Oh ! That Childhood might not be reduced to an App

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Oh ! That Childhood might not be reduced to an App

Status: Finished

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Oh !  That Childhood might not be reduced to an App

Poem by: donkylemore

Genre: Commercial Fiction

Houses:

Poem by: donkylemore

Details

Genre: Commercial Fiction

Houses:

Summary

This started out as a prayer - a wish for a child .conscious of all the dangers that assails childhood.My fear like many in the medical community that children's physical and social development may be stunted by over use on internet chat rooms and the latest ''apps'' is that ,
So having started it as a kind of nursery rhyme it became more intricate -too intricate for the childs ear .
But it evolved itself into this - something which was intended to be about 200 words has run to 4 times that .Now why couldnt I resist that and left it as it came to me at first ,simple and coherent to the childs ear- well almost. But the grandiose old me took over and this is the
If you get through it , try to think of it as 2 pieces really - whether they hang together I'll leave to you to decide . But I think you'll get the general drift .

Summary

This started out as a prayer - a wish for a child .conscious of all the dangers that assails childhood.My fear like many in the medical community that children's physical and social development may be stunted by over use on internet chat rooms and the latest ''apps'' is that ,
So having started it as a kind of nursery rhyme it became more intricate -too intricate for the childs ear .
But it evolved itself into this - something which was intended to be about 200 words has run to 4 times that .Now why couldnt I resist that and left it as it came to me at first ,simple and coherent to the childs ear- well almost. But the grandiose old me took over and this is the
If you get through it , try to think of it as 2 pieces really - whether they hang together I'll leave to you to decide . But I think you'll get the general drift .

Content

Submitted: November 22, 2012

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Content

Submitted: November 22, 2012

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Oh !  That Childhood might not be reduced to an App

The sounds of children’s feet in hail or rain or sleet
Playing on  our childhood street,
Comes  to me  the in waves of my sea and the echo of my years.
And I still hear the joyous cheers
Of triumphs in  our youthful ears

And sometimes  held -back tears
At hectoring from our peers
But these were  from other spheres ,
Long before the rabbit ears
Bedecked our  black and white and snow showered TV sets
And  these were followed by  the decadent video cassettes:

I recall,
Long summer days with  a friends in his father’s woods
Before our attics filled with obsolete consumer goods

And further I recall,

We climbed and conquered the tall oak trees
And nailed bare planks into the bark, on bare knees
We fortified our lofty tree -house citadel
With every barrier to repel
The Daly gang from over the hill
To persecute them or for the thrill
To imagine we could make them suffer the bitter pill
In knowing we could bring them all meek as lambs to the kill
So keen then was the dramatic justice of our  courthouse  drill

But the his sisters and their friends,
 Before the Daly attack
Discovered a knack  , found an easy track
Into our solid lair ,
And made us (  under  threat of vile blackmail)
Share our tree hut , which was never fair

Then up they scampered with illusionary foods
And furnished our rugged roped-ivied tree house
With coloured cans carefully placed and many times repositioned , tins,
Heedless now that they’d invaded
And changed  our  fortress
To a sitting room.
 So daintily  had they  triumphed ,
Quite heedless now of a ripped skirts or fresh torn and tattered blouse.
 
They then would set about finicky cleaning
And take their dolls and their dreaming

And changed our fortressed  citadels
With  skipping rope they decorated
Our barriers with coloured petals
Till we abandoned our  lofty  bastions
And crawled away like tamed lions.


But come ! And see- all for free
Proud  and daring chest -puffing robin . Yellow glimmer of the goldfinch , the clattering of pigeon wings beating against the foliage . The bolting thunder of the rocketing pheasant. The low guilt-laden fox loping low , and slipping  without fluster into thick  deep copse ; soundless into the much- mazed -scrub. Beetles , ladybirds spiders and the kaleidoscope of butterfly wing,
Hedgehog curled in frigid defensive abandon,
Frogs gulping in startled amaze,before  wild the leap into the air and into  sumptuous camouflage of the grass turning myriad colours in September .
The smell of fallen grass ,damp with perfumed dew .

Dear child don’t barter your tender years
For some crude but clever and enticing app.
Open your feeling to all the senses
And open their senses to all your feeling
For this time is quickly fleeing
And it so  speedily dispenses
Take heed now for time is  so short and
Is so utterly relentless






But they were fair summers of eons ago
Before the internet did sow
The Seeds of virtuality
which  grows a new and fertilereality

There is no bonding such as child  with nature
Where limb and mind run free , before their departure
From this uninhibited place of childhood rapture,
With unshackled fantasy , untamed  and free of danger

But parents  now worry of dark secluded places
Haunted by wicked minded hidden faces .

Better let the child surf and play
All day.
Secure in her room  and free of prey .
No hidden mischief hidden in the
Virtual hay.

But young lungs  lie  unexposed  there to childhood allergen
And young Limbs , lithe and subtle
Willstiffen all too early  from not  romping in the  wood
And roaming freely in the  glen



  But oh ! I fear  those days  are now times past and gone
Dimmed forever by the triumph of  the web-cloyed -dawn
That flickering monster before their eyes 
Delivers  to the bedroom , a childhood in disguise.


Child , preyed upon  ,
I  wish you need not  be so doted on
But that you be much prayed for
That your  youth be not now silver- gift wrapped ,and  mummifiedand locked in a golden drawer,

Would  that  your precious childhood  could proceed , unimpeded
And the  perverts could be weeded , and that you might live out your youthful life  un-cheated
And that your days might be greeted by the hedge -hollowed echo of childhood glee in shrill -voiced joy , repeated .
And repeated
Many times-
In the Wood.

I hope for you  that your housebound , incubated childhood :
be not  ,  replaced with a shimmering screen ,
That you live  and love your youth with full abandon
Live it with safe passage and passion
Because your youth is not just a spin or toss at random
It is ordainedand it is both sacred and sanctioned

And I pray that  in your precious youth  you are neither deceived ,deprived nor your worlddiminished by some uncouth .And that you are guided through in Truth.
Never depleted , or defrauded by some amorphous avatar .
You are precious because you Are …You are here , precious and  pious and You are here  as yet without a single physical or spiritual  scar




 


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