Still Dreaming

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poem about those magical holidays of your childhood.

Submitted: May 05, 2017

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Submitted: May 05, 2017



There is nothing quite like

The sound of rain on caravan roof.

The hypnotic drumming

Of a thousand Wild fingers.

The family shelter from the rain

Mum tries to read paperback

Dad scribbles crossword answers

Three kids play fight boredom

Black and white television shows

Only sheets of interference

Jigsaw puzzles and card games

Then, It's brightening up

Kids cheer, cagoules thrown on

Hoods up trudge through drizzle

Laughing and singing single file

They chewed and sucked on

The complicated town names

These Welsh gob stoppers.

Seaside cafe, steamed windows

Frying food drying clothes

Sausage chips and beans

Three cokes, pot of tea.

Sky now almost blue.

Cagoules zipped up to chin

They head back out.

The sandy beach that stretches

On an entire childhood.

Kids run, just run,

Animals off leash

Amusement arcade flashing lights

Another ten pence, and another

In the neon glow they bounce

Blue hedgehogs to each machine.

And such prizes to be won!

Dad will go home with no change

But a goldfish in a plastic bag.

And then the forever summer

Is over.

Still damp clothes packed,

Buckled bundled in the car

Engine starts, Beatles tape plays

Did you have a nice time?

Yeah. Wicked. Brilliant.

The dreamer boy grows

Still dreaming.

Thirty years on when his wife

Asks for suggestions for

This years holiday destination

His mind floats away

And just for a moment

He is back there.

He closes his eyes.

He can hear it. There it is.

The sound of rain on a caravan roof.

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