Posts Tagged childhood memories

First Kiss

a first kissOne of my favorite childhood games was spin the bottle. I was petrified every time we played it, but I still loved it! I’m not sure my first kiss was from Lisa, but it’s the memory of that spinning bottle, and the fear coursing through my young brain and body this little ditty is about. The names, the faces, the places… pick your own, and go back when. That’s what I did. Enjoy!

Forever Changed

Bottle spinning, is but a blur

There on the basement floor

All eyes upon it as it slows

Not knowing what’s in store

 

Was Lisa who set it to spinning

Young goddess with golden hair

Every boy prays, let it stop on me

So a kiss with her I might share

 

Slower still the pop bottle spins

A last taunting turn then points

My eyes grow wide, I can’t move

Fear has frozen my young joints

 

Panic takes over my mind then

I’m horrified down to my core

Why am I here, what will I do

I’ve never kissed a girl before

 

From the circle I jump and shout

No way, I just can’t do it

Lisa gives a wink that says

Calm down, boy, I’ll get you through it

 

Young lips meet mine a trembling

My life then forever is changed

Fate’s hand upon the bottle spun

My world at once rearranged

 

Copyright © 1998 C. Mashburn

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The Wickenburg Special

When I was a youngster, I spent a fair amount of time at the bowling alley just west of town. There was a small drug-store-like café there, and as I sat on a stool one afternoon, studying the overhead menu board, I noticed a new item… the Wickenburg Special. I asked the waitress what the heck a Wickenburg Special was, and as she continued busily past me, she said, Read the rest of this entry »

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Sandlot Memories

I grew up on vacant lots in the little desert town of Buckeye, Arizona; those bare patches of ground were the places I smiled and laughed the most. We had no boundaries as such, except the daylight; when night came calling, we reluctantly left the game of the day and headed for home. (I don’t think we broke any windows.)

A Game Forgot

 

sandlot baseballSummer day, schoolwork forgotten

Air filled with mindless chatter

Pitcher glares toward home plate

Fielders shout, hey batter hey batter

 

Ball speeds to the redheaded batter

Louisville Slugger in his grip

Gonna knock that pill outta sight

Trot the bases and give cap a tip

 

Crack of bat as swing connects

Ball soars high in the air

Cover flutters to the infield

The players, horrified, stare

 

The sphere unravels as it flies

Crushed by the mighty blow

Over the fence then crashes loud

Through Old Man Wilson’s window

 

Mr. Wilson looks over his fence

At the quiet…. and empty sandlot

Remnants of a baseball in his hand

Summer day, a game forgot

 

Copyright © 1998 C. Mashburn

This is one of my older poems, but one of my favorites.

NOTE! This poem inspired a sequel! —>Where Dreams Were Dreamed.

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Where Dreams Were Dreamed

It’s not baseball season yet, but spring training is right around the corner, and I know you die-hard baseball fans are ready. So! Maybe I can get away with posting two poems on the same day (a Sunday to boot). If not, well, we’ll just call it a wild pitch! Read the rest of this entry »

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A Game Forgot

Asked to recall and write about a place from my past that has stood the passing of time and stands out above other places, I pondered and at first drew a blank. Then I recalled the vacant lots in the neighborhood where I grew up, and thought that, yes, they were the places where I smiled and laughed the most. We had no boundaries as such, except the daylight; when night came calling, the echo of mother’s voices called as well, and we reluctantly left the game of the day and headed for home. Read the rest of this entry »

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A Boatload of Memories

I wrote this in story form a few years ago, but it fits this week’s dVerse Poet Pub’s “Poetics” prompt, so I poeticized it this morning. The dVerse prompt was titled “Missing You”, and if there’s one thing I miss more than any other, it’s the good old days and those fun times with my aunts, uncles, cousins, and the rest of my extended family. We’re scattered all over the country these days, and it just don’t seem right. Read the rest of this entry »

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Do You Believe in Magic?

Do You Believe in Magic?

Looking back at those long-ago days and nights, I can’t say what made our backyard special; but it was. There were nicer yards, with better trees, grass, and kid-type attractions, but those other yards were missing something. I never gave it much thought until after I was grown and began to look back on childhood days with smiles and longing. Read the rest of this entry »

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A Boatload of Memories

One Saturday afternoon a few summers ago I was taking a walk and came upon an old boat. It looked as though it had been there for a while; weeds grown up around it, paint badly faded, motor gone, body spider-webbed with cracks, and leaning precariously to one side. Read the rest of this entry »

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No Wonder!

In the story, He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother, I write about a time when I was able to do something beyond my natural strength and ability when my brother was hurt; it took place while we were waterskiing. This is another story about skiing, but in this one, instead of being able to pull my brother into the boat with super-human strength, I am unable to get myself out of the water. Read the rest of this entry »

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Get Your Ducks In A Row!

Here’s another poem I’ve posted before, some of you might have seen it, but I know most of you probably missed it. It’s one of those silly things that just popped into my head when I heard the title one day. We’ve all been there, and done this, in one way or another. I hope you get a chuckle out of it. It was a natural for the Poetry Potluck this week. Read the rest of this entry »

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