Life has an odd habit
of making you miss
old street curbs and
stop signs.
The street I miss
the most, though,
has to be the cross
street between the
crab apple orchard
and my friend
Jacksons
house.
Something about that
place felt infinite. And
something about sometimes
friends feels greater than
sometimes.
Would I go back?
Absolutely not.
Because it was by my
old elementary school,
and going there would
only remind me of all
the times being a kid
was enough.
I think it stopped being
enough when I got to
the ending of "Stand By
Me." And I realized that
River Phoenix was dead.
Or maybe it ended when
my brother got a girlfriend,
and I developed a bad habit
of sleeping in,
to ignore the fact
that I was undesirable,
and that my brother didn't
want to play games or talk
to me anymore.
I miss my brother.
I miss Jackson.
And I miss that green
park that was right behind
his house.
And I especially miss
that old crab apple orchard
where I wasted whole
afternoons reading up on the
adventures
of Tom Sawyer
and Huck Finn.
Tell me,
are there any
street curbs you
miss?
Unlike the Famous Five,
with capers, japes and adventures,
boats and well stocked picnics, we lived
a back street life. With a sock and masking tape ball
and mucky fat sarnies.
The Family Allowance Five.
Each one of us an extra pound.
With facsimile school photos,
in hand me down jumpers and carving knife tread pumps,
floorboard cricket bat and under the bed air rifle.
Crab apple scrumping and tresspassing for mushrooms,
rabbitting before school,
paper round before school,
milk round before school.
Everything came before school.
Sunburnt scoundrels but "never any bother"
Corrugated asbestos roof walkers.
Cinema ticket hawkers.
Unseen, inconsequential, together but apart.
No roots or football boots.
Hot pot bollocks.
One foot here one foot there.
Immigrants finding their way,
but without the ginger beer.
On a grassy verge above the surging rill
she stood fair haired and proud,
three leaf clover substrate at her toes.
Clutching saline bouquets I had plucked
from my neighbours walk-in green house.
Woman of resplendent peerage cast a
pearlescent glance among the swirl-frond
waves that prey on fractured fjords.
At a distance, in her mind.
But not for long before we fled like butterfly
escapees over marshes, mounds and meads.
Shriek from sun-dried swallow as we stumble
awkwardly upon their woodbine nest.
Noonday train fire iron to the fossil
fuel bled caterpillar plain,
rural muzak for a pinpoint tip toe dash
through barren fodder,
spiny thistle scald on insect bitten arch,
splashes are a symbol on our craft
stitch needle knitwear.
Yet I struggled to keep pace on
raw earth sand stone,
crab apple briar tangles by the dozen
hung like plastic refuse obstacle,
but nothing now could halt this headlong
sprint to who knows where.
Date written; 23rd Of December 2020
Date posted to contest ; First Of October 2022
Contest name ; 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 15
Sponsor ; Mark Toney
A 26 line poem
sudden spring
explosion ~
crab apple blooms
AP: 2nd place 2020
The cold comes
following an endless spring
that lagged forever into summer
where it could not keep its hold
then returning again in autumn
to linger on the trees and low in the grass.
Now, comes the cold
chills dropping twenty degrees
barely reaching thirty
with frost forming on the vines
along the silvered rooftops
wrapping around fallen leaves.
Tight, full and unrelenting
crab apple and sugar maple
hold firm their form
paling yellow greens
tatter edged ochres tinge crimson red tips
rustling, wrestling with the windy breeze.
Squirrels wait patient
thick furred and bushy tailed feathers
running to and fro with acorns nd walnuts
clutched in their mouths
searching for that perfect spot
to dig and bury next years saplings.
The cold comes,
chilling both body and bone
enveloping this hideout of the world
wrapping round the trees and brush
marking my corner of the earth
as life slows down embracing a winter watch.
They hung stiff up on the tree
as if they were in the air and free.
