.............................................................................................
The old school is deserted and empty for the summer vacations
red sandstone brick filled with potent memories and flashbacks
sitting across the road on the little wall
I reminisce on fleeting days that have whizzed by
when things seemed so different then
and I hadn't a single care in the world
and Mom and Dad ran the complete show
and me and my siblings were carefree and bold
I feel my shirt sticking and clinging to my back
with the sweltering and torrid heat of the day
as I sip a thirst quenching drink of lemonade
and mop my perspiring brow of sweat
watching the martins and swifts in magnificent spiral
they inhabit another dimension where aspirations come true
musing those lazy, hazy days of summer
when boys and girls played innocently together
with such unabated fun and unbridled zest
for we all carried mutual imaginings and wonderings
of what we really wanted out of life
I remembered with a wry and wistful smile
the day I got my first unexpected Valentine card
and Mummy looked at me with those loving blue eyes
realising her boy had suddenly became a man
and she had competition for my undivided attention
while I was speculating with new found joy and anticipation
who my mystery admirer could possibly be
and I developed a new found spring, in my step overnight
as the world was taking on new dimensions and perspectives
with each passing and ridiculously challenging day
while my body was sending direct signals to me,
that there is more to life than playing football
my imaginative mind had a settled game plan
I would do it my way, to a complete and considered fault
for even then, I learned you can trust no one
as the clamor of the raucous schoolyard came flooding back
removing me from my present suspended point in time
to a golden and timeless era, that I will always cherish
and as the western sun set with magical kaledeiscope
streamlining the horizon with multi colored design
the ghosts and spectres of my haunting past
came back out in full force to play once more
and once again I relived and imperiously became
that child of quite magnificent and unfulfilled dreams
and I smiled contentedly within myself
knowing this spellbinding game will never end
as the shrewd words of my mentor returned
there is a greater force than us
working behind the scenes
Copyright by Peter Paton 2006
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Ben Okri 
I've enjoyed the opportunity to reminess with you and to appreciate that all those childhood thoughts and lessons are so much the same.
Love,
Taylor
Aberjhani
Regis
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :D
I like this one a Lot. You have told so much and said so much in this poem...and it's all good stuff.
I do believe that our we are what our dreams made of. They do connect in one way or another. I also do believe that the friendly people with animal heads in my childhood dreams are mythology figures, but I was just too young to know. They were quite friendly actually, did not bother me at all each time I get there. I also was allowed to roam the garden without interruptions from anyone.
Wonderful write, Peter!
Love,
Sandie :o)
Love Tinka
Your poem brought back some marvelous memories for me as well, Peter, but as you say - the game must go on!
God Bless
Michelle!
a captivating write empowered with meaning and directive ...
Felt weird seeing my old school to now be a block of flats...
Fee
Love and peace...
Susan
Love and Peace, B&R
(God) Threw Out The ROPE-You Either Grab On To It_
Or You Simply Hang Your SELF In The Loop...
Yep, Is A Greater Force-Sadly Peter Few Will Heed Your Write...
TRASK
The quote from Okri set the mood for this beautifully Peter.
I don't know about you, but I haven't realized my dreams in their fullness yet, but I keep trying. I imagine the only time we should consider throwing in the towel would be when we pass through deaths door.
Of course that would be a promotion, and our dreams here wouldn't amount to a "hill a beans."
A very pleasant write Peter. You are a consistent writer. No placebo in this den!
Benisons ...
Richard Lloyd Cederberg