A teen aesthete
wanders to the soul bartering crossroads
down from where the bus let off.
Gathering weeds and stray flowers
of windblown cemetery seeds.
To make a shrine, self inspired,
at the wayside of God.
To lend by ritual, and evocation
the passage of their development
lonely and gifted.
Shrugging off the ubiquitous pack
and taking from within; magical finds
discovered during cherished playtimes.
Collected in a self-adorned shoe box.
Things gleaned from treasure hunts
and fantastic pursuits.
A cache of light:
cat's eye marbles, chandelier crystals,
blue, clear, and green, sea glass
rolled and shaped by cousin sands.
Dull till spit wetted, salt licked.
By wave defying bravery
a pluck of pebble or sunny glimmer.
Run to Mom for her glamor, and approval.
Brought home in playful pockets
from beaches and picnics.
Now artfully laid in tearful grief.
Creating a mosaic of introspection.
The last to set in place
a paint chipped, wooden, geometric
puzzle piece.
An icon of fractured lullabies.
A dream ending; bare feet,
wet pajamas, and a long car ride.
Ever wondered if angels fall in love
With a divine beau in heaven above
Do angels long for an angelic kiss
Or for to exist in romantic bliss.
Do angels dance upon God's holy stage
To divine music that's seraphic rage
Rotating, gyrating, twisting, twirling
As was done when just a girly earthling.
Would angels play games, such as hide and seek
Or are they simply too mild and too meek
To indulge in those long ago playtimes
Games that they played when they were in their prime.
Do angels wear dresses spun from gold thread
As did princesses in those tales once read
Does it matter to them how they are seen
Or do they dress for the heavenly scene.
Is it true angels watch o'er us in sleep
Singing lullabies to God's precious sheep
Keeping one safe in dreamland overnight
Until moonbeam and starlight fade from sight.
I wonder if angels weep many tears
When they're witnessing war, worries and fears
When all they desire is peace upon earth
That all folk and creatures have equal worth.
The old school bell would ring out at the start of the day.
Chalk on blackboards, shirts and ties.
The school colours of green and gold.
Crowded classrooms, with very little room.
Lunchtimes were spent in classrooms,small and crampt.
No kitchen, the meals brought in.
Meals served up by Mrs May and Mrs Coles.
Dinner ladies Mrs Turner,Mrs Burd and Mrs Bolt.
Four classes, plus one held in the village hall.
My class of thirty seven, tables in long rows side by side.
Janet and John books then Peter and Jane.
Classroom Assemblies were the norm'.
The headmaster Mr Collier strict and stern.
There were very few facilities.
Mrs Bird,Mr Scott,Mrs Collier and young Mss Ball.
And Pre National Curriculum....
The children having separate playtimes.
In the tiny playground, there wasn't much room.!
Outside toilets, cold in winter.
Morning break;children drinking milk out of a bottle with a straw.
The long hot hazy summer days
sports day held in the farmers field across the way.
The three legged race and the egg and spoon.
Children running, jumping, having fun.
And then the important news...
We're soon to have a.... Brand New School !
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