You sweet, tender, immortal fifteen
Caught up in wonderful delusions
Fearlessly staring life in the face
Facing your future without remorse
Do not sleep away your innocents
Age will slip quietly through your door
You will awaken to find yourself
Longing for all your youthful passions
Let’s do it again PaPa Jerry
I wish I could fly clear up to the sun
Push me higher; it’s only just a little scary
But swinging is really so much fun
Round and round and round it goes
It’s really hard to keep it up
Hula-hoops are fun you know
But not for you ‘cause you’re all grown up
I’m tired now PaPa Jerry
I do not want to take a nap
My eyes are heavy and I am weary
Can’t I just sleep here on your lap
I’m not ready for our time to be through
I really wish that you could stay
Don’t you know how much I miss you
Every time you go away
Through shoeless feet I feel
The ground trembling
I thrust my fist into the air
And pump it up and down
The blast of the horn drives me back a step
I yell, but my voice will not rise above the beast’s roar
My heart’s beat begins to match the rhythm from the sound
Of its massive wheels and my head swoons as I watch the cars gently roll from side to side…Powerful and terrifying
It seems to lift me off my feet and pull me closer
I am afraid the steel monster will devour me
My legs will not let me back away
At last I see the bright red caboose
I wave my arms wildly and in answer
To my exaggerated welcome
A grey sleeved arm
Slips out the window
The gloved hand waves
The roar subsides
The trembling vanishes
On weakened knees
I cross the tracks
Progress is never what it seems. It hides behind the mask of deceit. Progress always means change…change means money… but it’s always money for someone who has never had to live with the changes that progress has left them. Anytime you hear that they’re going to do a thing in the name of progress, you can bet that it’s just another way of saying, let’s take what’s beautiful, or intricately crafted, and turn it into something sleek, streamlined, cold…and ugly. Without warning progress will rip the heart from of a place and steal its innocents. It will pull the beauty from everything it touches and leave in its wake a crippled used up shell of what it once was.
Life in small towns always comes at you
In little spurts. Those quick flourishes
Of exhilaration that will last
Only a few seconds are followed
By an eternity of boredom
There’s never anything in between
Either your heart pounds with excitement…
Or you’re taking a nap
Futile musings of an old ghost
Ramblings
Footprints of a Witness.
Poetry, short stories and a smidgen of real-life drama
Living slowly, adventuring often ✨️
The Poems of Sam Bartle
Gabriela Marie Milton - Three Times #1 Amazon Bestselling Poet, Pushcart Nominee, Publisher
Where curiosity meets opportunity
The musings and ramblings of a young poet.
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Life is a story, waiting to be told
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
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Jerry Brotherton 