Painted Knees
too many live their lives
denied knowing the green grass
stains the dreams of youth
This is my entry for this weeks Haiku Poetry Challenge GRASS and Stain.
There are details in the prompt on how to write a Haiku.
© 2014-2022- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.
I loved this post for what all it shares. The memories and the photograph. Click through and check it all out and support his post. @Roccoco_a_GoGo
One reason I liked it is because my parents sold pretty much every toy I had. I only have maybe 3 or 4 things from when I was a kid. Having amnesia, it would be nice to have more things to maybe try and bring back some of those memories. Not having physical things with attachments to them to see and touch is a bit sad at times. Maybe a lot of times.
A collection of my past or suggestions of childhood rest on this old suitcase.
La duchesse d’Erat has introduced a weekly challenge and has suggested a list of your Childhood Treasures; A toy, a smell, a Proustian madeleine,something from the school playground, or maybe a crazy laugh.
I found thinking back on my childhood to identify treasures very difficult. I was very blessed to have a magical childhood so to extricate 6 treasures from it is difficult. To objectify a time is difficult in itself but when childhood to me remains more of feelings and emotions than events or items it becomes even harder.
I collected a few items around the house which do remind me of some treasured memories and share them below.
List of my Childhood Treasures
1/ My first teddy bear…
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The Drum Beats no Longer
by: Ronovan
The Daily Prompt today asked about a musical instrument. It surprises me sometimes where a few words in print can lead you back to another life.
My bio-father was a musician, that is to say when he wasn’t doing other things for money. He recorded at Sun Records in Memphis, TN. Yes THAT Sun Records. And yes he was a truck driver. No, he wasn’t Elvis. But he was from Tupelo, MS. He was a drummer and singer primarily.
I don’t know if I ever heard him sing for certain. I had his record once until I smashed it into a million pieces and threw it away.
I’m told I would be placed on the side of a pool table and shoot pool as an infant and entertain the people while he performed. But things are passed down from one generation to the next. For me, I have rhythm. I can keep a beat without a thought.
Everything became a drum when I was tiny. Both sides of my family were musical. My maternal grandfather was a singer as well. Both musical men ended up leaving their families.
I was discouraged greatly in regards to music. I guess maybe it was because musicians were associated with wandering men in my family, or bad men. Now I write words to songs that I cannot put music to. I hear it in my mind but cannot put it to paper.
With my concussion and the results I cannot listen to music any longer. I guess finally they’ve won. No more music possibilities for me. I still write songs, but they are poems now. The reader can make their own music to match what they feel.
I never look at the bad as bad. You can always use it for something good. Sure, it’s bad for you but you can use that experience in life to help someone else. It only stays bad if you let it stay bad.
Much Respect
Ronovan
© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-July 03, 2014.
Cricket Chirps and Concrete Keeps
by: Ronovan
Do you remember back when
Back before childhood went to sleep
You know back when the crickets would chirp
Way way out in the forest so deep
Real glass bottles of fizz
Flavored orange or grape
You could stay outside
Way way past late
Fireflies would blink
They challenged the stars
They were way easier to catch
Way way easier by far
You didn’t need anybody
You could sit outside alone
No one would bother you
Way way far from a phone
It’s hard to remember back when
Back before childhood went to sleep
I don’t hear the chirp of the crickets
Way way far from this concrete keep
© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 22, 2014.
Pine Needle Forts and Tree Root Skating Rinks
by: Ronovan
At 12 years of age your priorities for home are different than as an adult. My father wanted land and a place for a huge garden. That meant country. For me country meant no friends, and no cable TV.
15-20 minutes outside of the nearest town is where we ended up. Not another kid for me to play with anywhere around, even though the school wasn’t far from the place. We lived in a trailer back then. It was nice and my father expanded on it quite a bit, I think that’s why I dislike the sound of power saws and that burning wood smell that it produces.
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