Different Time, Same Place

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By erin boote


 

A different time perhaps

but the same place

A girl of 11 with a freckled face

rode to the public swimming pool

look ma no hands on a purple banana bike

No crack houses or prostitutes in sight

A different time in the same little place

that once was home, so quiet..so safe

to play outside, dodgeball, chinese jump rope

One will seek while the others hide

A different time but the same place

our children cannot this world embrace

what used to be

neighborhoods free of sirens and crime

The freckled girl would skip down the street

popsicle in hand, and life was sweet

saying hello to strangers she would meet

They were not to be feared, No Megans Law

someone elses mom cleaning you up if you were to fall

We wouldn't go home until we'd hear the call

and the streetlights came on, so bright and tall

a kid in the park picks up a needle and a used syringe

starts to play around, says "What is this"

and parents shudder, pray, and cringe...

Now children remain indoors

playing Sims games, on the internet

Mom, I'm so bored......

What happened to that world we knew?

After all we are in the same place

There once was grass so green and fresh

in the park where we played each day

The swings were painted green every Spring

The freckled girl and her best friend would swing

as high as they could go

I see London I see France

I see Molly's underpants!

Today the park is dark and full of danger

and even the neighbor is now a stranger

They wait like vampires, vultures, demons

to capture each and every mother's child

Hanging out by the basketball court

by the swingset that now has no swings

Offering a new brand of candy

a trip to the morgue

Mommy, Why can't I go to the park

I'm so bored

A different Time, but the same place

We long for days long ago

In this town where we ourselves did grow

The senior citizens have been pushed out

Much too scary for them to stay

heartbreaking to see this place

where children used to laugh, and run and play

A different time perhaps, but the same place

Never to return

can't we raise children here?

It's a sad reality

Somewhere in that park

in decades past

there lies the memory of a place so nice

in the background Mr. Softee's Ice Cream theme

not thugs, chains, and songs degrading women

A different time, but the same place

Where is that girl with the freckled face?

The year was 1973

Its sad to say but that girl was me

Who is this girl who can't play outside in that same place

The year is 2009

and that freckle faced 11 year old girl is mine.

 

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Tracey Fonzo  says:
7 months ago

Fabulous! Terrific read! Since you and reside in the same town and always have, and our both raising our children here, this one really hit "home" for me. Your subject is dead on accurate. both of your poems have made me cry today. Not neccesarily in a bad way, in a way or realization.

Thank you for your words.

bob enright  says:
7 months ago

Erin, your poem is not only a work of art, but a dead on accurate, and sad commentary on the state of society today. Like you, I can remember all the freedom and joy of growing up in the late 60's and 70's, and am very saddened to see my daughter growing up in a world where she is a virtual prisoner in her own home. What has caused this change? After 30 years of "progress" our society is crumbling...It is time for good people to stand up and make their voices heard. Thank you for taking the lead. I hope everyone reads your poem, think hard on its' message, and start speaking up.

Brittany  says:
7 months ago

Great poem ma.

Love the ending.

Violet  says:
7 months ago

I love the story this poem tells, as I am reading this a picture is drawn in my mind. It brought a tear to my eye! That's talent!

Red  says:
7 months ago

Great poem Erin. "Irish." Sure took me back to when life was so much easier. Back then, people weren't afraid to open their doors, sit on their porches, and let their kids out to play. Curfews were kept and the Streets were safe. Think I'd actually trade some years to go back to those days. Thanks for the "Good memories."

Russ Baleson profile image

Russ Baleson  says:
7 months ago

Besides being a poet, you are a wonderful story-teller. Stirred many emotions. Thank you Erin.

RooBee profile image

RooBee  says:
7 months ago

This is great, so sadly real! I am glad to have found you thanks to Pete! Going to become fan now... :)

k@ri profile image

k@ri  says:
7 months ago

This is so true! You brought tears to my eyes, missing the days you describe.

Jen's Solitude profile image

Jen's Solitude  says:
7 months ago

Hi Erin, your poem is so true. We were just discussing playing until the street lights came on. Times have changed that's for sure. Welcome to hubpages!

~Jen

Connie Smith profile image

Connie Smith  says:
7 months ago

I can absolutely relate to that. I grew up then too. It was a different time. I regret that my grandchildren don't have those opportunities of freedom like we had. I also agree with Bob that we have given up quite a bit for the new technology that we enjoy. Erin, you are gifted as a poet. Keep them coming.

Lady Rogue profile image

Lady Rogue  says:
7 months ago

I was 11 in 1980 and the same holds true for me. Beautifully put. Thank you so much for that gift! Welcome to HubPages----wait, you,ve been here longer than me! Gimme more! Let's hear from you more often even if it isn't a masterpiece like this. Freeflow and keep in touch!

thinking out loud profile image

thinking out loud  says:
7 months ago

Most excellent, you got it all in one piece. I go through the same melancholy trip every time I drive past the neighborhood i grew up in.I see fewer children out in the street or by ther parks. And that is because we have failed to protect them and keep safe the places they should be going to play. I remember just reaching my teenage year, and we found a junkie nodding on the bench at the park where we played ball every day. We just thought he fell asleep. As the older guys srarted to come by, they knew the deal. Someone went and got a parent, who got more and they went for the guy. Picked him up and gave him the riot act about being there, to get lost and not come back. Well, he made the mistake of coming back and trying to open shop selling his wares. He first got a terrible ass kicking, then a call to the cops. That was 1963,and I never forgot it. That's how you protect your children and stop the garbage from gaining a foothold.

erin boote profile image

erin boote  says:
7 months ago

Thank you all so much for taking time to read my words. Unfortunately, this is a sad reality for far too many of our children today. I appreciate you taking to time to share your thoughts on this poem.

penelope53  says:
7 months ago

Erin, Truer words could not have been spoken. The way you captured our beautiful past was outstanding. It is just so sad that our children and grandchildren can not have same peace of mind, security and happiness that we had growing up.

Hayley Boote  says:
7 months ago

I like ME at the end!!!

manlypoetryman profile image

manlypoetryman  says:
6 months ago

Wow...Erin! This really took me back in time. I remember the banana seat bike, dogeball, and not coming in until the streetlights came on. Even remember the safety of the neighborhood...like you mentioned in this great poem...I remember "wiping-out" (doing wheelies!) several blocks away and a lady coming out to help...who knew exactly who my Mom was. Try that today! You are right about the differences in time of the same place between 1973 and 2008. It is a sad commentary of our society. Thank you for this great poem journey back in time...of the good things and kid things in our neighborhoods.

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