a story often heard in my youth.. for whatever reason..
Morning school
those days when
more children were in school
than seats at benches
some of us
some days
had morning school
some afternoon
one could be home for dinner
one could be home for supper
one could
unless tadpoles
squirmed
under the footbridge
or hairbands in lurid colors
drew attention
at the haberdashing lady's place
whenever
there was always
the village square to cross
and to the east
the mighty spire
to circumvent
one day
in a youth
clouded by mismemories
I saw the trapdoors open
and workmen seemed
to ply their trade
in the works of the clock
Suddenly
she struck her bells
not once
not twice, nor ten or twelve
but thirteen..
I ask you!
thirteen!
the little boy
who's worlds as yet
only knew of twelve strokes for either noon or midnight
took fright
ran home, arms flailing, head spinning backpack tearing at straps dashed through garden crashed through vestibule slammed open main door shouted, yelled
wide-eyed
It's never been so late before!!
It has not, for ever and ever
been so late before so tell me
for whom does the bell strike
thirteen?
Say it soon
Or it will be too late
Poetry by Teddy Donobauer
Read 719 times
Written on 2010-04-30 at 13:45
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Late in time
Morning school
those days when
more children were in school
than seats at benches
some of us
some days
had morning school
some afternoon
one could be home for dinner
one could be home for supper
one could
unless tadpoles
squirmed
under the footbridge
or hairbands in lurid colors
drew attention
at the haberdashing lady's place
whenever
there was always
the village square to cross
and to the east
the mighty spire
to circumvent
one day
in a youth
clouded by mismemories
I saw the trapdoors open
and workmen seemed
to ply their trade
in the works of the clock
Suddenly
she struck her bells
not once
not twice, nor ten or twelve
but thirteen..
I ask you!
thirteen!
the little boy
who's worlds as yet
only knew of twelve strokes for either noon or midnight
took fright
ran home, arms flailing, head spinning backpack tearing at straps dashed through garden crashed through vestibule slammed open main door shouted, yelled
wide-eyed
It's never been so late before!!
It has not, for ever and ever
been so late before so tell me
for whom does the bell strike
thirteen?
Say it soon
Or it will be too late
Poetry by Teddy Donobauer
Read 719 times
Written on 2010-04-30 at 13:45
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
F.i.in.e Moods |
|
NicholasG |
