Childhood Memories One: Great Spirit Of Childhood Adventures
down the rabbit hole
of childhood memories
we tumble into lost world
watching Tobby Grandma’s dog
leap with incredible canine joy
baited by tumbling flowing water
of garden hose patterned fountains
my Father makes beside the path above
grass to entice Tobbies aerial antics
somersaults all viewing smile must
delight in, like magic, Tobby appears
across paddock with elfin liquid speed
always seeming to know when Father
waters the vegetable garden with sixth
dog sense following nose on summer
days yesteryear breezes leaps small boys
also into a myriad of adventures running
in fleeting moccasin grasses like an Indian
running playing chase in tall tree branches
with imaginative spirit that knew Great Spirit
despite an ocean of time and cultural difference
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Childhood Memories Four: Dances With Gravity
down the rabbit hole
of childhood memories
we tumble into lost world
watching Father chase white butterflies
which eat our growing cabbage leaves
with a tennis racket with foot work
leaps bounds serves volleys never seen
upon famed centre court at Wimbledon
butterflies fly float move in fluttering
unpredictable motion dances with gravity
overcome baiting my father into youthful
dances on past childhood hot summer days
this game I too played mastered but why
so rarely in retrospect such fun so seldom
played among a host of unpattented games
to up the stakes for mass extinction Derris
dust sprinkled on cabbage leaves discolours
leaves white butterflies land leave unabated
but knocks out the sucking and chewing
insects for a six at caterpillar dinner time
when rain has not washed powder sprinkled
off cabbage leaves alas it is a no-win game
set upon set waiting for new service white
butterflies as they fly in from neighbouring
gardens the game goes on until we tire or
new balls spread danger word signaling with
broken garden bodies in game we can't win!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Father, son, spirit
The father conceives his son
the son grows with his father
the spirit allows the heritage
Father, son, spirit. The father says sweet things to his son
the son is a rosebud to his father
the spirit remembers the instant of conception
Spirit, father, son. The father works, gladly
the son at school, learns much
the spirit, lovingly, joins them
Son, father, spirit The son makes his father, a good father
the union of father and son,
is the work of the spirit of love
Spirit, son, father.
poem by Teresa Gonzalez-Lee
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A Flood Upon A Mushroom
Every single passing moment, falling into place,
Nothings simply black and white here, alls in inner space.
I’ve walked so many miles to be here, to be with you when you smile
Why am I still stood here waiting, do you deem this punishment or trial
Are you the queen of hearts, my friend, or is there patience in your blood?
Is everything you hold within locked away or understood?
Colours running deeper than I ever thought they could
Tainting the memories of something I could have done but knew I never would
I’m searching for an answer, I’m running out of time
Down the rabbit hole, I’m here, there must be something lost to find.
And then when I keep secrets, of all I’ve held and hold
And when I’m running from the memories that used to make me cold
Now and then they warm me up again, the blood within my veins
is pumping through my heart again, no more falling with the rain.
A flood upon a mushroom, a garden ruined in time
And always running onwards, I’ll dream that you are mine
poem by David Lacey
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My Childhood Garden
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden
poem by Danielle Eager
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The Disgarded Garden
Their once was a young man who wanted to become a Gardner. There once was a young Rose Tree that wanted a Gardener. They met each other one summer day and began what seemed to be a beautiful relationship. The Gardner was attentive of his garden along with his Rose Tree and the Rose Tree was so happy that its tender branches grew and it bloomed continuously for the Gardner so he’d always be happy.
As time went by the Rose Tree noticed that Gardner wouldn’t tend to her as much as he once did. And when he did he would cut away harshly at the Rose Tree. The Rose Tree being a simple plant who did not need much attention still bloomed for the Gardner. It seemed the more she tried, the more the Gardner would cut away and the tree was now nestled in the ground. Why could this be? He had a bountiful garden that any Gardner would have loved to have. What more could anyone want thought the Rose Tree.
Now in an abandoned garden the Rose Tree grows back its branches, with very thick thorn’s to protect it self. As time goes by one day, out of nowhere appears a Gardener who has silently admired the Rose Tree from outside the garden gates and begins to nurture the Rose Tree in her garden. He tenderly and sympathetically pulls away all the weeds and brush from the Rose Tree so the air, rain & sunshine can reach her again. Allowing her the opportunity to grow back as she once was; vibrant, strong, colorful and to be simply, herself.
