Days happy playing lone
Climbing the umbrella weeping elm
spreading over front lawn,
my ship at sea,
clambering the mast
hiding behind leaf sails,
weighing chances of breaking leg
jumping from high to ground,
Our house behind
white roughcast
home perched
on Dunedin hills.
Pine trees march
rough barked
up the long dirt drive
of the neighbour’s
mystery mansion,
hectares of
native forest exploration
tracks over fallen trees
through gullies, streams, cockabillies
and fresh-water pale lobsters,
Dad’s spade in hand
digging ferns
to transplant,
creating my dream
new forest bush
in our front garden,
sneaking sweet apples from
orchard trees gone wild
growing gamely near
the stone block mansion,
an edge of danger-
I heard once
an apple thief got hit
with a shotgun blast-
salt pellets stinging his butt,
I tell the story many times
and I cross the boundary
again for my sweet thrill treat,
On hills behind our fence
plump blackberries hanging
from tangled thorn vines,
toy bucket in hand
pick one, eat one.
lips-fingers stained purple.
Our first family
New car smell
Cortina plastic seats
Our 20 miles Ford
parked next
to chicken coup
in freshly cleaned garage.
Dad’s garden -
me blister digging across
the hill quarter acre section,
carrot soldiers
potato mounded rows,
peas and beans
exposing pod life on
on stakes of string twine,
witches copper hat brewing
sea kelp secret recipe
to fertiliser coax the big ones,
his proud saving money world
my moaning not again world.
Dark cold balcony
facing night swathed
Kaikorai valley,
lights in windows
across the void-
are others watching like me?
wrapped in blanket
snug to cold winter fingers
of starry night,
fireworks cascading across
house lights, dim grey sky,
hours gazing.
Our cellar
Dad’s world
of "one day
it will be useful",
exploring to find a treasure
moving the tired memories
to discover nothing,
but still dreaming-
one day I will be rich.
The same cellar where
the two brothers
dug into clay banks
cutting back into
the hill under the house
hand trowel scraping
yellowy clay into
slatted apple boxes
on long rope pull strings,
following a row
of rotten wood piles,
replacing these with
sturdier concrete supports
wedged under floor joists
as we hollow further into dark.
Dad too well built to fit so
weeks of tunnel boy labour
chid underground engineers,
filling-pulling, filling-pulling.
Grandparents house perched
on a steep North-East Valley street,
if you tripped and rolled
would you ever stop tumbling…
Tonka cars and Mecanno metal
my created worlds on their
rose patterned carpet
‘brmmm’ sounds
as I push loved cars
towards the refuelling station of
Grandma’s kitchen and
freshly baked peanut brownies.
My city of replaced memories
rubber wheeled
electric trolley buses,
roads spiralling out from Octagon
who cares if it means
going straight steep up the hill -
the shape was important
on the map,
cold sea harbours
and trevally fishing
hill walks and two storey
grand wooden houses,
St Kilda salt water pool
pounded by encroaching
sea wave explosions.
Dunedin -
centered on Robert Burns
seagull stained statue,
some Scottish in my heart
the child place in my dreams.
Prompt
A poem exploring where you are from, your history and younger child memories.
Tags: memories, childhood, home, jesus, relationships