Covered in an icy coating reflecting from the snow
that set that color deep, dark red and bold.
Tiny apples cast against the naked branch
clinging tight holding squirrel and bird entranced.
A little warmer and they can still ripen
colored fruit of a small crab apple titan.
It bloomed in spring with pinkish tipped flowers
and summer awakened it's fruiting powers.
Now, they hang suspended
frozen solid new winter not near ended.
Cast against the sea of white clear ice
promise of Christmas all sugared with spice.
Cleanse the earth, cover well the un-laid seed
rouse the hope of ending want and need.
Let the season sweep boldly in
and mankind rise up to display the truth of him.
Like fruit frozen in time and place upon a tree
we should never be too proud to bend our knee
Ask God for guidance, truth, love and peace
thank him for conscience making only promises you can keep.
A tiny apple on the branch survives
still tempting us for the prize
living and loving well
breaks that final spell.
HAPPINESS 101
squishing mud between my toes
icky fingers in my nose
frogs harrumphing in my pocket
worms and bugs and itchy things
lumps and bumps the scratching brings
bugs and snakes and critters all
long and short fat and tall
funky muck from willow pond
exploding tops of willow fronds
feathers floating everywhere
willow angels in my hair
sticker burrs and sapling glue
painted cheeks of berry blue
munching on crab apple snacks
following a bunny’s tracks
humming drone of dragonfly’s
butterfly’s of any size
lying flat in lush green grass
shaping clouds floating past
a summer day, a dog, and me
John G. Lawless
8/30/2015
I have a dear feathered friend who greets me each day at dawn!
He likes to dwell in and around the crab apple tree on my lawn!
From his perch he serenades me on wintry Colorado morns so drear,
Cheerily belting out trilling melodies that are so pleasing to my ear!
Oft I've wondered why Robbie Red Breast opts to winter here at all,
'Specially since all his friends flee these icy climes for Florida each fall!
While they bask in the warming sun enjoying cocktails of orange juice,
He prefers wintering here with me along with all its nippy abuse!
'Tis a wonder that the little creature can manage to survive,
Since there are no wiggly worms for him upon which to thrive!
Robbie doesn't worry - The Omnipotent Creator sees to his daily needs,
By providing an occasional hapless bug and a few wind-blown seeds!
I think that rascal relishes wakening me from my slumber each morn,
As he flexes his wings and sounds reveille to begin his daily bourne!
I'd rather be woken by him, tho', than the neighbor's yapping mutts!
'Tis certainly far more pleasant - of that there ain't no ifs, ands or buts!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Hawthorn leaves,butter and cheese
Kiss-me-quick,tansy salad
Butter and eggs of toad flax,
Crab apple jelly
with rose hips and sloes-
Cider-cup
Flows !
Crab-apple trees; flush
As the autumn hues ripen
Oak and maple leaves
Coloured red, gold, and orange…
Gently fall -- covers the earth
Tanka
Tanka is a classic form of Japanese poetry related to the haiku with five unrhymed lines
of five, seven, five, seven, and seven syllables. (5, 7, 5, 7, 7)
The 5/7/5/7/7 rule is rumored to have been made up for school children to understand and
learn this type of poetry.
Rockfield Road
A blend of northern grasses fields
a forest of homestead trees; the saplings,
long overcome by maturity, bear witness
to the prayer of Native sons; to give back
what you take from Mother Earth.
In the midst of this green-crowned bark,
a sacrificial altar of oak remains;
its once tall spine gives strength
to the walls that house my children.
a beauty lost to hearth from need.
One over-populated crab apple,
draws deer at dusk and dawn.
Thank God for a pre-set Mr Coffee,
and a strangulated teapot
for morning routines,
worked in first light,cease,
as the four-legged creatures near.
I smile, as the collective intake
of breath is held and released
without accompanying speech.
Breaking the moment to be on time
for artificial satisfaction,
is not the legacy I choose
to leave my children.