of the mind and nature. I love this and can relate. I had similar days with my own friends coming home from school, wandering through the back woods of my parent’s home, following our whims and talking of so many adventurous ideas/dreams. This resonates deeply and each strophe is magical within, itself. Every part of this poem enchants with a familiarity I think we all can relate to as having once been a child of that innocent yet curios age. And the ending is superb, so perfectly sums up this lovely poem —

Still though, our wings were not clipped,
nor would they ever be in a world
where naught counted save the call to arms;
and where the friendship of the day lasted
longer than the travelling of the sun.

Thank you for sharing that memory, it enabled me to sort through the archives of my own and recall some wonderful experiences and times.

My Best
wendy

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Douglas,

The scene, the memories, the bliss of pure innocence: You have captured it all
and made it live forever. I am awake at 3 a.m. because noisy neighbors disrupted
my peace and stole my sleep. Your poem has restored serenity. It is a joy.

Thank you!

Sarah

PS

I all too often forget about Bon Mots in this new format, but your words:

“run with the wind in a small eternity” cause me to remember. I have added
them to Bon Mots II.

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Douglas, you take me back to those wonderful days of being ten. The ending of another perfect day, and the treasure of friendships that have endured through the years. Your words make me smile.

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Douglas what a delightful memory…It made me think of my 2 brothers
doing their imaginary play…Touched my heart Thank you
Deb

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