Childhood Memories

Brainstorm of this afternoon, which I spent in an unusual way, sitting in the garden, as I used to do, and have not done with so much enjoyment for at least six years.

Tempted out by beautiful memories,


Wonder in the seconds,

Going by,

But motionless.

Bright wonder of birdsong, twittering and full,

Sometimes heard,

Sometimes around,

Always there.

Fantasia never dwindles.

Blades of grass, still and twitching,

Bowl of the sky, unblemished blue,

Drone of arching planes on a string,

Scrape of saw, thud of hammer,

Cheeky sycamore kites,

Daisies, wholesomely wild, unconditional cheer,

Chuckling magpies,

Ripple of unseen breeze, gentle tugging at ears,

One side, smooth warmth of liquid gold through pristine air,

Other side, shadow of shiver, wishing for another layer.

Grey concrete, cracks of dust and sand, rotting carpet of moss.

Buzz of a summer fly, waves it along.

Snatches of blind talk.

Blossoming leaves,

Skeletal beauties.

Gravelly ruts,

Flaws of perfection.

Humped ocean of green and beige,

Hollow of the lake and stream, invisible underground.

Fingermarks on the water tank,

Dandelion pigment, giraffe on the white wall,

Biro trenches on grey fence panels.

Trenches of dreams

That happened. Evidence tells them.

But when?

Fantasia never dwindles;

The wonders of childhood never fade

Childhood is swallowed through the hungry mouth of adulthood.

Sometimes its memories can be unearthed,

And brought to life

Briefly, as if they had never been absent

As if they had always been there,

For they have,

They will never go,

But ability to remember can go

When childhood departs

And simplicity dies.

Frog of life,

Elusive friend.

Confined to my own patch of time,

It is everything,

The whole world

Of plots and plays and fancies


The boundaries of my world have grown broad round the middle

And my old world has grown small in comparison

As the awareness eats away

And the science gobbles imagination.

But here at the level I remember so well

It is just the right size once again

In order to accommodate my memories.

All else is too large and cannot fit.

So I am restored,

Briefly, as if I had never changed.

Cat in the shadow, cat in the sun,

Loop in the wall,

Merciless hosepipe,

Weather vane rusty,

N points downwards, South,

All twisted to ancient perfection.

Not hypocrisy.

Accuracy is hypocrisy.

Shadows getting tall,

Growing old,

Like me.

Bare branches

Blinking in lamplight.

Fading day,

Waning summer,

But not waning

Because it is now and here

And always now and here.

Because fantasia never dwindles.

The End

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