When A Child Dreams

I would dream summers

running through hemlock

brush scratches naked calves

the moment, lost in its mystique

 

When we were kids

we were ushered out of the house

play until you drop

play until you drop

 

We didn’t mind

being ushered out

we were in our element

children of summer

 

When I was a child

I didn’t imagine barriers

there wasn’t a risk of

seeing a friend bloodied

 

We didn’t walk around

waiting for our parents

who were never to be found,

unless of their own volition.

 

When I was a younger boy,

I could run for hours,

feeling the heat of summer

knowing the thrill of joy

 

In my wildest dreams

I was never sought, ushered,

told to stop my scream

for justice beyond my dream.

 

Today, the children of summer

are everywhere and far away

from the beauty of love

the compassion of a tender tear.

 

Today, I do recall freedom in my childhood,

I weep alone for the children of summer.

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The Beginnings of How We Believe

A young boy looks out to sea from the shores of the Greek islan

I suppose there has to be a little peace,

the mind in a restful state,

oh and music offers a solace,

an avenue to draw the heart

along a wonderful path of sweetness.

 

I remember as a child

there was this hilltop,

can’t call it a mountain,

but the anyway was the reach,

a gravel path to the cityscape.

 

I would sit there for morning,

often afternoons,

the evenings find me again,

it was a place where I would sit

in wonder about all the things I did.

 

I reflect today on that patch of gravel,

the rocks and stumps I chose

to sit upon, or perhaps a lean to

on a tree nearby, and I wonder

if I knew now what I worried then.

 

There is a certain beauty in finding peace,

when we can believe,

we know in our hearts the right thing,

the world of humanity,

is designed around the concept of love.


Photo found on savethechildren.org

 

 

My First Experience With Survival

It was the summer of 72,

just beyond the previous winter,

I would stay home,

amongst my school friends,

chums, the guys I hung with

all school year.

 

Yet I didn’t know them,

because the 12 summers before,

when I began to remember,

around the age of four,

I’d spent elsewhere

in a different world,

a time zone whose style

didn’t match up

with the hometown crowd.

 

It was there I lost him,

imagine the imbalance in my mind,

a good friend

labeled my survivor guilt one time,

and I haven’t been able

to look past that ever since.

She gave a freedom

to realize life has reasons

and they’re not always mine.

 

So it is then that I reflect upon,

when today, I can barely breathe at all.

Summer Daze Alone

A familiar air,

cloudless sky,

Listen to the sounds of a backyard,

tree trimmers, grass cutters, BBQ-ing neighbors,

listen to the children with innocent screams nearby.

 

He would understand,

their natural allegiance to the land

around them being an open playground,

his own did the same,

decades earlier,

on similar days,

a cloudless sky,

the sounds of summer daze.

 

Yet there is a familiar air,

perhaps we call it the resistance,

we felt it when twelve years old looking out the picture window,

a light rain, yet friends gathering,

and him,

staying inside,

pretending to not exist,

though experiencing all of the psychological trauma,

that associates our lives with the living.

 

He would find himself in that place again,

today,

while the world outside embraced the summer skies,

his mind in a fog,

wondering about time, wondering where,

curious just why he falls into this mental cavern of

indecision,

it is the time he remembers as a boy,

wondering in the moment,

not knowing beyond the day,

yet now, in the quiet midnight,

the same question remains.

 

 

I Wandered Home

I’ve come here often,

when I could remember fear,

often,

when time seemed to stand still

I would look over the horizon,

picture running through fields as a child,

suddenly thrown into my teens,

those places I would weary my return.

I wonder about people

those I knew,

those I wished I might never know again,

I remember why it is I sometimes don’t really like people,

not everyone of course – I do love you.

I just

just when I might begin the next year,

I wonder sometimes why it is we continue to return to that place

we began to fear

when time allowed us to question ourselves,

when we had far too much energy to worry about who we

might have been, had become, wanted to seem,

where it was we all remember this might begin,

little flashbacks,

idioms of pain,

little moments of reckoning,

stir the anxiety in our mind,

while returning home,

where there is love, where we unwind.

home

love

time

we all do return after all,

it is sort of ironic really,

how quickly we begin to wonder again.

When I Was A Child

I remember I could believe in magical things,

the diamonds we cherished in wedding rings

On a sunny day, I could imagine I’d see forever

when rainbows appeared, I would run until never.

~

When I was a child I recall all of my scary dreams

were mysterious inventions of my fears it seems.

While happiness, security, confusion followed me,

hope, passion, optimism, confidence eluded me.

~

I remember I could look in a person’s eyes at will

without ever wondering if I might be today’s pill.

I could climb a mile of stairs in a half a minute,

turn around, run downstairs and forget I was in it.

~

When I was a child I would smile in every instance

I found if I didn’t my world became horrific intense.

I wish I’d decided as a child to let go of my notions

instead no longer might I pretend away commotions.

~

When I was a child I remember life seemed lovely mild.

A tearful demeanor didn’t determine when I was a child.