Huckleberry Days
A Time That Was And Is No More
by
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The Brook Something about a rushing stream/ Attracts a boy not yet a teen./ A place to build a dam from rocks/ After taking off his shoes and socks./ Were the pool bigger, he could swim,/ But wading will be enough for him./ Now and then he'll spot a crawdad./ Can he catch it, this brave lad?/ They can pinch. You must take care./ Too late, it's scooted to its lair./ He can launch a ship or two,/ Any piece of wood will do./ Then try to hit it with a stone,/ Or splash his friend, if not alone./ It's time to go, how time has flown./ Should he wreck the dam for play?/ No, let it stay for another day,/ Or another kid who comes this way. The Bike On reaching twelve I had some luck./ I bought my cousin's bike for seven bucks./ It didn't look like much, it was old,/ But I didn't care since I was bold./ I'd get it running and paint it red,/ And then I'd have some wheels, I said./ With effort I got the bike working one day./ I learned by trial and error along the way./ And then I had to learn to ride./ It's something I had never tried./ When you're young is the time to learn./ Kids seem better with balance, pump, and turn./ My experience started on our lawn./ First I fell while mounting- bad form./ Then on board I was able to stay,/ But couldn't steer- the house got in the way./ Soon I was able to ride up the street./ I didn't know what I was about to meet./ By the side of the road tall weeds grew,/ Hiding a trail toward which I flew./ At that place and time I met a horse./ My bike and I collided, of course./ Who was cared the most I cannoy say,/ Rider, horse, or me on that fateful day./ The horse kicked out as they're wont to do./ There's bad and good news I'll relate to you./ The broken spokes on the bike is the bad./ The good is the hoof just grazing this lad./ The rider was able to stay on his horse./ The outcome of this could've been much worse./ From this brief encounter what did I find?/ "In life much is timing," sticks in my mind.
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About the Book
When I see kids today, spending their time with all the electronic paraphernalia, I feel sad. Will they, like me, have fond memories of youthful experiences that will last a lifetime? I hope so. It seems they don't know how to play anymore. Also, they don't appear to spend much time outdoors. My youth was spent in a suburban town in northeastern New Jersey. Our home was on the edge of town and bordered a tract of land that included fallow farms, woods and fields, ponds and brooks, the town water company property, and a county park. Our neighborhood was a great place for a spirited kid, and I had many adventures which are described here. I chose poetry, because I tend to be brief, and I enjoy writing it. The reader must use his imagination to fill in the details. Maybe some of my older readers will remember incidents from their own early years. Have a good read.
About the Author
The forties era was a great time to be a boy. If you lived at the edge of town, where your house bordered a large tract of unused land, then even better. I lived in such a place and thought I'd share my youthful experiences through poetry. This is a strange way to write about boyhood, but it's more fun than dry prose. These poems are all based on my true experiences. Most of them occurred during the magic age of ten to twelve, when a boy is old enough to try a few things and not yet a mixed up teenager. I am a 75 year old retired engineer living in eastern Massachusetts. My true love and I have been happily married for 53 years. We have four married kids and ten grandchildren. Though I have done some crazy things and have been willing to try almost anything, I have always been lucky. This just may be due to my frame of mind, or maybe I have been truly blessed in life.