Summer

             Those summer days

when it’s too hot to move,

but the nag nagging has paid off,

and a picnic is agreed upon.

Smelling like suntan lotion (summer)

A basket packed,

Blankets bundled in - just like us,

            all into the back of the car,

            sunhats and cotton-shod limbs

            vie for position-

A long, boiling car ride but then -

            It’s freedom!

And the wild reclaims its children,

For a few hours parents are dens and wooden swords,

Sheltering and protecting.

The cool shade of the forest reaches out with open arms,

To take you into itself, dim and shadowy against the blazing sun.

 

            Leaves and twigs roar underfoot

            And made-up battle cries

            From the factions and tribes

(Fallen Tree with a bandanna flag,

Dry Stream Ditch with commandeered swag)

A clatter and splinter as make-shift weapons clash,

Over stolen wood and kidnapped vantage points.

The older kids strut about,

            Kings and Queens,

White the tag-alongs carry the ammunition.

            (Pine cones)

Ready for the big advance,

            We’ll take the tree, men!

            Break their scurvy barricade down!

Pirates don’t live in the forest,

But the only reply was “well, they do now!”

            A charge is readied,

            Flags held high,

            Swords and arrows and spears,

            All ready to fly,

            Orders – Ready, men, and Chaaarrr---

Food is calling, and an amiable truce is made,

In favour of soggy sandwiches,

Ice creams and lemonade.

Blankets become islands in the grass,

And ants are a fascination,

            Trying to steal our food,

            And a smaller-scale war is waged again.

 

The sun begins to drip and go,

Sleepy tykes have lain down arms

            For the back seat of a car,

Wave good-bye to one –time comrades,

Clutch a memento of the day

(No, you can’t take a squirrel, take you’re stick instead.)

Gravel crunches and the forest fades,

Left now for concrete’s harsh embrace.

The earthy scent, soft heat and shade,

The magic depths of the forest glades,

Wait for the next sunny day

            and all the children it brings to play.

Author's Note

I suppose it's a poem... really I just wanted to get the feelings onto paper rather than create a refined piece of work. Oh and thanks to LunaMoth for pointing out that rather embarrassing typo!

Reviews

[LunaMoth]

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this poem. It really captures the feeling of summer, the picnic, the "long boiling car ride," the games kids play...althpugh it is, like you say, not refined, exactly, I think the feeling of messiness actually adds to the overall atmosphere of the poem.

One small thing: instead of saying make-shift weapons, you said something else.