An open space, pitted with ditches,
Jagged places, filled with debris.
We were warned not to play there
But what child could resist it?
There we built palaces
From which princesses were rescued;
Plains where cowboys fought indians.
Among the ruins we played hide and seek,
Cops and robbers, kick the can,
And other childhood games.
In summer we climbed mountains,
Explored new continents,
Hacked our way through jungles.
In winter we sledged on icy slopes,
Had vicious snowball battles.
And when it rained we made paper boats
That sailed a brief moment,
Then sank in muddy puddles.
I love the irony in this one. You take the reader on a nostalgic journey into your childhood world of make-believe and innocence, and yet the playground of your imagination is a place of violence and war. This one tells a little of the incredible resilience of children, I think. Great poem. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Hello Margery, Another childhood memory that has the power to draw us into that scene of adventure and imagination. What I like especially is how in the first two lines the sound of the hard consonants matches the harshness of the bombsite that despite (or due to) its ugliness and danger attracts the children to play their games there. And I love the image of the paper boat floating for a brief moment on the muddy puddle and then sinking like so many, but not your, childhood memories. Kind regards Magda
Oh, those wonderful days playing in places we weren't supposed to! Guided by our imaginations and not by pre-set, step by step instructions. No health-and-safety regulations to spoil the fun! Great poem, Margery. Love, Fran xx
An exquisite piece of reminiscence Margery. A flash well caught.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great memories with a great write...........