NEW TERM .. come again?

NEW TERM

Saw them birds, large they were and soaring.  'They's a clan', grandpa said.'

I leaned on his arm, whispered, 'Gramps, when I'm big as you, gonna be  a

buzzard an' fly off a bit - praps a 'sentry' of more of them wha'evers' an' ever so happy.  If I was like old Chompy-choo, would wag my tail up, down an'... an..

wherever room to go daft as a brush!' 

'Nother time, sandwiches sat safe in plastic bag, an' choc'late for energy.. just in case. (Plus mac, whistle an' drink.) We all climbed the gate into Mucky Muffin meadow, an' along the valley to the hill, then, up  puffin' we went to the very top - peered down at villages an' all. Binoc'lars in hand, watched more them buzzards

soarin' high in the sky.

'Then, yeah,  think we stood a bit, after me had a good stretch. Gazed at them

buttercup fields.. looked like gold bully-yon given by Dick Turpin stole from rich

peeps in posh gear, hats wiv featheers. Okay, will stop me chatrin' . Here tho'

Last week, the sun shone, you an' me went about wearin' shorts, thick socks,

walkin' boots, crinkled dubbed bright'

.. .. .. 

Ice-box air trembling like Christmas scarves and granny-knit gloves spurned,

hands 'tween thighs warming.. not so innocent thoughts hanging

on chestnut trees lining the avenue. Riotous roads - ant hills on wheels,

frantic, fume spewing traffic trying to beat must-do system,

red - STOP, amber - ANXIOUS.. now - GO!

Bus stops, churning fumes, children, boys, girls, push-shove-swear for seats

clucking high pitched or voice breaking. Girls noising, looking at lads, breathing in

to look thin. Blouses' buttons loose a three. Lunchboxes raided:  smiles, yells,

nudges, whispers, ‘Swap, what you got?’‘None special - just cheese.' Hiding the

pork pie and crisps!

Books juggled, shuffled, quickly opened, elbows will perch pen-scratched surface.

Pencil, eraser sought, retrieved, all hidden in ripped plastic bag (satchell  lost)

but enclosing a silver foil-wrapped biscuit. Project completed - just, groaned over,

blobs, blots, bleatings and curses ripely unready for another term of boring, useless lessons.

.. .. .. 

Ice-box air trembled icicles inside  bathroom windows,  soap too much wet, fell 

on floor. Said  F word twice, tastes good! Thirteen,  granny-knit gloves spurned

hands 'tween thighs warming. Innocent?  Chestnut trees lining Spangle Avenue.

I grew four inches, left church choir threw away gran’s hymnal, jigsaw puzzle

done in minutes. F-ing borrrrring.

Then Gramps got ill soon after and I cried, searched for his old blue scarf but was

all gone to hid his old oak chest. Then again..  Gramps stopped speaking, grew whiskers he'd never showed afore but grey thick, curly an' straight. Nobody cared,

it were Christmas  with crackers, cake, trifle, all a lot sickly. He, the best,  rarely washed. But we tried to love him. I really did, anyway; was special to boy, Joe. 

Come the new year, I grew, new shoes to wear-in. Hair cut - neat rotten it was.

Day or so on, happened Gramps said, ‘I’m off for a sky fly - Coming, boy?'  Off 

the twos of us went, him in old dressing gown, me in a vest and shorts. Freezing

cold it was but like always we had to have adventures. Wouldn't be us.  Happy 

we were, making memories I never forgot. Funny he was,  he forgot my name. 

Reviews

[redd Brick Keshner]

Glad to have thoughts as these put together and recorded for posterity. Times such as these don’t come back and when they do, never exactly the same. 🙏🏻🕊

[emmajoygreen]

Yes, sentiment and closeness like that is rarer than was.. I remembered tales told way, way back and reconstructed what - to be honest, came to me and stayed! Many thank yous, red Brick Keshner.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Most welcome, emmajoygreen 🙏🏻🕊

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

“Nine there were. 'A clan', grandpa said.
I leaned on his arm, whispered,
'Gramps, when I'm big as you,
Gonna be a buzzard an' fly off a bit
and happy”

This is the story of an Innocent, pristine, beautiful childhood described in flowing imagery blessed by a poetic mind in incomparable, lilting, colloquial language… this is a “Poem Written by EmmaJoy”- as only she can. You had me spellbound listening, feeling, hearing, imagining… wishing my childhood could have been such as this. I envy you your “Gran” and “Gramps” and your unreachable skill. Thank you my Em-Brava!

[emmajoygreen]

Hello and many thanks, dear adopted mom!! May I admit that those words are like a child to me, they came to me as I began to scribble and barely fidgeted til done - truly. Was meant to be - sentimental or not. Has a heart bound by another which can never be a love too much, it's heart runs over with an infinite light.

(Dear Lady Precious)

[Lorry]

A glimpse behind the fiction of your mind, where moments cherished once lived, before becoming memories.
Even in fiction you find cherished truths and from the memories come little bits of reality, Wether the character is male or not.
Why is it that we grow in such violent increments in youth, where someone's passing jolts us senseless into seeing the world as it truly is and a little bit of innocence us list. Yet those cherished images forever remain with us and grow us into the people we now are.
An interesting write, with a hint of a diary entry thought to it.
Very nicely captured Emma.

[emmajoygreen]

What a concise yet gently generous review, Lorry. Many, many thank yous.. truly mean that. I'm fond of this poem: arrived uninvited quite a while ago. Came from goodness knows where! Never knew my grandpas.