I don't remember now
what I thought being an adult would be like.
I guess I didn't think about it much at all.
But like every child, I knew what I admired
about the adults around me
and I hoped that in the future,
I would unravel into those things, somehow.
I don't remember exactly
what I thought my life would be today
but jazz was in there somewhere
and a lot of laughter.
Blue-green cocktails;
Sinatra and desert poolsides;
Caravans in long, whale-tailed convertibles
to some starlit oasis;
Polka dots - always liked polka dots;
And of course there was always the lure of exotic lands.
But above all, even then, I adored women.
I imagined the man I would be
perpetually swallowed up, reveling
in the red velvet mystery of romance
rolling in sun-warmed breasts
and golden, honey-scented hair.
Even then, I knew
that one could feel no safer
in the strongest fortress
than against the belly and bosom
of such a miracle.
I've found all of these things,
devoured them over and over,
walked away glutted,
but always returned.
What else can follow utter satisfaction,
ultimately,
but the desire for more?
How can we ever do anything glorious
once and for all?
I guess that's what I didn't notice about adult life,
didn't have the necessary complexity to feel it,
hadn't tasted death yet, or fear, or even doubt.
I guess I never noticed the terrible emptiness
enveloping it all,
even the jazz.
- Mark Rickerby
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1 - 22 of 22
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This poem was one of those reflective things that got me thinking did any of us think how life would be as an adult. To want to be like them I agree we did that. It was the wanting to have a beer or martini, because then we couldn't. I think that in looking forward to being an adult and thinking them to be happy in whatever they did, because of the childhood simplicity.
In retrospect we look back upon childhood and have the same kind of longing for life to fit what we remember.
I enjoy poems that celebrate life and its pleasures, as you have done. Relfection on the perceptions you had makes this all the more enjoyable. -
Hi Hannah,
Thanks for saying this isn't "sappy" because that's probably the most common word used to describe my work by a few of the more jaded poets on this site. lol The irony is people think poets who write wholesome poems are naive, but it's usually the contrary. In my case, the reason I choose to write nostalgic "sappy" poems is because I've seen plenty of ugliness and feel no need to give it more power by immortalizing it in a poem. It's like the people in the 50's. Everyone watches old TV shows like Andy Griffith or My Three Sons and thinks the people then were so innocent and dippy when actually, they had survived WWI and WWII and all the skirmishes in between, and most of them had seen horrific things, which is why they were celebrating innocence. It's kind of the same thing.
Anyway, a belated thank you. It's always nice to hear from you.
Mark -
Hey Michael,
Just came across this comment of yours from November on this poem. It doesn't surprise me that you've traveled so much. I would have been very surprised if you hadn't, judging by the insightful nature of your writing. I've always considered experiencing other cultures the greatest education.
Thanks,
Mark
P.S. You've got a knapsack full of living there, boy!
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This is beautiful. Reminds me of some of my favorite Kerouac pieces. Also reminds me of the song 'I'm Open' by Pearl Jam. So I am automatically biased to like this!
But no, I would have liked it anyway. Third and fifth stanzas made a really strong impression in my mind. Perceptive, nostalgic but certainly not sappy. Bravo..
~Hannah~ -
Thank you for your thoughtful response. I'm sorry to hear about your mother. This must be a terribly hard time. Judging by the heart and spirit that comes through so warmly in your writings and your comments to others, I have no doubt that your mother was loved by you as well as anyone could ever hope to be. For what it's worth, I wish you peace this September 10th, and always.
Mark -
Thought provoking
Like a tumble weed rolling across the desert we can roll across life bouncing freely about then roll out of bed one morning to find ourselves deserted. Looking back behind us over the landscape of our lives seeing memories planted here and there of our mother and father like nuts saved by a squirrel for hard times in the winter... Memories to nourish and remind us that the desire for more doesn't always mean there will be more so live each day as if it is the last day and say what you need to say...like you did here. Excuse me...February 10 th will mark a year since my mother died so I'm feeling sporadically melancholy. Exceedingly so in fact.
Edited on Feb 02, 5:06 p.m. because ''. -
I hear you, Mark. After 3 years in Japan, 3 years in Europe, 7 years in South America - it's hard to get back to the farm! The only thing folks like us can do is keep creating interesting scenarios to fit into...thank God for writing!! LOL!
Peace! -
Hi Aura,
I probably should have referred people to my poem called Gratitude in the comment section for therapy after reading this one. I didn't mean to bum everybody out! lol
I do a lot of lamenting over loss of innocence because it is such an irreconcilable thing but adulthood has its rewards, too. And it's not impossible, even after all we have seen and experienced, and even if the world is exploding around us, to close our eyes, remember, and open them again to see the world anew. As the old saying goes, "We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."
Thanks for your kind words.
Mark -
Hi Janet,
I can honestly say that no one has ever told me that one of my poems "glides on air in swirling blue taffeta." Thanks! lol
As you know, I have my quirks but don't let this poem alarm you. I'm not as miserable as it might make me sound. I just remember when I was a kid and looking at the bus driver or the lunch counter lady or the cop, fireman, teacher, garbage collector, whoever, and thinking they were all perfectly happy, all-knowing adults. Everybody was totally content and nobody wanted to be anything more. It took me a long time to realize that most adults are chronically discontented. Of course, that had a lot to do with seeing with a child's eyes. Everybody smiles and speaks lovingly to children because they're cute, innocent and non-threatening, but the sweetness gradually wanes as we grow up until one day, they look at us and say something like, "You're eighteen. What are ya gonna do with your life, ya bum!" lol And of course, we adults aren't always so kind to each other, either.
