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pram rides through miniature worlds (1 Viewer)

dannyboy

Friends of WF
Mother knew the child’s mind
how still emergent, a pearl
remembering the clam,
the child’s mind echoes
with the twilight sounds of the womb.

No one needed to explain to mother
the child’s mind
preferred miniature marvels
to the titanic artifacts man creates
almost in defiance of that earlier, innocent state.

For the day’s special journey, Mother
would ready the pram
then she and I would roam the neighbourhood
visiting the sacred front gardens
created for a child’s delight.

Tiny cottages hidden between towering flowers,
a windmill beside a pansy,
lakes large as two ice-pole sticks laid
end to end, two storey houses
for beetles and bugs to inhabit.

For hours she pushed me
around the streets visiting each of my favourites
or discovering a new one,
houses and bridges smaller than a moth’s wingspan
waiting for eyes to feast where feet could not.

At night, in bed, the walls cracking in the heat,
staring up at the ceiling, imagined
inhabiting a motionless miniature setting
still and silent, bloated with expectation,
safe in time and space.
.
 

Firemajic

Poetry Mentor
Staff member
Senior Mentor
Mother knew the child’s mind
how still emergent, a pearl
remembering the clam,
the child’s mind echoes
with the twilight sounds of the womb.

No one needed to explain to mother
the child’s mind
preferred miniature marvels
to the titanic artifacts man creates
almost in defiance of that earlier, innocent state.

For the day’s special journey, Mother
would ready the pram
then she and I would roam the neighbourhood
visiting the sacred front gardens
created for a child’s delight.

Tiny cottages hidden between towering flowers,
a windmill beside a pansy,
lakes large as two ice-pole sticks laid
end to end, two storey houses
for beetles and bugs to inhabit.

For hours she pushed me
around the streets visiting each of my favourites
or discovering a new one,
houses and bridges smaller than a moth’s wingspan
waiting for eyes to feast where feet could not.

At night, in bed, the walls cracking in the heat,
staring up at the ceiling, imagined
inhabiting a motionless miniature setting
still and silent, bloated with expectation,
safe in time and space.
.

Well, well well!!! What have we here??? This is completely fabulous... the mood and message made powerful with your use of unique imagery....

Tiny cottages hidden between towering flowers
a windmill beside a pansy

two story houses for beetles and bugs to inhabit

houses and bridges smaller than a moth's wingspan...


love this so much... This is more magical than a Mad Hatter's tea party... Thank you for sharing...
 
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