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Array
(
[sid] => 178375
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => No Explaining in Trepidation This Time Around
[time] => 2014-05-23 04:55:07
[hometext] => One gets so tired of proper convention
[bodytext] => Three feet wide, maybe a tad more, this mountain glassiline snow melt stream burbles merrily 'tween two grassy shores- a foot deep, I judge with eyes long ago more adept at assessing these important things. My way lies the other side, three feet, hmmm....seems risky in my pollinated state; my programmed socially cataracted eyes. Other stream ponderers before me (oh..they're out there!) consider what water does to untreated leather and soggy socks, begetting wrinkled feet, have, (quite unaware they spread the dampening of joy- horrifically, victims themselves- after all, all once girls and boys) with their common sense. Carriers, every family with a Patient Zero. Stolen? Extracted? Evisserated? Spackeled? All they meet..they are as they are, poor dears. Freedom stuffed and crushed 'neath life's fears. Walk three miles to a less risky crossing? “Crossing here? Oh dear, no, not so. Come, Honey, let's go.” Slowly, by my mere association to these attitudinal pollination infectors- have me now considering this stream- (not as a child, but in an empty state void of daring- and even worse, not caring). What means shall I employ, what avoidance what ploy to not do what any boy not of second thought...to grab! Grab! Swing by vine, mighty lover of space and air!....run fast and true -jump with mighty leap! As if this stream could or would keep (that young) me hemmed...not even considered- only the crossing, dry or wet...no matter, no concern, no fret. A failed vine, young urban tarzan falls, dripping wet now, toe to tip, berm to beam..sudden fear repelled the love of freedom-(fled in shaking drops)- His mother, (herself pollinated, bless her heart) will demand explanation for so heinous an act as falling in water.... The first, soft pollination settles (from Mother) invisibly on yonder lad...confusing fear of punishment with the dying of freedom, the cessation of pure unfettered fun- his first of many poli-indoctrinations to come prior to the finished product now contemplating this watery impasse impeeding me. What are boots? Can I purchase them in a store? Are the value so great pieces of paper won't get me more? And soggy socks! Perhaps my feet, so softly pampered year on end could use a wrinkle or two, a smell, even a fungus to remind them they live. Pants are for dryers- dryers are for pants- shaking shoulders let loose spores holding me down-considering my options...it's close! I can see the freedom of choice and elation of breaking stagnation to fragments- Wow! Oh how the icey water not so long ago cold snow seeps, steeps, finding even tiny slips and spots 'twixt toes...the sting is wonderful, the zing (if I may call it that) is splendid...it is beauty to feel discomfort....I shan't explain myself this time...I shall proclaim that a cold stream woke me from a deadened dream and in defiance of social pollination, encourage my ever practical, pragmatic chums and lasses how freedom can be purchased for the modest sum of a pair of boots and socks. Plus one cold stream pouring nonchalantly from free mountain passes. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 103 [topic] => 19 [informant] => Invierno [notes] => To maintain the correct comment to poem ratio, please do not comment on your own work. Commenting on your own work does not ensure your reply will be seen. Your comment on this posting has been removed. You can send a private message if you wish to respond. Thank you. Moderator_18 [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => InspirationalPoems )
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