The Passive Aggressive Poem Post

When I was fourteen, I wrote a poem. It is not a particularly good poem, even for a fourteen-year-old. However, I have a relative who likes it and who thinks I should have included it in my memoir, because the poem deals primarily with my years at Sakeji School, as does the memoir.

Then last week when I posted on my personal blog about the fiftieth anniversary of my arrival at Sakeji, I got another reminder that this too would have been a good time to share my mediocre poem with the world. So I’m giving in. Since I wrote it (albeit as a very immature teenager) I am posting it here on my writing blog. I will try to remember to also add it to my website.

Memories of Childhood

by Linda Moran (aged 14)

I like to remember the feel

Of my bare feet in the mud:

Splashing in the oozy mud,

Nice and wet and deep and cool—

Lovely mud, brown mud

On the playground at school.

And I like to remember

The climbing of the trees,

And the swimming in the river,

And the skinning of my knees,

And the riding of my bike,

And the eating of candy,

And the playing of “Adventures—“

Oh, childhood was dandy!

Memories, too, I have

Of sitting in a classroom:

A big white classroom

With small brown desks.

That classroom was a happy place

That smelled of books and ink;

A whitewashed, happy, quiet place

Where one could sit and think.

I remember, childhood, childhood;

Crawling on my hands and knees;

Studying with great intentness

Frogs and snails and ants and bees;

Wading in the shallow river;

Catching tadpoles with my hands;

Picking flowers in the forest;

Reading tales of distant lands;

Sliding down the slimy clay bank;,

Rolling down the grassy hill;

Making mountainous sand-castles;

Throwing away my calcium pill.

I remember, I remember

Spinning roundandroundandround,

Spinning till I got so dizzy

I fell, exhausted, to the ground.

I remember telling stories

To the other girls at night;

I remember playing hopscotch;

Jumping rope with all my might;

Crying over a dead bird’s body;

Laughing at a monkey’s tricks;

Falling, clothed, into the river;

Climbing fences, just for kicks.

I remember lots more things,

Lots more things I’d like to tell;

But now I’m at the end of my paper

Which, I think, is just as well.

 

Note: I think it’s hilarious that at the age of fourteen, I thought I was old enough to “look back” on my childhood!

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