my mind goes back
to school racks
we were over in class
i was fast
like my friend
that was only way to win
i had to be apart
to make thing smooth as lard
my bubby was name al
he was my
HIGH SCHOOL PAL
It was raining then with showers sweeping the town
With cool droplets driven by the breeze panning from dawn to dusk!
Prickling my lips my eyebrows my cheeks
Swinging my memories from butterflies of the yore!
Around my elementary school of age
Every fresh drop of rain smells as fresh as new earth
Tastes as sweet as nectar of the core!
Come Monsoon each time quiver each cell in me,
Kindles every memories in deep
Brings back my bygone smells of broken pencils,
Tender sweats, wonder scent of girl friends of mine
Each year each monsoon I grow year young by year young
I grow year after year; in leaps and bounds
in a hurry younger and younger
Close to my school close to my habitats close to my town
Like in a man machine, but in a memoirs machine
Back to life!
Krishna Baalu
© krishnabaalu/2010
as i get up off the floor
im reaching for the front door
off to school im rady to go , without breakfast but no one knows
maybe i should skip school and get on the morning hustle , just for a dollar to get some food
because im waking up off the floor hungry ,cold ,and body sore , but one day i will leave that
floor
There was a naughty girl
And what a naughty girl she was!
For nothing would she ever do
But daydream all day long!
She wouldn’t eat her oatmeal
Instead, would quietly suck her thumb
When came time to dress for school
She wouldn’t comb her hair
She'd much rather munch on a cookie
Scolded, run to Papa in tears
When the school bell rang at eight
She would be running late
And when walked to her school house
She wouldn’t enter her class!
She spent a whole year sitting in her eldest sister’s class
The nuns, they tried to bribe her
With cookies and some milk
There were times she’d eat the cookies
But wouldn’t drink all the milk!
She was taken on her first field trip
To the ocean’s shore one day
And Excitement filled those eyes
That widened at the sight of rolling waves
She screeched endlessly and clapped her hands in play!
On the next day she went willingly to her classroom
And was asked to write about the trip
She held her pencil to paper and wrote
Her very frst poem at the age of six
I was eight...
always late,
as the dusty school bus
passed me by.
she was one;
I couldn't let her cry
as she waited for our
mom.
I moved her crib
into my room...
to comfort her
should she awake
He was seven
and asked if I knew how
to clean his dirty clothes
I filled a sink,
scrubbed his jeans
and washed the dirt away
They told me they were hungry;
I made sure
that they were fed
I was eight,
always late...
as the dusty school bus
passed me by.
When I was a lass, we didn’t have much
Funny how we liked it though, just as such
We played in the street with a whip and top
In the school playground on a hopscotch we’d hop
Streets were quiet ‘cause there weren’t many cars
Falling off our bikes to leave a few more scars
Dandelion and burdock to drink with Sunday dinner
Yorkshire pudding first, that was always a winner
I remember when I did the hula hoop real good
I can’t do it anymore but really wish I could
Blackjacks, fruit salad, sweets and sherbet dips
Pear drops in our penny mix along with cherry lips
Love hearts, fruit gums and liquorice shoelaces
Sports days at school, the egg and spoon races
The three legged race and the sack race too
There were lots of sports we had to try and do
We had to behave ourselves when we were young
At school in the assemblies hymns were sung
Snowball fights and sledging we had in the snow
Where did all those lovely years really go
Then we grew up and things moved on
All those years as a child had now gone
I remember it so well but it was long ago
I wish I was a lass again, knowing what I know
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