This is something the Rose Tree had long forgotten and is very grateful for the loving words of encouragement and kindness that her new Gardner has shown. She longingly awaits for his visits and when the Gardner comes to see her she bloom’s for him and relaxes underneath his beautifully kind smile. My darling Gardner, I am glad fate has brought you to walk along the path leading to the once lost garden and Rose Tree.
poem by Sarah Barron
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Spring's Rebirth
This is the time of year being that everything is awakening – once again-
Flowers are blooming everywhere-
Crocuses, daffodils and Cherry blossoms- and
Dogwood, both white and pink
Adorn nature’s window-
The time it is when my father passed away-
And many years ago I became a woman
At the beginning of spring’s equinox-
When everything is becoming
Emerald green and supple as every leaf unfolds on every tree-
I have found bluebirds’ nests upon branches while
Monarch butterflies gently flutter about grasses and perch upon dandelion’s petals-
For many this is the time of year
Tears and wrathfulness have been left behind and
At dawn birds sing a chorus to welcome a new day-
I would laugh if I had no care and
Sing if a tune would only awaken my spirit although
My soul once did a graveyard dance as
My father’s stone brought back multitudes of memories and
I see the ocean though only in my thoughts and recall
That my mother’s ashes were scattered at sea-
It has been nearly twenty years since we were a family-
Tears were hardly shed over the loss only because
In my family’s eyes I could do no right-
As lovely and fragrant as my father’s rose garden could be,
It is long gone and just as
Spring is a time of rebirth for trees, flowers and
A time for celebration-
Travels, longer days and evening thunderstorms-
For me and the essence of my existence this is a time
Long walks in the woods and early morning awakening-
Having abandoned sadness of past memories,
Freedom from being unfairly misunderstood-
And growth within myself in many ways-
Spring is a time for rebirth for trees, flowers and
Creeks are seemingly overflowing as I can hear the gentle breeze
Rustling the newborn leaves upon every tree-
Spring rains shall wash away and drown past remembrances as
I too- in spirit, mind and soul have also been reborn-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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My Childhood Memories
Childhood memories are often steeped in mystery.
The older we get the memories exclude
sometimes things we might find painful as we journeyed on.
I tried to visualise my childhood as a happy one,
though I know in my heart it was a very much lonely one.
Not only was I shy, but I never mixed very well.
I spent so much of my time nearly always on my own.
The only exciting time I can remember
was one summer I spent with friends of my father
whom I referred to as Aunt Elsie and Uncle Jim.
For the two months I spent with them
in a small town called Allison
hold some of the best memories of my childhood.
It was away from my parents
and into someone’s house that cared.
I went fishing every day
in the stream at the end of the garden,
made many friends
and had one of the most enjoyable times
of my childhood
that will always live within me.
5-6 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Kyoto
surrounded by mountains
when the full moon floats
it seems that I run into Bamboo Prince
chattering wood-flip-flops
wearing Kimono
He lives in an eel house to avoid summer heat
that has summer breezes running through
He is looking at the inside-garden
hearing bamboo-hose receiving flowing water
making sounds against a hand-wash-stone-pot
colorful maple leaves fall onto him
gets caught in A-Bridal-Day of Fox on a sunny cold winter day
eats herring-soba to keep up with protein
enjoys spring covered in pink
cherry blossoms will be on
Traditional life ideas bearing something new, here in Kyoto
in cuisine, attire and life-style
for eyes, ears, nose and mouth
In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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My Father's Eulogy
Ladies and Gentlemen,
You are all gathered here today
To pay your respects to someone you knew.
However,
I come today not to bury my father
But set him free.
You see
The man who was my father died
Along with his dreams
Many years back.
He was slowly crushed by disappointments
Until he no longer wished to fight
This shell was not the father of my childhood
Who stood straight as the redwoods
He is not the man who knew how to laugh and play.
My father bartered his pride for too small a price
And became a pauper.
His self esteem slipped away long before his last breath.
He had been trying to suffocate himself
Under his own weight.
I knew him when he still had a twinkle in his eyes.
So,
Do not cry for this body before you
Because you never met the actual soul
That so long ago was housed in his body.
He deformed himself to the extent
That even he no longer recognized himself in his reflection.
Perhaps it was easier not remembering
Who he use to be.
I inherited my sense of humor, my love of music,
My quickness and speed from my father,
Even my biting sarcasm.
My spirit seems to be my mother's.
For those of you who knew him in his youth
You knew him better than me
For those of you who knew him with a young family
You knew him as well as me.
For those of you who met him once he was broken
You may have seen a glimmer of who he use to be,
And, that, on a good day.
