Lazy Days Of Hours Wiled Away.

Lazy Days Of Hours Whiled Away.

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I remember lazy days 

of many hours whiled away 

whittled from my life 

all the dust of what I saw then 

captured in an unorganized pile 

and never swept away. 

Those leisure past times 

when nothing was mandatory 

just me a mandalaying under 

a willow chewing on some 

tall grass stem. 

Watching the birds moonwalk 

the tree limbs squawking 

over imagined territories 

as clouds gathered in 

clusters to steal my sun. 

Straw hat pulled over my eyes 

when the view became a burden 

as tiny holes with the scent 

of old hay became my whole world. 

Sounds were amplified 

in my blinded state 

the splash of pool water 

as someones cool daughter 

played Ethel Merman 

in four inches of aqua. 

A transistor radio 

scritch-scratched a bit 

of the sixties in the 

June jambalaya in 

which we all stewed. 

A plane droned above 

carrying passengers to places 

I'd never see in my stationary state. 

Boys playing stick ball 

on the next block with the 

occasional schwock of a 

solid hit intermingled with 

juvenile obscenities between strikes. 

T.V.'s dribbled dialogue 

leaking out screened windows 

as housewives put aside laundry 

for the soaps that washed away 

the daze of being slave to five kids 

and a hectic daily schedule. 

Cars hummed on distant roads 

adding a constant motion to 

my mind travels 

the sun reflecting off chrome 

with occasional glares dazzling 

the vertical as I lay horizontal 

with no fixed point. 

1:00 pm on a summer day 

The smells of charcoal and 

freshly ground cow mingled 

with fresh apple pies that 

squatted in tempting positions 

on windowsills. 

Then suddenly a blond haired, 

blue eyed goddess 

heart wrenching in the flesh 

my girl next door plopped 

next to me with a sweet 

smelling whoosh and teasingly l

ifted my hat inquiring as to 

what I was doing and offering 

something better with a glance 

that twinkled and allured. 

I brushed off the hours 

of accumulated debris 

bug bits and cut grass stems 

tumbled into natural confetti 

then we wandered off together 

to some childhood games l

ong since forgotten. 

it was a bit of paradise 

in the midst of the projects 

where I grew up. 

A daily whiling away 

of those precious hours 

of youth in a sun bath 

for the dreamer in me 

that fertilized the poetry 

I started writing then. 

It's a place I now wish 

I could get back too 

when the busy-ness 

of each day demonstrates 

how little time we really get 

in the long view of it all. 

For I am but one tiny speck 

of those dust motes I watched 

dancing in the sunlit beams 

from a window when I 

was just a toddler. 

Ever amazed at their antics 

as they went swirling 

through what seemed 

to be a slow motion life 

only to be floored later 

at how quickly it all 

passes by and is gone..............................