Christmas meant a party
At the company club.
It was fun guessing whose dad
Would dress up as Santa Claus.
As we gathered, the carols played
And one by one, chaperones led
Unwilling boys to blushful girls
We had to dance, flushing with discomfort.
But oh! the food, was so good.
It was always pizzas, burgers and cole slaw
And Coke and ice creams too. In the
India of the eighties that was
Colonial Christmas fare.
Under the tree awaited our gifts.
I was thrilled with my double digest
murder mysteries. My best friend got
A set of badminton racquets.
Our memories replete with past
Christmas treats, the glow on our faces
The Holly and Mistletoe wreaths
Christmas was a day to treasure indeed
Even today recollections are a pleasure
That warm my heart with bliss.
Categories:
racquets, anniversary, celebration, nostalgia,
Form: Free verse
Christmas meant a party
At the company club.
It was fun guessing whose dad
Would dress up as Santa Claus.
As we gathered, the carols played
And one by one, chaperones led
Unwilling boys to blushful girls
We had to dance, flushing with discomfort.
But oh! the food, was so good.
It was always pizzas, burgers and cole slaw
And Coke and ice creams too. In the
India of the eighties that was
Colonial Christmas fare.
Under the tree awaited our gifts.
I was thrilled with my double digest
murder mysteries. My best friend got
A set of badminton racquets.
Our memories replete with past
Christmas treats, the glow on our faces
The Holly and Mistletoe wreaths
Christmas was a day to treasure indeed
Even today recollections are a pleasure
That warm my heart with bliss.
Categories:
racquets, anniversary, celebration, nostalgia,
Form: Free verse
Emilia In Romagna
Somewhere a lost little girl
Is crying in her bedroom closet
Because she can’t hear
Her mama
Moving about anymore
She can see dim shapes
Mama stored stuff in here
Luggage scarfs tennis racquets
Croquet mallets
Boxes of old photographs
Useless
Rubbish
Apparently not water or food
She can hear the ancient
Transistor radio
Mama always kept on
Pavarotti is proclaiming
His love for another faulty insecure woman
In an opera that makes
As much sense as this
Her disconsolate glissandos
Ravaged juddered weeping
Rival the maestro
For now
Until later
Categories:
racquets, absence, allegory, art, aubade,
Form: Free verse
Open the door and view the coats
Below them Christmas decorations
in brightly colored totes
Shelf above piled high with junk:
Folded sweaters, hats, and old dog collars
stacked high and smell of a funk
Behind the coats an old picture frame,
a ball and the old tennis racquets
lean on the wall and hide the shame
Look past the clothes and items of old
See deep inside way in the back
That old skeleton stayed where he'd been told
Categories:
racquets, people,
Form: Rhyme
Built to take the abusive raqueteering
punishment unleashed upon me
by human beings
Towering around those agile people
so quick of foot and strong of arm
with blood sweat, and testosterone raging
Black rubber ball scuffs pure white painted walls
a dash here, a strike there, a record good or bad
but each a mark of personal aptitude from a player
Highly varnished wooden floors sit at my foot
Echoing squeaks and thumps from trainers around vast cells
where contenders choose to be imprisoned
Supportive friends often stand outside courts cheering on
While racquets wave, splicing the air repeatedly
Until game over, exhausted and calmer pair remove shoes then vacate
Will this leave me in peace again
or will it mean my services are further required today
Just what is on my timetable and for how long my working life?
Categories:
racquets, devotion, education, life, nostalgia,
Form: Free verse