The Long Walk

I’m taking a quick break from the Memory Poems of my characters to post one of my own this week.  This was written during Poets at Play.

The Long Walk

She remembered hopping off the bus
some sixteen years ago
carrying her baby blue Jansport backpack
filled to the rim with binders and books,
something she bore on her shoulders
5 days a week, even in the rain.

It was raining then, water drops
came crashing down.  The wind
pushed her left and right.
It was as if Mother Storm
slapped her in the face with spit.

She opened her portable umbrella,
The useless flimsy thing
was no match for the wind,
being pulled inside out
this way and that way,
a broken fragile puppet of the wind.

She struggled to maintain control,
so it wouldn’t fly away,
while crossing the street
looking like a helpless mess,
as onlookers watched
from the safety of their cars.

Raindrops streamed down her face.
Rain pelted her clothes
from slanted angles.
Little drops of water
on her jeans 
were like dark blue dots
that grew into patches
that eventually covered the leg.

Her once dried socks
were wet and squishy.
Her once bright mood
became cloudy like the storm.
She made it home, soaking wet.

It was one of the longest

10 minute walks she’s ever taken
alone
with her friend, El Nino
during high school
in the early millennium.

Flash forward – 2016/2017,
the storm is coming,
school is closed.
Children deprived
of experiencing
these memories.

a-girlwalkinginrain
image from angelgran’s photobucket

Flying

They were flying,
I could see it in their faces,
eyes wide, big grins, flowing hair.

Plummeting down the steep slopes,
it was freedom without adults,
no barriers, no restrictions,
going with nature
on a man-made slope.

Their whole beings throbbed
with power.
The lack of control
meant conquering the world.
30 seconds, it was over.
They landed
safe and sound.
The thrill still pounding
in their hearts,
sensations tingling
in their minds.

“I wanna try too,” I begged.
“You’re too little,” my brother said.
But the indignant girl
got her way.

Sitting at the top,
twirling with pride and fear,
I gave a little shove,
and went flying into the air.

My eyes wide open,
afraid to look,
but curious all the same.

Passing blurs of tables and sofas,
the carpet was like quicksand,
sucking me in,
into its embrace
of the unknown.
Freedom… maybe,
but more like fear and awe.

Almost to the bottom,
I was coming out of the tunnel
and into the light,
but I could not stop,
no breaks,
but my butt off the cardboard
and my forehead
against the closet door.

The Courage of Youth

As people get older, they tend to lose a part of their childhood wonderment as they often let fear, social status and pessimism consume their minds.  As we approach the new year, I want to encourage all of you to let loose and have a little fun.  Let your inner child shine through =)  Here is a poem of my random adventure in the park.

The Courage of Youth

Climbing
through the jungle
gym, reaching for ropes
and bars and handholds,
you pull yourself through,
with strength
from your arms
to your knees,
with your agility,

you pull yourself up,
slightly breathless,
gasping for air,
grasping for balance,
reaching the
satisfaction
of being
on top,

fulfilling
a challenge
that’s twice
as difficult
at your size,
and at your age,
but knowing
that you’re never
too old

to be silly
enough to try,
to be brave
enough to fall,
to be determined,
to be challenged,
to be a kid
on top of the world.

jungle-gym