denying of child's play

it is now

and we are exchanging multi-faceted memories

most about our shared but unequal childhoods

involving my having been parentally disregarded out of hand

on your behalf


as if I had been some wolfish leader of an urchin pack

you were not allowed to join

( though having missed out on the hunts for fun none for human prey )

you were never Man Friday to my Robinson Crusoe

or a twin to my yodelling Tarzan

how loudly we could have made our presences known

among the parks shrubberies and

insufficiently high enough trees till closing time.


How wrong and low

were your guardian's opinions of my lacking status

helplessly inflicted by poverty

always footed was I with calf reddening gumboots


seen capering with my own uncouth kind

under streetlamp's on many a midnight hour.


Did your enforced jealousies arising

while observing our unruly antics late at night

indelibly stain themselves on your young mind back then?


Oh! I had no shortages of pity for you and your loneliness

your cotton wooled incarcerations

those you on and off cried about on  home alone days

when we both toured the luxuries you lived in


or the drainpipe climbing invitation you sent

so we could board game in secret

while adult attentions were distracted downstairs

diverted down socialising ways

highly likely to have been peppered

with both pomposities  and

upper-class attempts to out-class their visitors.


No, you were disallowed  from being

the rough and ready toughened for life kid

I could have turned you into becoming.


Sadly my little rag arsed, brethren

have disappeared long ago to elsewheres

demobbed by age and other inescapable infirmities no doubt.


Still, here we are together again

rejuvenating at least some of our stolen friendship

not anymore will I be seen pursuing you

like the stalking canine, I had always been made out to be.


Our  new games will begin as from this day

those you can freely join in with

but this time without the chains

without the jailers.






◄ trying to be his own redeemer

essential goods ►


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Sun 21st Jul 2019 10:31

thankful you all took and appreciated the long worded journey guys

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Jemima Jones

Fri 19th Jul 2019 15:40

Such a lovely and wonderfully worded little story poem this is Leon.
And Rose is quite right, it does have that Oliver Twist ring to it.
Thank you. Jemima.

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Rose Casserley

Fri 19th Jul 2019 13:00

this reads a little like words on a page from an Oliver Twist type novel deserving of being converted into a kids tv prog.

A lovely tale Mr S.

Rose ?

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Thu 18th Jul 2019 22:42

despite the crap signal previously causing the blogging delay Devon because of and between sticking to my patient guns and you're well worth having done so comments I can't thank you enough and I can't thank whoever invented headache tablets enough too! ?

Devon Brock

Thu 18th Jul 2019 22:30

Leon, is this the poem you "lost"? If it is, I am glad that you found it. Not being of the UK, the class structure of British society is only available to me through Dickens and such. I have never read it displayed in the first person. So that was enlightening. But what I find most poignant in this poem is that children, until it is beat out of them or into them for that matter, don't tend to see distinctions of class, color, religion, etc. I am thankful you took the time to put this together, there is much more here than a simple tale.


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