Sometimes ... Our Poems Mean Something to Some People - Joe Flach's Blog

A few days ago, I posted a blog about a poem I wrote a while back, "The Day We Burned Doug Richter", about a childhood memory.  I had just learned Doug, the subject of my poem, had passed away.

I had long ago moved away from that location and lost contact with my many boyhood friends, but, through facebook and other social networking tools, I have reconnected with a few - even those I didn't know so well - and, that is how I learned about Doug's passing.

I then wrote the following poem, copied below, and put it on facebook.  This poem has gone somewhat viral on facebook amongst Doug's family and friends, being copied and posted on many a facebook page and receiving many touching comments and tears.

I don't post it here to brag or anything, I just think that it is neat to every now and then, have this talent that all of us here share , noticed by a few and mean something to some one.  It makes all those other lines we write that go by unnoticed more bearable when we touch somebody with a rare gem.  So, I thought I would re-post it here.  I am sure all of you talented poets know what I mean.  I am sure you have all achieved the same confirmation at one time or another with your writing, too.  I hope so.  Joe

With Reckless Abandon

Many years ago and many tears ago
When bills were just something our parents worried about
When first kisses were still yet to be experienced
And summer days actually meant having a vacation

Back in the days when our parents didn’t worry about where we were
When we could leave the house before breakfast and come home again after the street lights came on
Back in the days when pinky swears were as good as gold
And cross your heart secrets were never told …
We rode our bikes, lit our farts with Bic butanes,
Went to swim team practices in the early morning mist
And played tag in the woods behind the Richter’s barn

And, in the way we played tag, our personalities and persona shone through
Some ran through the woods timid and slow and were always first to be tagged
Some were smart and cautious always aware of the best hiding places
Always knowing who was “it” and who was to be avoided and to stay away from
Some always followed others, hoping they could show them the way to avoid being tagged
Some always were the leaders, showing the way and helping others not to get caught

And then there was Doug

Doug, the son of the family who held on to their land, house, barn and homestead
One of the last remnants of an era passed
An island of farming family values surrounded by the suburban landscape springing up around them in every direction
The reason why there was still a patch of woods that we could run through playing tag

Doug was fast, though perhaps not the fastest
Doug was quick, though perhaps not the quickest
Doug was cunning, though perhaps not the smartest

But, what Doug was most often was … the last to be tagged

Doug would run through those woods with reckless abandon
There was not a sticker bush he would not run through to avoid being tagged
There was not a tree he wouldn’t climb
And then jump out of from the top
To avoid being tagged
There was not a ravine he wouldn’t jump over
A mud puddle he wouldn’t splash through
A risk he wouldn’t take
To avoid being tagged

Many a boy, of which I counted myself often, was left holding his side in exhaustion
Watching the back side of Doug making his get-away once again

Doug was not one to hide
He could easily be found
Constantly on the move
Just never to be caught

And, that is the way I pictured Doug running through the woods of life

Never hiding from trouble
Never afraid to take risks
And, never being tagged

The woods behind Doug Richter’s house, although still remaining geographically
Are long buried in the memories of the boys who ran through them screaming,
“Here I come, ready or not”

Some of us have made it through life slowly, always being the first to be tagged
Some of us have found great hiding places to avoid trouble
Some of us have led and some of us have followed

I was surprised to learn about Doug’s passing a few days ago
I never suspected he would be tagged so young … before the rest of us

I am told that Doug’s ashes are to be spread in those very woods that we ran through so many years ago
That seems so fitting to me
I wish I could be there with the old friends sitting around one more camp fire
Bic butanes securely put away
To remember Doug

Somehow, I think I would still expect to see Doug walking out of the woods
With scrapes and scratches; blood on his arms, legs and clothing
And a big ole smile on his face
With everyone else having been tagged, yelling,
“All ye, all ye come in free”
The only way to get Doug out of the woods

I imagine Doug running into heaven
Smiling wildly
And entering those gates, too, with reckless abandon

Tanya Harrington Date: 7/16/2012 1:30:00 PM What a wonderful expression of such fond memories. I feel as though I almost knew him. Thank you for sharing. Login to Reply

Carrie Richards Date: 7/14/2012 6:36:00 PM I can see why this poem meant so much to those who knew him...touching and heartfelt. Very nice, Joe. Login to Reply

Ronny Madonsela Date: 7/14/2012 1:41:00 PM touching joe, i get wat u mean. U've fueled me with this blog. Many thanks. *smiles* RON Login to Reply

David Williams Date: 7/14/2012 1:24:00 PM Joe, I like this poem to your friend, and when I write serious poetry I do put my heart and soul into it, but whether they actually 'touch' or 'mean' anything to anyone i'm not quite sure of that, I don't think my poetry is that good...David Login to Reply

Sidney Beck Date: 7/14/2012 12:34:00 PM A very touching story and well told, Joe.....a fine memory of your friend Login to Reply

Michael J. Falotico Date: 7/14/2012 11:45:00 AM Oh I do agree Joe. My poems have to have a piece of me in it but to know it touches or makes the reader reflect themselves. Then I feel I am a poet. Good blog my poet brother. Michael Login to Reply