From afternoon siesta nap
with clear focus of mind
in holey torn vest a barefoot child leapt -
out bed and door and gate
a pool in St Anns to find,
and followed the circle road
from whence he slept
O’ fateful happy trail led
to one Oswald Berkley,
whose infant charge took under his wing.
An angel of The Lord
sent to guide me
on my rendezvous with fate
in the park wandering
“Come child, I’ll take you
where you wanna go”
said the Mirror Man at the radio station,
and to air lest not my
whereabouts to know
did broadcast my daring tale
all across the nation
He drove and I pointed
and dried my crying tears
‘round the Savannah in a stranger’s keep,
who took my ragged picture
and took away my fears -
unto me a shepherd and I
unto he a lost sheep!
Written: November 2008
The year was 1964 and I was 3 years old.
Categories:
berkley, adventure, childhood,
Form: Rhyme
Their voices the same as I remember
Simon and Garfunkel and a simple guitar
Bringing the seventies immediately back to my mind
My hip hugger bell bottoms and embroidered blouses smile again
Their folk song brought back lava lamps and fringed jackets
I am in a van painted with fat flowers and yellow happy faces.
We are heading to Berkley to play our guitars and meet friends
People we never met before, but know are not strangers
Their voices casual and pretty, soft…..
Simon and Garfunkel, bringing back the seventies.
When we all wanted to go to California or New York.
To live our dreams, make our fortunes, and become our real selves.
I listen to the lyrics, remembering them a few seconds ahead.
Transported to a different world, a different time,
Seeing the peace signs and the beaded doorways.
Wanting to press the metal and get out of the Midwest.
I let their song take me back…..
Categories:
berkley, music,
Form: Verse
I roll quickly away from my childhood cave
wanting more sun, music, dancing, delight in my life
no one follows me, glad I am gone
Berkley calls, and I answer her.
Enthusiastic now beyond any other sense I have ever had.
I am a genius here, not a do-nothing, know-nothing
Now I can be my soul-self
The music is different, the sky is pink.
I am fresh and new.
My cave memories dissipate quickly.
I get ten thousand social media requests
I shut down my computer and begin to draw
I draw fish out of the sea,
and I draw my own conclusions
knowing I am brilliant now
Nothing can stop me.
Categories:
berkley, self,
Form: Free verse
Sixty-eight! What the heck. I look in the mirror and see another me.
I am twelve inside. Can’t anyone else see?
My sense of humor is hilarious just like it always was.
I am young at heart; I still run from the fuzz.
I am a giant cuddly peace-loving hippie, who did not make it to Woodstock.
I would have but my parents would not allow it; which I think was a crock.
I was in high school then. I should have gone to Berkley.
But I wasn’t ready to leave my friends, so stayed home. Was still perky.
I want to tiptoe through the tulips, catch a ride with a communal VW van.
Painted with yellow happy faces, bubbly daisies and a peace-sign hand.
I will play a ukulele and sing folk songs louder and happier than Mama Cass.
Look at my face, my friend. Sixty-eight. Come on! I am a 17-year-old lass!
I see my eyes are fading. Arthritis makes me limp a bit when I walk.
But inside I am 19, a real beauty, with a heart that doesn’t squawk.
Sixty-eight. You’re kidding! At the most I am twenty-two or twenty-five.
I lived through assassinations, bombings, Viet Nam. It’s amazing I’m alive!
Categories:
berkley, age,
Form: Rhyme
Suddenly September reveals itself
steel grey clouds and dreary rain;
it’s twelve o'clock, but the sun is hidden.
I lean against the damp deck railing
a Brown truck’s backup horn pierces
the distant din of traffic, but at least
it isn’t one of those damned drones.
Too wet for the Hibachi but
the propane grill will work.
Chicken roasted on the rotisserie,
beans, late summer corn and
apple crisp with vanilla ice cream.
I can taste it now.
A feast for the return of
a non-prodigal son, briefly back
from the Arctic before he’s off again
this time to Berkley, leaving us alone
again but at least there won't be leftovers.
.
Categories:
berkley, autumn, leaving,
Form: Free verse
( Dedicated to my Sister Florence Grace
in Houston, Texas )
They say a nightingale sang
in Berkley square
But last night I dreamt
The Nightingale was sitting on my chair
chirping its melodious song
To my soaring soul
and now its song is part
of my being, to belong.
Categories:
berkley, dedication, introspection,
Form: Free verse