I will say again,
Thank you for your presence
I will ask you kindly,
Not to weep.
My father left this life long ago
Because in his dreams
He could hide from the world and find his peace.
Let him sleep a last long slumber
And,
I wish him beautiful dreams.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Weep For The Past
When I would go running to father for hugs
and admiring Nan's collection of teacups and mugs,
When I would pick daisies from the lush garden grass
and go with my mother to morning Sunday mass,
When I stored collections of shiny coloured stones
and the dog collected and buried his long juicy bones,
When brother would kick his football all day
and I would sit happily in the garden to play,
When I would paint pictures of my childhood and me
and now I weep back to where I loved to once be.
poem by Pensive Phoenix
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Summer Days of Yesteryear
We often live surveying the past
as a summer season comes around,
and selecting the days of living freely
in our memory will be found.
We scrutinize the events of other Summers
experiencing great pleasure and delight
that once we knew when we were just
youngsters when life seemed to be all right.
Through the fading days of yesteryear
we filled our life with many dreams.
From childhood days to adulthood days
it was just a natural step it seems.
We miss the thrills that once was ours
the days we felt were always free.
We live it over each Summer time
and always remains a pleasant memory.
Too swiftly is the flight of time,
Though plentiful be the exuberant ways
that lead us down memory lane
to the scenes of other Summer days.
Though another Summer season shall end,
One wish for all of you we hold
May Summer always bring an abundance
of joy and memories a hundred fold.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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The Forest
(9/5/12)
I walked through the forest of beautiful tall trees
And felt the softness of a gentle breeze
I saw a rabbit running by, as I looked up to the sky
There was a squirrel jumping from tree to tree
Landing on the branches so gracefully.
I heard the crickets making their beautiful sound
But there was none that could be found.
I could hear a woodpecker pecking away
But I knew it was far away.
I heard the shrill of the crows in flight
But the trees covered them from my sight
I heard the sound of a running brook
As I searched to take a look.
The forest with all its sights
Made my heart jump with delight
All the beauties that GOD has given
Is in this forest where his creatures are living.
I found the brook which was clear as glass
And the fish jumping- creating a splash
The suns reflection on the water
like sparkling diamonds in the brook
as I got closer to take a look.
If and when time permits
Go to the forest - take a trip
Look at all that GOD has given
This is what makes life worth living.
poem by Louis Rams
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Father there you Are(For my dad)
Father it's been a long time,
Since I was baby which I cannot count on my ten fingers,
Cradle my mother's arms,
My eyes closed yet to see my father,
Father running around,
Now I can talk and walk,
Those years later,
Father where are you?
Seeing my mother,
Saying I love thy father,
Which I do,
My love will forever be true,
Now as I grow older once again,
I ask myself,
Father where are you?
Inside my life I see a tunnel,
Running through that tunnel I hear a voice,
Do I go or should I stay?
Trusting my gut I do,
A smile on my face,
Father there you are!
poem by Qeeony Luv
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Life is short, running like the wind (Song)
God Created, Given as a life.
Touching the people, leaving the people
Moving from place to place
Life is short, running like the wind.
Flowing through the valleys, touching the water
Flowing through the mountains, touching the cliffs
Flowing through the deserts,
Flowing on the oceans and
Running around the earth.
Life is short, running like the wind.
Touching the people, spinning the lives
Touching the old and touching the young
Touching the women and touching the men
Flowing on the ground and playing with the kids.
Life is short, running like the wind.
Running through the villages,
Gushing through the towns,
Swirling in the deserts,
Storming on the oceans,
Touching the earth and calming down.
Life is short, running like the wind.
Touching the flowers, spreading the fragrance
Flowing in the sky and flying the kites
Speeding in the places and spinning the windmills
Running on the rivers and pushing the boats
Life is short, running like the wind.
Days are in and nights are out
Seasons are spinning, time is running
Teja is playing, music sheet is ending
Life is short, running like the wind.
Eyes are closing, dreams are flowing
Going into sleep and day is moving
Life is short, running like the wind.
