Nostalgia<\/p>\n
I remember:
\nGiant women, uniforms of black and white;
\nchewy toffee filled with fizz
\nmy tongue, a funny coloured hue<\/p>\n
Catapults would launch our bombs
\nwhile bendy bow, if deftly used
\ncould send a missile twenty feet
\nand leave a rebel army bruised<\/p>\n
A smiling girl was just a tool
\nWe played and died with such finesse
\nheld back tears, cos… we were real men
\nand knew, to shed a tear…would not impress<\/p>\n
We’d build with ingenuity
\nDams, dens…swings of knotted rope
\ntraverse raging swells of make believe
\nwhilst always hating soap<\/p>\n
Baggy-arsed, in trousers short
\nand sleeveless v-necked woollen top
\nwe’d take our lives within our hands
\nswing out wide, let go and feel the drop<\/p>\n
Bikes so tall, we had to stretch our joints
\nor ride with leg pushed through the frame
\nand peddle in an awkward, slantwise crouch
\nHands reaching up, the handle bars to tame<\/p>\n
Sugar butty snacking, in the dark
\nagainst a damp brick kitchen wall;
\nfearful of, an uncles belt or fist
\nterrified of being made…to take the fall<\/p>\n
Nights counting coffins, in burning coals;
\nseeing faces change…seeing terrors cold
\nwaiting for that key to turn inside that lock
\nsomeone new, to slap this face so bold<\/p>\n
Mildewed army greatcoats, strewn across the bed
\nwould suffocate the noise…would confiscate the welt;
\ntouch of rotting clothing, around the faceless boy
\nsoaked up tears, that no one saw…that no one ever felt<\/p>\n
I remember:
\nShrill laughter, childish squeals;
\ncycling down a country hill, at breakneck speed
\nusing plastic sandals, to act as breaks on wheels<\/p>\n
Hardened gum, from off the floor
\nhad a certain taste, it was…perfection;
\nafter taking turn, to savour this confection
\nnext in line would take the gum…and never give rejection<\/p>\n
Wheel-less rusted cars, with smelly leather seats;
\nwould flash through streets at ninety mile an hour
\nI would be the driver, chasing…all the uncles from my life
\nbehind a shiny steering wheel, somehow…I had that power<\/p>\n
Twenty screaming urchins;
\nsharing two ice creams, “me”, “me”, “me”, would do the trick
\nslowly melting scoops of joy were shared
\nand every screaming urchin…got a lick<\/p>\n
Swapsies, swapping toys and treasures;
\ncards with well known faces, made the day
\nchipping chipped glass marbles, into mucky holes
\nwell worn shoes, boots…only fit for play<\/p>\n
Carbonated pop, wooden swords for fighting
\nbloody nose…mixed with runny snot;
\nalways trying something new, pretending
\nwanting…to be, that something we were not<\/p>\n
Pulling faces, throwing stones at silly Mr Jelly Jones
\ngetting ears pulled, arses slapped…told to go away;
\nrosy-redness from the slaps, would be put on display
\nonce we raised our scraggy pants, we’d laugh with proud hooray<\/p>\n
Saturday matinee, sneak thief viewers;
\nonly posh kids paid…we had no need of usherette
\nintermission\u2026 sweets, goodies, such a stir
\nseldom knew that velvet taste…of chocolate<\/p>\n
Weekday swims, wet drooping draws;
\nwater warmed, by hulking factory vent
\nemergence into wind whipped chill
\nstanding stooped, elbows bent…all our effervescence spent<\/p>\n
Adventure craved; adventures lived
\non train; on bus…a chariot to youngsters eye
\ntook childish soul, upon a seat and gave it wings to dance
\nthough every day upon return, sad child, a little more would die<\/p>\n
I remember:
\nRaging fists; stinging leather on my cheek
\nI remember:
\nPride\u2026 at holding back the tears, for oh so many, many years
\nI remember:
\nPain so sweet, as size ten boots would stamp down hard…upon my feet<\/p>\n
I remember most of all:
\na car with nuns…that came to call
\nand how my mother smiled that day
\nThe day she gave my life away
\nto uniforms of black and white<\/p>\n
–William Marsland<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Nostalgia I remember: Giant women, uniforms of black and white; chewy toffee filled with fizz my tongue, a funny coloured hue Catapults would launch our bombs while bendy bow, if deftly used could send a missile twenty feet and leave … Continue reading