Posts tagged childhood

Wake the wonders

This world is filled with poetry
swirling movements made of art
this world that boxes lazy dreams
deep inside our sleeping hearts

we’re meant to fly, yes you and me
but where to point? where to go?
which star to fly? which moon to land?
who to bring? with whom to grow?

questions…questions we failed to ask
our little selves when we were young
back then we knew the universe
its secrets written on our tongues

This world is filled with poetry
swirling movements made of art
let us unbox our lazy dreams
and wake the wonders in our hearts

Duck Eggs

Ask me right now if I know what I’m doing, and I’ll tell you right away that I don’t have a slightest clue on how to start this one. Surely, it’s easy to tell a story, we do it every day, to our friends, our pets, to that elderly lady at the bus stop. Heck, we tell stories of our adventures like we earn from it, we are, as we would always say, professional story weavers, we add, deduct, depending on how we think people would view us after we say “the end.”

Our stories would usually change, depending on who we are telling it to, my wrist for example, I broke it while I was trying to save a kid from being run over by a huge truck transporting hungry lions, wrapped with barbed wires and sticks of dynamite, while all along dodging rabid bears and landmines on my longboard. But of course, this story is only for friends, truth is, I crashed while trying to downhill a busy intersection, I wiped because I still have yet to learn how to do a stopping slide. If I told you the latter story, then you know where you stand.

But I digress, what I am  really trying to say is: telling a story by mouth is different from writing it down, and because of that, we are here…which is really more like: here I am, having my evening tea with nothing to do. Sure I can play Skyrim, we all know those dragons wont slay themselves, but I chose to do this instead, to sit down and recall from memory a story from my childhood and write it down for my friends. That’s you guys.

But of course, read along only if you have the time, if you don’t but you’re still quite interested, you can always like this post and just hunt it again in your favorites when you got your free time, if you’re not interested at all, you can always skip this. Like I said, it’s just a story, you won’t learn from it, perhaps get a few laughs but really, it’s just a story, about, duck eggs.

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The Owl and the Pussy-cat by Edward Lear

I

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
    In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
    Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
    And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
      What a beautiful Pussy you are,
          You are,
          You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

II

Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
    How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
    But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
    To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
    With a ring at the end of his nose,
          His nose,
          His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

III

‘Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
    Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day
    By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
    Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
    They danced by the light of the moon,
          The moon,
          The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Note:

I remember reciting this poem in front of my aunts and uncle a bazillion times, I was a little rocketboy age 5 or 6. Edward Lear for those who’s not familiar with this awesome silly badass is a writer who garbs his face with an epic beard, also he was my favorite childhood poet and artist and I think I was 7 when my mom gave me his work “A Book of Nonsense” for my birthday. This childhood hero of mine taught me nonsense and silly prose writing at a very young age, and I can safely say that if not for him I dont think I would have turned out to be me right now.

I’m not sure if thats a good thing or a bad thing.

But I do hope you guys enjoy The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. I did, and I still do.

As for my obligatory limerick:

There was a young little rocketboy of six
who recites poems and do other tricks
for a candy or penny
he can prose, sing and dandy
oh that little young rocketboy of six

Childhood is forever

Remember how you wanted to be a bird?
or a whale in the sea spewing sprays with each song?
or how you wanted to be a mermaid or a dragon or a prince?
now you’re left with a question as you serve and wash dishes,

where did I go wrong?

remember when you were a child?
you were building empires of clay with your soldiers and kings?
you were surrounded not by sheets,
but by valleys and mountains and those green rolling hills?

now you’re a princess no more as you stare at your ring.

remember when your worries were as simple as rain and joys and happiness came  from the whispering sun?
now its the paycheck,
its the gadgets, its the growling muscle car and yet you do not ask,

where has all the beauty gone?

but its never too late you see,
childhood is forever for a person can never grow out of it,
it is only too late when you forget,
so never forget.

never forget how you wanted to be an astronaut,
how you wanted to paint skies and kiss rainbows,
how you wanted to preserve mornings shared between you and your mother and her hugs and her touch and her love,
never forget how you wanted to soar up high with the birds
and swim deep with the dolphins and fishes ,
never forget all those silly little wishes,
never forget your vow as a child,
that you’ll grow up painting flowers,
where stealing is a sin,
where you’ll find a sleeping princess
marry her and turn her into your queen.

now as you sit there in your cubicle watching papers go by,
never forget that you are meant to fly high,
ask yourself this and then maybe you’ll find…
if we are creatures of comfort?
then why do we have wings in our minds?

so never forget,
and never say never.
remember my friend,
childhood is forever.

A hundred thousand reasons

Remember when you were a kid
your mom use to complain
everytime you dash out in the open
to play in the rain?

she would scold you and give you
reasons why not to.

…of getting sick
of getting hurt
a cold
a cough

…oh a lot of adult stuff

and you’d grin
and poke out your tongue

for you know she is silly
and pull her out in the open
to play with you

you convinced her
by giving

a hundred thousand reasons

why people should play
in the open
in the rain
who cares about mud stains?

now that you’re old
can you still remember?

just five out of your hundred thousand reasons?
just five

and then you’ll gain
your childhood back 
when the world was a happy place

where you can dash

and play

and dance

and laugh

and shout

out in the open…

…open rain.

(Added in House Supernova)