-o-
poem by Bhavani Polimetla
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The Greatest Days Of All
(Dolly Parton)
A dirt dobber built its nest
On my only Sunday dress
And the roof leaked in my shoes
And when they dried they were too small
And the rats chewed a great big hole
In my only winter coat
And at night I'd hear them gnaw
The paper on my bedroom wall
But I still say
Those were the greatest days of all
Some happy and some sad
Some good and some bad
But I still say
Those were the greatest days of all
I used to wait by the garden gate
Where the hummingbirds came ev'ry day
To kiss the yellow roses
Growing up the garden wall
And in the tall grass I would lie
'Til ev'ning shadows brought the night
Thru the window of my room
I'd hear the whippoorwill's sad call
And I still say
Those were the greatest days of all
Some happy and some sad
Some good and some bad
But I still say
Those were the greatest days of all
Now as I make my way
Along the busy city sidewalks
My head arouring from the deafening city sound
You can't hear a whipporwill in this noisy city
And tall green grass don't grow
Along the sidewalks of this town
And hummingbirds don't fly around
These artificial roses
Like they did around the garden wall
And, oh, so often in my mind
I'll go back to another time
And I still say
Those were the greatest days of all
I still say
Those were the greatest days of all
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Father's Garden
I remember my father as being a warm person-
A strong man in many ways always working hard so that
My mother and I could have the very best-
He passed so many years ago but
I can still hear his laughter, and recall his gentleness-
As he was always there for me-
I still can see him working in his garden
At the time we lived close to the shores of Carmel –
I can still hear the leaves upon the trees rustling in the wind,
And the peaceful rocking of the ocean waves
Soothing me as they were lapping upon the shore close by-
I will never forget the joy the flowers he had planted
Brought to him, my mother and I,
As he seemed to be lost inside a world of his own,
Transforming a yard where at one time only high grasses grew
Into a kingdom of color and beauty for everyone to perceive-
I shall never forget the rose bushes-
Yellow, pink and red blossoms in their colorful hues
Enlightening to everyone’s eyes, as they were, and fragrant as well,
In all of their delicacy;
My father passed years ago- - a terminal illness snatched away
This wonderful being – tears still come to my eyes in past memories- as
I cannot comprehend that if a god exists-
How could he have snatched life away so quickly from
A person who had such a zest for life?
I shall never forget the moment he died, how my uncle
Sat upon a chair in the bathroom with his head in his hands weeping
When my father fell to the floor at his death-
Although he has parted from this world forever, fond memories continue-
People always die but flowers keep growing and live on.
Yesterday I cut a pink rose from a bush in the yard and
Placed it in a small vase upon the end table by my bed side and
As I drifted off to sleep this delicate and lovely flower carried me
Into the world of my fantasies- where my father is still with me always, and
I still feel his loving arms embracing me; I can still hear the rustling of
Leaves upon the trees outside, and I still hear the waves lapping upon the shore
And even though in flesh he is gone-
Departed from this world, he has left valuable reminiscences for me to treasure;
Whenever I stand in his garden I can still feel his presence, as in my
Heart and spirit, he shall always be very much alive….
poem by Claudia Krizay
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L.O.S.T.
I got my work
I got my work
The profit of doom is walking the beach
With a psychotic breakdown cardboard sign
Everything's faked and there's nothing to teach,
And there's no point in running crying
And i'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
Evil
I walk through the filthy sterile wasteland
When i'm no good they'll dump me on a scrap heap to die
Giant american tyrannosaur,
Even the animals are running away.
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
l.o.s.t. lost
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
Evil
Evil baby
I got my work
Yeah
I walk through the filthy sterile wasteland
when i'm no good they'll dump me on a scrap heap to die
Giant american tyrannosaur,
Even the animals are running away
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Garden
The streets are always wet with rain
After a summer shower when I saw you standin
In the garden in the garden wet with rain
You wiped the teardrops from your eye in sorrow
As we watched the petals fall down to the ground
And as I sat beside you I felt the
Great sadness that day in the garden
And then one day you came back home
You were a creature all in rapture
You had the key to your soul
And you did open that day you came back to the garden
The olden summer breeze was blowin on your face
The light of God was shinin on your countenance divine
And you were a violet colour as you
Sat beside your father and your mother in the garden
The summer breeze was blowin on your face
Within your violet you treasure your summery words
And as the shiver from my neck down to my spine
Ignited me in daylight and nature in the garden
And you went into a trance
Your childlike vision became so fine
And we heard the bells inside the church
We loved so much
And felt the presence of the youth of
Eternal summers in the garden
And as it touched your cheeks so lightly
Born again you were and blushed and we touched each other lightly
And we felt the presence of the christ
And I turned to you and I said
No guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature
And the father in the garden
No guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature
And the father and the
Son and the holy ghost
In the garden wet with rain
No guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature and the holy ghost
In the garden, in the garden, wet with rain
No guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature
And the father in the garden
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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