You can’t catch me.

March to the beat
of the drums and symphony
let the voice rise
rolling down hills green
and running like a child
with fluttering of hand-made flags
we cry, ‘You can’t catch me!’
and so the laughter rumbles
and the Earth trembles
trampled by happy feet.
‘You can’t catch me!’

Swinger

I sit upon a swing
an old tyre tied
to the towering gum tree
all the leaves hustle and push
to get a peek
of silly old me
legs reaching the sky
head tilted back
as the breeze rushed on by
weaving through my hair
I swing on the old tyre swing
legs kicking high
a moment I shall remember
in years to come
when a grown man swinging on an old tyre swing
will be frowned upon
nor will I be able to kick the ground
and launch into he sky
and I swing higher and higher
not yet aware what this moment means
or the echo of my smile
I am just a child
upon a silly swing.

(Image courtesy of madpoet_one on flicker: http://www.flickr.com/photos/madpoet_one/)

Dream of Trees

I have a little dream
she whispers quietly
a dream one day to grow big
‘How big?’ her mother asks
and the little one gleams
‘As big as trees!’
and watches her mother laugh playfully
‘But, honey, only trees grow as big as trees. Why do you want that?’
the girl hung her head and bit her lips, and whispered
‘They can see everything I can’t.’
Her mother dropped to her knees lovingly
‘And what do you want to see?’
‘Anything. All I see are legs and that’s it.’
Breath caught in her mother’s throat and she rose
pushing the chair on its wheel.

Race

Been a long road travelled
the dust furl
leaving but prints
of a place traversed
down the dirt path
where the grass grows unthreatened and tamed
there be a tiny ruffle in his wake
as he tears down
gushing the wind between limbs
that orcastral laughter zinging
fizzing the air
of centuries.

Bring back the day

Bring back the day
of those merry ways
when laughter would take its hold
on the floor, we would roll.

Bring back those days
where the little feet would race,
to send the earth rumble and quake
for nothing more than a moment of joy.

Bring back those days
when the scorching sun would blaze
and over the toiled plains we went
embracing the opened-armed air.

Bring back those days
of the merry old ways
the world is in need to learn a thing, or even two,
when nothing evil lingered in this very ether.

Bring back those days
Or maybe just a day full
when the skies would be waiting,
and the plains were once more playful.