If and when I have kids, I'm going to preserve that bubble of innocence as long as possible and fill their heads with so much fantastic nonsense, they won't know which way is up. haha
Thanks again!
Mark -
Hey Leanne,
Thanks for the kind words. And believe me, I have nothing against brunettes. In fact, the only reason I mentioned blondes in the poem is because I always liked the fair-haired types as a kid but now, it's brunettes all the way, baby! lol Gimme dark hair and ruby red lips anytime.
See ya!
Mark
Edited on Mar 13, 5:08 because ''. -
Hi Cherylline,
Thanks for the encouragement. I appreciate it. Poems seem big when I'm writing them but then they seem to gradually shrink in significance, and I really don't expect anybody to put even half as much effort into reading them as I did into writing them. So when I get a response like this, and I know somebody "got it", it inspires me to keep writing.
Best wishes,
Mark
Edited on Nov 22, 3:54 because ''. -
Thanks Amanda. I appreciate you taking the time to read my stuff. See ya!
Mark -
Well said, and you're absolutely right. In fact, I think writers by definition are people who can't face reality, or at least don't like it the way it is, which is why they feel the need to rearrange it, or at least feel like they're slapping some reins on it. lol
I never thought of that. What does the hero guy (Charlie Condominium?? haha) do after saving the world? How does he ever top that? A normal life would be intolerable.
My life hasn't been a bed of roses but there have been moments that were absolutely princely. Wandering through the villages of Greece, watching the gondolas glide by in Venice, parasailing over the Swiss alps, etc, etc. And as much as I enjoyed those experiences and love the memories, it did ruin me a little for normal life. How does one ever settle into a mundane, domestic routine after so many grand adventures? Did Sinbad just settle down and get a job as a bookkeeper after his adventures were through? Trying to "sew wild oats" just seems to make them messier. Sometimes I admire people who can think of nothing better than having a quiet little life in a town they never want to leave. It's a sickness to always be eyeing the horizon and fantasizing about the next adventure.
Anyway, sorry for rattling on but I tend to do that when I'm writing to someone I know will understand me.
Thanks, Michael. I always appreciate your comments.
Mark -
I must confess, I borrowed the term "howl" from a poem of the same name by Allen Ginsberg. The term definitely fits a good venting poem. lol A friend of mine once said to me, "If I wasn't holding a pen, I'd be holding a gun." A bit dramatic perhaps but I knew what he meant. What would we do without our creative outlets? And what do people do who don't have one?
Thanks for the comments. Glad you liked this one!
Mark
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very very moving,nostalgic,lovely,Mark.I like this very much.Our lives now seem like a repetition of the same thing over and over again.Along the road,we've become dulled,and we wonder whats more to this life we're living it.We keep on walking on the same grounds only slightly different from the last ones.Now it feels empty.we feel lost,and the emptiness will then again be filled till the next feeling of emptiness comes.Love your poems
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Mark~~
This is so very far from being a "howl"....this is like a poetry waltz. It just glides on air in swirling blue taffeta....yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that's just plain ol' sappy, but that's honestly how reading this made me feel. You are so extremely gifted, I shall never, ever tire of reading your words. This is dreamy and exotic and absolutely gorgeous. Even though the reality of adult life has set in, and even if it has brought with it a sense of emptiness....what is empty can alays be filled back up. You poured out your heart and filled up my soul, thank you for sharing this. Your talent astounds me over and over again.
Love you! 
~Janet~
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this is great!!..."very from the heart"...and i very much liked the contrast you gave between how we perceive life before we get touched by death fear and doubt and how we see it afterwards...i really did enjoy this...however i feel i must take a stand here (clears throat and gets on soap box)...."rolling in sun-warmed breasts
and golden, honey-scented hair".....us poor left out brunettes are good for rolling too ya know!!...lol....hugs....leanne xxxxx -
i've met writers like you before, real talents with a rich understanding of life and nature. you have a quality about you that sets you apart...any fool can tell you look on the world in a mature manner, you actually see things that others don't. I like it when you transfer that to your writings...this is a well-portrayed painting of this. Your lines flow, you have a good free movement in this, and a simple honesty that touches.
great work. -
Wow! I love the imagery in this one. I enjoyed reading it.
~Amanda~ -
I think I could write a book on the thoughts running through my mind after reading this piece. Expecting to find the fantasy our childhood assures us is there is the biggest disappointment in life. Well-balanced adults are those that can make the transition...they rest of us can't. Reality is for people who can't face fantasy. I always find myself wondering, after watching a movie....what happens next? Does Charlie Condominium go back to a dull, dreary life after having saved the world from nuclear attack? What about the rest of the life of this character who, for two hours, has been cast in some thrilling scenario? We need our fantasies. Reality dictates we are born and we die....not much fun there. Can reality ever measure up to the fantasy? How I wish! This is one of the reasons I write. It allows me to continue to live in - and even create - my own worlds. In that regard we are blessed, my friend. Thanks for such a thought-provoking piece....
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Life sure seems much less complicated when viewed through the eyes of youth. This is a wonderful write, the ups and downs, twists and turns , like a summer ride in that whale-tail convertible.
Enjoyable ride
Gypsy
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"Howl"? a new style.... lol......... is this a formal howl or casual.... internal rhyme or external.... or nocturnal? haha.... Just playing around..... Watch "howl" .... it will find its way into the curriculum at UCLA.....lol
Lots of great imagery in this one.... interesting and easy to follow the dreamy style you used. You used a perfect tone (voice) in this that works absolutely wonderfully with the story line. Directional and melancholy.....
Nicely penned.
Monk
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