Homework July: Spectacles Rosy Yet Real
Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2023 6:35 pm
Spectacles Rosy Yet Real
I miss those times of innocence when simple pleasures reigned,
when fear appeared less paramount, corruption less ingrained,
entitlement a view that hardly ever was expressed,
respect seemed more in evidence and manners were possessed.
The days we’d freely play outside till twilight came and went,
then take the time to wonder at the starry firmament
before we all sat down together as a family
to eat our evening meal and talk, then watch some comedy;
the afternoons we’d pod the peas or cut the tempting fruit
that soon became preserves or jam – that scent remains acute.
I miss that child who waited with a thrilled expectancy
as needle kissed the vinyl in a scratchy symphony,
erupting then with poetry and song, or fairy tales
from realms of fictional delight where happiness prevails.
I’d sing along to musicals until my voice was hoarse,
recite the jokes and poems from that plentiful resource.
I loved those quiet hours at home when leisure time was mine,
to focus on piano practice, scrapbooks, writing rhyme;
the stimulating games we played, new worlds conceived and themed -
those streets one day we’d yearn for with a passion yet undreamed.
I also liked how progress seemed to move at slower pace,
before this swift advance of tech now sweeping to erase.
The heavy phone with manual dial - how could we comprehend,
imagine seeing faces on a screen the other end?!
The ringing of a register, the chiming wind-up clock,
the picnics, car drives, time spent watching ships cruise into dock.
The daily post that brought surprises - news from overseas,
plus birthday cards and parcels that would always charm and please;
then carefully replying with precise and steady script,
or typing on an old machine with carbon tightly gripped.
The overwhelming glee of Friday pocket money treats,
which bought not just one bonbon but a swollen bag of sweets!
Those old encyclopedias, where every single page
held mysteries and histories to fascinate, engage.
The Sally Army Christmas truck we’d chase along the road,
uplifted by the rousing brass as carols overflowed;
enchanting stockings on the bed when Santa Claus had been,
revealing special treasures and surprises unforeseen.
The flower shows, the local fetes, the joyful Sunday bells,
and trips to beaches, marveling at rockpool life and shells.
I miss those carefree years when youthful bliss was at its prime,
lament the way the world is losing balance in this time.
A few would try to taint our views with fanciful offence,
attacking books and characters with venom that’s intense,
insulting our intelligence by daring to deduce
some changes should be made to works by Blyton, Dahl and Seuss!
Inflexible minorities attempt to rule the way
we think, the things we read or watch, and even what we say.
The train has left the rails, on tracks some people cannot see -
there’s anger, vile division, and acute hypocrisy.
Of course, not all was rosy then – and yet it seems to me
that people acted kinder and with more humility,
that those with happy childhoods shared a gift beyond compare -
of doubt and insecurity were largely unaware.
So mutiny now lies within at all they would instill,
for swallowing such nonsense would be foolish, bitter pill.
They’ll not receive my acquiescence, taint my memories;
I’ll keep the movies, books, and jokes that never fail to please.
They will not rule my speech, nor ruin songs with lyrics new,
eliminate my humour with their grim, distorted view.
They will not steal the beauty, smirch the purity of youth,
when characters I loved could not be slandered as uncouth!
Determinedly I’ll hold to what I know is common sense.
I see no need to argue - feel no need to plead defense.
Those happy times helped shape my life and who I am today -
the little girl remains within, she didn’t go away.
The adult might look patient, but I cling to her inside,
that spirit of the child I’ll not allow to be denied.
And if they say I’m merely old, dismiss me out of hand,
I’ll smile with pity, simply say, “You’ll never understand.”
© Catherine Lee, July 2023
I miss those times of innocence when simple pleasures reigned,
when fear appeared less paramount, corruption less ingrained,
entitlement a view that hardly ever was expressed,
respect seemed more in evidence and manners were possessed.
The days we’d freely play outside till twilight came and went,
then take the time to wonder at the starry firmament
before we all sat down together as a family
to eat our evening meal and talk, then watch some comedy;
the afternoons we’d pod the peas or cut the tempting fruit
that soon became preserves or jam – that scent remains acute.
I miss that child who waited with a thrilled expectancy
as needle kissed the vinyl in a scratchy symphony,
erupting then with poetry and song, or fairy tales
from realms of fictional delight where happiness prevails.
I’d sing along to musicals until my voice was hoarse,
recite the jokes and poems from that plentiful resource.
I loved those quiet hours at home when leisure time was mine,
to focus on piano practice, scrapbooks, writing rhyme;
the stimulating games we played, new worlds conceived and themed -
those streets one day we’d yearn for with a passion yet undreamed.
I also liked how progress seemed to move at slower pace,
before this swift advance of tech now sweeping to erase.
The heavy phone with manual dial - how could we comprehend,
imagine seeing faces on a screen the other end?!
The ringing of a register, the chiming wind-up clock,
the picnics, car drives, time spent watching ships cruise into dock.
The daily post that brought surprises - news from overseas,
plus birthday cards and parcels that would always charm and please;
then carefully replying with precise and steady script,
or typing on an old machine with carbon tightly gripped.
The overwhelming glee of Friday pocket money treats,
which bought not just one bonbon but a swollen bag of sweets!
Those old encyclopedias, where every single page
held mysteries and histories to fascinate, engage.
The Sally Army Christmas truck we’d chase along the road,
uplifted by the rousing brass as carols overflowed;
enchanting stockings on the bed when Santa Claus had been,
revealing special treasures and surprises unforeseen.
The flower shows, the local fetes, the joyful Sunday bells,
and trips to beaches, marveling at rockpool life and shells.
I miss those carefree years when youthful bliss was at its prime,
lament the way the world is losing balance in this time.
A few would try to taint our views with fanciful offence,
attacking books and characters with venom that’s intense,
insulting our intelligence by daring to deduce
some changes should be made to works by Blyton, Dahl and Seuss!
Inflexible minorities attempt to rule the way
we think, the things we read or watch, and even what we say.
The train has left the rails, on tracks some people cannot see -
there’s anger, vile division, and acute hypocrisy.
Of course, not all was rosy then – and yet it seems to me
that people acted kinder and with more humility,
that those with happy childhoods shared a gift beyond compare -
of doubt and insecurity were largely unaware.
So mutiny now lies within at all they would instill,
for swallowing such nonsense would be foolish, bitter pill.
They’ll not receive my acquiescence, taint my memories;
I’ll keep the movies, books, and jokes that never fail to please.
They will not rule my speech, nor ruin songs with lyrics new,
eliminate my humour with their grim, distorted view.
They will not steal the beauty, smirch the purity of youth,
when characters I loved could not be slandered as uncouth!
Determinedly I’ll hold to what I know is common sense.
I see no need to argue - feel no need to plead defense.
Those happy times helped shape my life and who I am today -
the little girl remains within, she didn’t go away.
The adult might look patient, but I cling to her inside,
that spirit of the child I’ll not allow to be denied.
And if they say I’m merely old, dismiss me out of hand,
I’ll smile with pity, simply say, “You’ll never understand.”
© Catherine Lee, July 2023