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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


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· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

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· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

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Childhood Catharses

by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com

After browsing through a compilation of The New Yorker images, reflection of war as a child whose parents made ammunition, the memories sometimes now flow like a movie, while at other times, mere snapshots, some tattered, some warn, but all with purpose…if we allow. Whether fact or fiction, those tears…some manufactured, some from the heart…always perpetuate adulthood’s reality, inevitably tarnished by one war or another. (Image by The New Yorker).

Saturday, November 4, 2023


Poem Artwork

 


 

 

Childhood Catharses

 

 

 

The past?

 

The beginning?

 

Childhood remembered?

 

Which childhood?

 

The one getting dim?

The one that won’t go away?

The one called fearful

            Where cobwebs now lace

The well opening once sealed

By board and nail

That hole to Hell

Mother warned

 

 

The one remembered

for confused emotions?

The war bonds brought home each month

The coverall you hung each night

Dusted with gun powder astray

From arms plant vigil

 

KEEP THE BOYS SAFE

The billboard said

KEEP THEM ARMED

 

Even as my BB gun remained

Locked away

Boys don’t war, she prayed

Boys don’t war? I mumbled

Confusion made ready

As uncle and father said goodbye

 

Whispering letters

The halo ringed snapshots

Atop the mantel they stood

Proud to have survived

Proud of smudged droplets

The red now yellow with age

 

And we pretended

You and I

With slingshot

And bean-shooter

The Nazis were dead by the dozen each day

Each day of childhood then 

 

Mustn’t fall asleep ‘til…

 

Soon

 

Soon mother will have her overalls

 

Soon

           

Ammunition production will stop

 

Soon

 

She said it often

All during

That

Childhood then 

 

Which childhood you ask?

 

The one still wrapping us all

With invisible chains of

Technology’s vapor

Our bean-shooter and slingshot

Now asleep in dust

As joystick stays gripped

Our heads slumped downward

An hour eternal maybe

Avoiding that foxhole to hell

Our board and nail hole

Now an open bong

An IED of mind waiting to detonate

 

That childhood?

 

Or the one you never escape

The maximum security fortress

That “be a good boy” entrapment

That “your father must be remembered” enshrinement

That

Church going

Apron clinging

Tear drenched

Towel of 12 rounds

Whose bell never stops

That says


Daddy is watching”

 

Be strong

 

Be brave

 

That childhood?

 

My BB gun now hangs

On nails atop the door

The entrance to childhoods missed

Never opened

Sealed shut forever

A caring mother

A missing father

Meaning well 

Now but memory
like the sunlight

Only the attic sees

That place where

Coverall and parent’s dreams gather age

While

Childhood

 

Rages



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Reviewed by John Herlihy
Reviewed on November 5, 2023
When we consider what the world and what we are individuals have to go through in a given lifetime, it is amazing whether anything of the childhood psyche and innocence can be retained. But that shouldn't stop of from trying. A stirring poem with much food for thought.

Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Reviewed on November 4, 2023
Very emotional and poignant. You helped me know why my grandmother hated war so much she wouldn't let my dad play Taps on his CCC acquired bugle. For you, World War II affected your childhood greatly and it is obvious from what you just wrote. Stunning and exceptional.

I was born too late and too young to feel the pain of the war. If my father hadn't been washed out medically in 1941, my teenage mother would have been sorely pressed just to keep us in food and shelter. I don't recall any deprivation or bad news during the war at all. But I still dislike war as a ignorant and backward way of settling territorial disputes.

Ron


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