Posts Tagged ‘children’


we played out on streets
full of laughter and joy
sun high in the sky
playing games long forgotten
tig, kerbie, hide and seek
we had no cares or worries
life was simple, a pleasure
till the pop man came round
his smoky old wagon
slowly crawling onto our road
for a second everyone stopped, looked
and then the streets swarmed
with children running home
desperate to get the empty pop bottles
and get the 1p back on them
so they could get more pop
and another sugar rush
to get them through the afternoon


playing out on the street
on a summers day
sun high in the sky
games of tig, kerbie, hide and seek
no-one had a care or a worry
life was simple
till the pop man came round
alpine was our favourite
for a second the streets swarmed
with children running home
desperate to get the empty pop bottles
and get the 1p back on them
so they could get more pop
and another sugar rush
to get them through the afternoon


the old, run down mill

stares at its reflection

in the deep darkness

of the still, silent river

as ghosts of men,

women and children

drift by on currents

stealing them away

to new places to haunt

 


remembering my father who would

fashion a rifle for me

from any old block of wood

carved and sanded down to

look like the Lee Enfield

he fought with in WWII

copper piping for a barrel

a nail for the trigger with a

rusty hinge for a guard

off i would go to fight a

war where no-one got hurt

no-one got injured

no-one got killed and

we all returned with

limbs, eyes, brain intact

no need for crutches or wheelchairs

as we ran through the

valleys and woods that were our

battlefields, hiding behind bushes

climbing trees, leaping streams

jumping embankments before

we conquered the black hill

as we played out our war

with wooden weapons

the only scars we gathered

when we fell and cut our knees and palms

as we ducked make believe bullets

that never fired or hit and we

swore blind we had never been shot

even though we hit our target a mile away

how brave we felt playing our

pretend wars with weapons of wood

that never hurt anyone

and now i look back

and think how all wars should be fought this way

until exhausted from a day’s playing and running

you go home for tea and a telling off from mum

and after a good night’s sleep

you are ready to fight another day

in the only war our young minds understood

and our only fear was the telling off from our

mother’s if we were late home


the valley of my memories that started from a

single pipe, too dark to see beyond its mouth

too small to climb in and explore its stomach as it

spewed forth its watery contents

 

into the valley of my childhood

always moving fast in the same direction

through parts narrow and parts wide

as the sides of the valley rose and fell

 

running with the stream as

we played in its bowels

day after day after day

as the sunshine warmed wet pebbles

 

where it never rained or snowed

so we could build dens to hide in

as friends ran by seeking us

pretending to be brave soldiers

 

leaping over the narrow parts and

jumping from the highs to the lows

flying through the air like

peter pan, if only for a second

 

landing in a heap on stones

that cut and grazed our knees

our only scars of war

this was as brave as we got

 

and then the valley ended

disappearing into a tunnel

one we could crawl into

see into, no secrets in here

 

and we got through to the other side

to a dark place we did not recognise

this was not our playground

we did not belong here

 

so we would turn around and leave

this desolate place behind and

return to our valley, the valley

of a never ending childhood

© Andrew Smith 2014


I’ve heavily revised this poem. Hope you all like it.

on a bright, september morning

his mother kissed him

let go of his hand for the first time

hanging in mid-air longing

to be held again before slowly

drifting down to his side

as he watched his mother

fade to grey in the crowd

realising he was alone

for the first time in his short life

in a world of unfamiliar faces,

unnatural bodies, slow motion figures,

orbiting his mind lowryquse

pass by going nowhere

a gaggle of kids stop, stare

his vulnerability exposed

in the sunlight bouncing

off a black mirror into eyes

belonging to distant relatives

he is alone, easy meat for the

slaughter men of the playground

encircling their prey like

a pack of wild chimps

and he is alone in a head of noise

figures pass by, not seeing him,

not hearing him not tasting him

as mandibles lash out

and he falls to the cold,

dark ocean of asphalt,

his body sinks deep

into a mass of hard blackness

rebounding ready for the

next punch as faceless objects

peer down at him laughter

intoxicated by primordial aggression

leering at his overwhelming confusion

tears flow down frightened cheeks

as fingers grapple to

pull hair, redden skin

rip his organs from his

body and eat them

while he watches

then it stops

the bell rings

dividing the air

and this asphalt space

is devoid of life,

no noise, no movement,

no beating,

and he lays on the skin

of the earth

the only sign of humanity

in this violent landscape


He remembers that first day at school

On a cold September morn as his mother

Let go of his hand for the first time and let it

Drop to the floor, kissed him on the forehead,

Turned around and left him there alone for the

First time in a field of unfamiliar faces, a

Landscape of slow motion figures, revolving

Around him like a L.S. Lowry painting and then

They see him, a gaggle of kids looking for the

Vulnerable, those alone, easy meat to pick on,

Waiting to strike them, destroy them in the blink of an

Eye before anyone notices what is happening

And then they begin their attack, moving slowly,

Encircling their prey like a pack of wild chimps

Ready for the right moment to set about their

Victim, and he is alone in a wall of noise as

Figures past by not seeing him, avoiding him

Not wanting to be there when they tear into him,

And the first punch comes from nowhere and he

Falls to the cold, dark ocean of asphalt, his body

Sinking deep into it before rebounding ready for the

Next kick as faceless objects peer down at him

Laughing, mocking, enjoying seeing him in

Confusion and pain, asking why, why, why,

And the beating begins like a shower of meteor’s

Ripping into the earth from everywhere and

Then it stops as the clock strikes ten and this

Asphalt space is devoid of life,

No more noise, no more movement,

No more beating’s, and he lays on the skin

Of the earth the only sign of humanity in

This violent landscape


Sorry but I haven’t been on here for a while. Been feeling under the weather and out of sorts. Not been feeling very creative so not much writing done. However I have come up with this one. It’s how I view growing up with Asperger’s and how it can feel sometimes.

Growing Up

As children growing up we are all the same
All developing through play, school, family and friends
Sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell
All exciting and new to a child

Socialising and communicating with others
As they explore a whole new world
Excitement uncontained and unabated
And then childhood stops

For some at least
But for others it does not
Their bodies grow old and weary
Yet their minds are still those of children

Thinking like a child
Feeling like a child
Living in an adult body
In an unfamiliar world

That doesn’t understand

Struggling to cope with everyday tasks
Day after day after day
Welcome to the world of autism
Children living in adult bodies

Struggling to live in an adult world
A world they don’t understand
Struggling with life everyday
But always with a smile on their face