Author Topic: He Tells His Stories  (Read 3665 times)

Offline SparkyDashforth

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He Tells His Stories
« on: January 14, 2012, 07:17:00 PM »

He begins to tell his stories.
He tells them to the plastic soldiers,
to the camouflaged sergeant, forever frozen
in mid-grenade throw,
to the green crocodilian
half reptile, half puppy dog.

He tells them to the wrought iron
gazebo in the park, a Gothic public toilet.
He is the slayer of defective beasts.
Dragons that cannot breathe fire, expire,
batteries and springs fall out
of rubberized monsters.

A pirate legend lives on to tell his tongue.
Wooden hulls, fat smoky cradles,
plunge out of the sky.  Cannonballs crash,
he abandons ship
tumbling over a low brick wall.
Scrambling over trash cans,
he explores lost plateaus.

He travels further into his stories.
Leaping before poisoned arrows.
One dart finds its mark.
He carries the wound home,
back to the gray fog-drowned bricks.
He tells the boy to lie down,
never to wake again.


~~
« Last Edit: January 14, 2012, 07:31:13 PM by SparkyDashforth »

Offline 510bhan

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #1 on: January 14, 2012, 07:26:00 PM »
Aw . . . these last few poems have been very 'reflective'. This is a boy's poem. ;D ;D ;D


Suggest a bit of tightening for S1 - you could lose 'he tells them to' in L2 IMO especially as you use it to open S2.

Lovely tie-up at the end. ;)


Offline SparkyDashforth

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #2 on: January 14, 2012, 07:34:05 PM »

 :)Thanks Sio,

will see what I can do with S1 after a ponder.

Cheers

Saint Sparky.

Offline 510bhan

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #3 on: January 14, 2012, 07:35:29 PM »
Happy pondering. :)

Offline drab

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #4 on: January 14, 2012, 07:42:54 PM »
I read it as the N being a man, and in the last S he puts away the inner child.
Interesting read S.
To live, with gentle but cunning deceit, and accept the consequences, is the destiny of every man.

Offline SparkyDashforth

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #5 on: January 14, 2012, 07:44:19 PM »


"the sweat from his pores as he ponders for his cause will make him glisten and gleam"

 ;) :D ;D

Offline SparkyDashforth

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #6 on: January 14, 2012, 07:49:49 PM »
Thanks drab,

I guess its a growing up story.
Kids thrive on play and fantasy, but life wounds kids as much as adults.
One day the inner child has to go to sleep
either early or later.
Hopefully we can awaken the child one day,
The sleeping beauty folk tale is about this issue I think.

Obliged

Don Spantos Dashaglio


Offline drab

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #7 on: January 14, 2012, 08:02:34 PM »
That's why I thought it was an adult, I suppose I never made the transformation, I can still climb a tree better than my children. Actually that wouldn't be hard, they never climbed trees, that generation missed out on many simple pleasures.
To live, with gentle but cunning deceit, and accept the consequences, is the destiny of every man.

Offline SparkyDashforth

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #8 on: January 14, 2012, 08:16:35 PM »
Yup.  I'm not much of a tree climber now. My wooden leg hinders me :)
but I spent most of my childhood up a tree, the other half of my youth
was in my bedroom reading soft porn.  I guess that's why I love trees today.
Anyhoo, bloody kids today don't know how to play without an X-Box.

Offline 510bhan

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #9 on: January 14, 2012, 08:18:53 PM »
My brother used to find the gear in my uncle's greenhouse.

Offline SparkyDashforth

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #10 on: January 14, 2012, 08:26:03 PM »
 :D Yes with the half empty sherry bottle and a packet of Capstans.
O wait a minute....that was me ;)

Offline 510bhan

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #11 on: January 14, 2012, 08:38:03 PM »
No . . .  No 6 fags ;D

Offline SparkyDashforth

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #12 on: January 14, 2012, 08:48:02 PM »
Blimey Sio

I'd forgot about Number Six.  In America we call that size cigarette, butts
Yet it was all I once could afford to smoke in Senior School.
Happy days.  Sharing a packet of Number Six with Hairy Mary the groundskeepers daughter
at the back of the sports equipment shed.

Offline drab

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #13 on: January 14, 2012, 09:01:06 PM »
You guys remember cigarettes called Boston. They were the cheapest on the market. 20p a pack of 20 (in 1970) if my memory serves. All shops served cigarettes to us 10 year olds. Happy days, cough cough.
To live, with gentle but cunning deceit, and accept the consequences, is the destiny of every man.

Offline 510bhan

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Re: He Tells His Stories
« Reply #14 on: January 14, 2012, 09:03:37 PM »
You bought packets of 10? You could buy Embassy Red in 3s. ;D