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Lazy Days Of Hours Wiled Away.

Updated on May 16, 2022
MFB III profile image

Artist, actor, poet, teacher, songwriter & actor with 4,000 poems & almost 1,000 songs written, performed recorded & published on line.

Good Memories are candy for our minds

Lazy Days Of Hours Whiled Away.


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..............................

© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III


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