June 15, 2005
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Flowers: A Poem
There are no flowers growing here
Amid the dust and stones.
There are some stunted children, though,
With bruises on their bones.
The most of them are dirty-faced,
Too thin or starchy-fat.
Their only toy, a battered bike;
Their only friend, a cat.
Their lives are empty as their eyes
That peer from hollow sockets.
And empty, too, their hopes and dreams,
As empty as their pockets.
The adults in their lives are lost
In crime or meth or beer.
The men are pedagogues of pain;
The women, schooled in fear.
Still some of them prevail somehow,
Some learn to love and trust.
Some little faces glow with joy,
These flowers in the dust.
Author’s notes: This poem is respectfully dedicated to the children of Felony Flats. Technically, the poem is interesting, I think–a simple rhyme scheme, abcb, but the lines are alternating iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter.
Comments (7)
I think the poem is wonderful, no matter how the author tries to make it fit some pattern. *smile*
Sad, but true…and hopeful…
Much Love…GFW
Actually, I didn’t “try”–it just sort of happened that way. Poems are like that. The first two lines just popped into my head one day, finished it the next as I was working my stand and observing some of the local kids.
What is really amazing is I don’t even like children.
But I’m glad you liked it.
One doesn’t need to “like” children to observe them and respect their strength and resilience. As much as you tend to denigrate empathy (and I still can’t answer “why” it’s better than its absence), you’re developing some and I like you better for it.
I’m beginning to think of it as part of the dues you pay for belonging to the human race.
BTW, this testy old codger shit is getting, well, old. Maybe it is time to reinvent myself–again.
me…I love children…after reading this I cried…while it is a beautiful piece…I am saddened that life can be cruel to the innocent…thanks for sharing…huggs…Sassy
I thought the poem was lovely (and I know the answer to ‘the gene pool STOPS here!’ theory) … Children themselves are interesting to communicate with, as they are the only humans who tell the truth since they haven’t been taught to lie, cheat, steal, or hate yet. To actually RAISE one? Then you’d have to be a role model. (I’m still struggling to raise myself.) Miss ya, Greyfox. I think your Indian name should be ‘He Who Adapts and Overcomes’. I never walked your walk, just followed the same trail … Just so you know, my BEST childhood memories are still those cool parties you’d have and we’d giggle while your buddies who were all tripped out on acid were rolling golf balls down the back porch roof or mixing up different varieties of coffee and spices in the kitchen! Don’t think you never made a difference in a childs life, because you were always there for your kid seestors!
I think you’re perfectly marvelous whether or not you reinvent yourself.
I wandered down to this blah-g because I was reading about your neighbor from hell.