WANDERLUST By David Allen It's a wonder my parents didn’t get in trouble for letting me run free. From as far back as I remember, I did things that could have brought charges of child neglect for allowing me to run wild. I am the oldest of seven children and gladly surrendered the role of mother's little helper to my sister, two years younger, while I discovered the world. Trespassing was my usual crime. Abandoned homes, factories, military bases, and the estates of Roaring Twenties millionaires, decayed after the Depression. They were my playground. I never knew what I might find Signs of a ghost? Old books, photos? Remains of animals? Forgotten paintings? Broken statues? Stairways to the sky? I once found the blackened remainder of a forgotten pie in an old wood oven. In a mildewed closet, I discovered a half-filled diary that ended with a huge hand-drawn exclamation point. In a flooded factory basement I used a wooden door as a raft. I was lucky no one ever confronted me as I sought what remained when life moved on to other structures and other worlds.
Posts Tagged ‘searching’
Wanderlust
Posted: September 1, 2020 in PoetryTags: exploring, juvenile, poetry, searching, Wandering
2
Unable to Help
Posted: November 30, 2018 in PoetryTags: beach, help, ocean, painting, poems, poetry, searching
UNABLE TO HELP
By David Allen
She stood alone on a deserted beach
shoulders slumped, looking out over the still sea.
Nothing moved and the blazing summer sun
beat down on her unprotected brow.
She was searching for something, someone.
I wanted to run to her, tell her the weary waves
would not always be empty, surely her lover,
son, or savior, would return some day.
But I could not.
Instead, I moved my gaze
from the decades-old painting
in a weathered frame
and returned my attention
to the TV show as the commercial
that distracted me ended.