|
Seasons Of Laughter
The winter icicles along the frozen eaves,
like wind-chimes, crack and tinkle in the falcon breeze.
And laughing children stand and fire snowballs up
to crash them to the earth like flashing meteors.
Then, squealing, bound into the drifts like playful pups
to seize their prey and suck the fresh and icy tang
of gleaming sunlight frozen in its crystal fire,
and savor winter’s flavor on their eager tongues.
In spring, the coeds giggle in the empty stands,
and titter at the taut and tightened haunches of
young bucks who whet their antlers on the playing field,
in practice for uncertain combat yet to come.
They jeer the posturings they watch with craving eyes,
their bodies flushed with adolescent eagerness.
They hug themselves with fancied strangers’ lusty hands
and clutch their thighs together to protect their warmth.
The summer cabins echo with the bawdy bark
of laughter and the snapping of the poker cards
by ghostly t-shirt silhouettes of swarthy men
cast by a naked lamp on fly-specked window screens.
The air is censed by sweat and beer and kerosene,
by stinging citronella oil and cheap cigars.
They lick the foam from icy pop-top cans of beer
and brag of earthy passions — they have never known.
The autumn old folks gaze at faded photographs
on foxed and flaking pages cushioned on their laps.
Their memories, once keen and sharp as stainless steel
now blunted — gilded with the chestnut rust of years.
They chuckle at the gentle lies of endless youth
and boundless possibilities depicted there.
Then, wrapped in mental tissue paper, set them by,
and clothed in afghans of nostalgia, hug the past.
1940s Portrait...
H. Armstrong...
Buy This at Allposters.com
Reviews
(applause received) 
Be
the first to review this poem - click here.
|
.jpg)
