LONG AGO IN A SUMMER AT THE EDGE OF MY CHILDHOOD.
Long ago in a summer at the edge of my childhood,I sat holding fingers by an orchestral sea,that hissed and rumbled salty,where friends and I ran oyster coloured,along the pebbled seaweed beach,and lay for hours on end like starfish,spread out under the canopy of the summer sun,or we gathered by the shore with sand castle and wave,tip toe splashing through the silver surf,and some mornings the tide would be out,leaving behind the crabs that snapped at our feet,seagulls out on the distant skyline, playful with ships,their red funnels in the clouds going slowly out of sight,when night fell, it fell with the splash of Ferris wheels,fresh night air swirling around the rocking horse playground,with the moon camouflaged amongst the fairy lights,Chinese lanterns hang along the hour glass front,azure blue dragons with their tongues on fire,swaying back and fro as far as the eye could see. Long ago in a winter at the edge of my childhood,I remember a night when I was young,A snowing, blowing night,where I sat by my window cocoa warm and dreaming, fire eyed and melting,looking out over a world, that could become any world I dared it to be,I sailed a ship on a bubbling white sea,with captain hook eye-patched, with all hands drowning,over the boiling waves dipping and clipping, with ice-bergs as big as steam trains,or worse, meet wild monsters of the deep as big as Uncles,thrashing around under my blanket made cabin,and then my bedroom would be a mile high, where I'd fly old aircraft's into the white blinding night,a hundred miles on one engine, and as the snow hit the glass,I would jump to the floor and lie dead for five minutes or longer,as I lay down young, a child so distant ago,my head blessed between cloud and sea, half asleep by shore and field,adrift in a playground of unraveling dreams,walking summer or winter, with my pocket book of verse, hanging by my side.