Chapter (8) SUMMER HOLIDAY

SUMMER HOLIDAY

 

Outside, a seagull’s raucous cry cracks the summer sky.

The caravan rocks gently as my mother prepares breakfast.

The aroma of bacon and sausages sizzling on the stove

mixes with cigarette smoke from my dad.

It’s a habit he has, he knows it’s bad.

The bottled gas stove hisses and

as little red kettle whistles

the sun flows warm through the window and kisses my face.

Around the caravans children call and shout

as they race about,

but I stay in bed snug and warm in ruckled blankets.

My mother shouts,

“Breakfast five minutes Clive. Look alive.”

I stretch my arms and yawn.

“Come on Clive, while it’s still warm.”

My dad puts down his daily paper

he’ll study the sports pages later.

The tiny table hardly able to hold the breakfast feast.

Four children, eating, laughing, happy.

My mother looks at my dad with pride,

He’s worked hard to give us this week at the seaside.

I look out of the window, take another mouthful of toast,

It’s been a year but we are here, at the coast.

The sandy beach, the penny arcades, and a Donkey ride.

This is a memory I cherish, my life has been good.

This was my childhood.

Reviews

[Mikayla_Stagg]

Beautifully written, and very personal. Love it

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Sometimes a memory is suddenly remembered. This photo brought it all back to me.

[Emma]

Very sweet and personal! I really enjoyed the littles bits of rhyme and the insight into your childhood.

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Thank you Emma.

[Gandré]

I enjoyed this memory of yours very much, rhyme is sprinkled throughout the poem, happiness full circle, good for you and thank you for sharing with us.

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Thank you so much for reading. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[wordman]

the penny arcade,damn i miss that

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Yeah me too.

[R J Askew]

Bloody good read this. It is how it was for so many of us. Simple family life, simple pleasures, beautifully remembered.

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Thank you. I'm pleased you liked it. I'm going through a nostalgic period in my life. Memories I thought I'd forgotten keep coming back. I guess it's an age thing.

[R J Askew]

Perhaps it's out subconscious reminding us that we have lived well. Maybe it's like an editor that looks for the good bits. Such memories nourish us and your poem is a trigger for others to savour their memories. Try and get this one published somewhere or enter it into a competition to get it read more widely? Perhaps you could send it to the local paper for the town where the beach was.

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

It will be in my 3rd book of poems later next year.