Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Oh grow up!




They grow in nets of safety
cocooned in wired homes
lost the need
to fight and bleed
for rights a child owns
We grew in nets of safety
danger never seen
we swung the bat
to kill a rat
and balanced on the beam, that
stretched across the russet barn
its floor a rotten mess
hide and seek
unmeasured call
left us with a guess,
of who was up the apple tree,
branches lightening scored
with broken limbs collected
from children who weren’t bored.
.

18 comments:

john.g. said...

You star, who wrote that? lol.

Verilion said...

Love the rhytmn and sentiment of this poem. Well done Minx.

Minx said...

Shhh, John G, no 'lol's'. I am surrounded here by Masters (and Mistresses) of the poetical world and trying not to look too stupid. See, V's got the right idea!

Cailleach said...

That's different approach Minx, I like it a lot!

Shameless said...

I am going to do a Moon ... mmmmmmm.
I get lots of different stuff out of this ... nice images, except for the rat bit! :)

Minx said...

Sorry, Shameless. We used to try and kill rats with my dad's cricket bat. I don't think I ever hit one, but I did knock Patrick Nolan's tooth out.
And I did fall out the apple tree and broke me arm - twice!

wolfbaby said...

Very nice!!!

L>T said...

well, i don't have anything smart to say except, I really like the poem! Reminded me of my own childhood on the farm with my two onery brothers.

Minx said...

You don't need to say anything smart, L>t. I am just glad you liked it and that you could reference your own childhood!

Hi baby wolf, thank you too!

Atyllah said...

This has beautiful cadence, Minx!

Susan Abraham said...

...for rights a child owns...

Some of us have had the bat swung at us Minx. It may be worse in cocooned nets because no one guesses while we're kids.

I liked this poem very much Especially when you scroll on downwards. A classy write! :-)

mutleythedog said...

Hi Minxie - I reckon you need an air gun for rats, you can mice with a blunt instrument- or I can kill them with one shake grrrr!

Minx said...

Thanks Atyllah and Susan. I realised the other day that I have a whole load of poems about my childhood I still visit Torquay (in Devon) quite a bit and the barn is still there!!

Mutley I'll leave the killing to you, or perhaps you could sing at them????

Roberta said...

In summers, I lived in a giant pink crabapple tree in my back yard. The cat and I would climb as far as we could and I would read book after book...

Fond memories.

Minx said...

Memories indeed, Roberta, and ones that many of our coddled and pampered children today will never have.
I don't remember my children ever disappearing from morning until night with me not knowing exactly where they were.

Debi said...

Love it ...

Minx said...

Thanking you, Miss debi!

soubriquet said...

Oh, memories... I grew up around farms, falling out of trees, leaping from haystacks. And the ratting... As the old stacks were broken up, folk would come from neighbouring farms, the yard closed off with planks..fierce little terriers hopping from foot to foot, growling, anticipating...
Clambering up the weathered stone on the outside of the granary, we were scaling cliffs.
Treading the old oak roof beams, we were Blondel, tightroping across niagara, or pirates aloft. yes, we collected bruises, lacerations and broken bones, but truly, we were never bored.