Ah memories go up in smoke!
Andrew
Sent from my iPhone
> On 12 Mar 2020, at 10:27 am, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Thanks, Patrick. Doug, I take your point and have had another crack at it.
>
> Cracker night at Crouch’s (2)
>
>
> Crowded with lego pieces and meccano whatsits,
>
> Crouch’s kitchen bristled with red and yellow.
>
> Waxed Home Pride bread wrapping added orange
>
> Jamie leaned over the laminex table, wheezing.
>
> From somewhere under the house an engine burbled.
>
> Jamie’s mother could be heard pottering, somewhere else.
>
>
> Let’s go outside, I suggested.
>
> Hunks of fibreglass and metal
>
> landmined the unmowed backyard
>
> Footwear was essential. No back fence
>
> to mark off the yard from the lane behind.
>
> The very place for Guy Fawkes Night -
>
>
> Jumping Jacks popping on cracked concrete,
>
> the cordite stench of exploded penny bungers,
>
> eyes hauling into night sky tracking skyrockets
>
> launched from a brown beer bottle or lead pipe
>
> by Jamie’s older brother, Peter, obeying the directive to
>
> ‘Ignite the blue touch-paper and retire.’
>
>
> The bedrock bonfire blazed and sputtered,
>
> fed by garden trimmings and grey fence palings.
>
> Sparkler-lit words hung in the air while thoughts fizzed.
>
> A Catherine Wheel, nailed to the garage door,
>
> shed coloured sparks as it twirled and spat,
>
> leaving things not-quite-dark when it finished.
>
>
> Stringy, grey-white wicks linked our
>
> rippling green and red cracker keyboards.
>
> Jamie, bolting back from the detonation zone,
>
> lost a thong and never broke stride, landing
>
> back in it with his next still-running step.
>
> He stood, heaving, in his oversized hand-me-down shorts.
>
>
> The yard a week later still bore cracker detritus,
>
> remains of red print on damaged white paper,
>
> door scorch-marks, broken glass.
>
> Jamie plodded back to his Lego bricks.
>
> Started snivelling again.
>
> Mrs Crouch somewhere inside.
>
>
> bw
>
> 12.3.20
>
>
> Bill
>
>> On Thu, 12 Mar 2020 at 3:06 am, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]>
>> wrote:
>>
>> A finely tuned memory, Bill, but it only really takes off in stanza 3.
>> With active verbs showing us the event. But all the ‘was’s, all the
>> passive voice in the first 2. Can you find a way to actively ‘see’ that
>> kitchen &year, who does so?
>>
>> Doug
>>
>>> On Mar 10, 2020, at 2:48 PM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]>
>> wrote:
>>>
>>> Cracker Night at Crouch’s
>>>
>>>
>>> Access to the Crouch kitchen was via concrete steps in the backyard.
>>>
>>> The kitchen was full of Lego pieces.
>>>
>>> Not just clickable yellow and red, also windows, chimneys.
>>>
>>> Jamie Crouch constructed buildings on the laminex table.
>>>
>>> Jamie’s black-bearded father was seldom seen.
>>>
>>> His mother was home but not in the kitchen.
>>>
>>>
>>> The house was made of white bricks.
>>>
>>> Burbling boat engines revved in the garage under the house.
>>>
>>> The unmowed backyard was full of hunks of fibreglass and metal.
>>>
>>> Footwear was always required.
>>>
>>> No back fence marked off the yard from the lane behind.
>>>
>>> The very place for Guy Fawkes Night -
>>>
>>>
>>> Jumping Jacks popping on cracked concrete,
>>>
>>> the cordite stench of exploded penny bungers,
>>>
>>> eyes hauling into night sky tracking skyrockets
>>>
>>> launched from a brown beer bottle or lead pipe
>>>
>>> by Jamie’s older brother, Peter, obeying the directive to
>>>
>>> ‘Ignite the blue touch-paper and retire.’
>>>
>>>
>>> The bedrock bonfire blazed and sputtered,
>>>
>>> fed by garden trimmings and grey fence palings.
>>>
>>> Sparkler-lit words hung in the air while thoughts fizzed.
>>>
>>> A Catherine Wheel, nailed to the garage door,
>>>
>>> shed coloured sparks as it twirled and spat,
>>>
>>> leaving things not-quite-dark when it finished.
>>>
>>>
>>> Stringy, grey-white wicks linked our
>>>
>>> rippling green and red cracker keyboards.
>>>
>>> Jamie, bolting back from the detonation zone,
>>>
>>> lost a thong and never broke stride, landing
>>>
>>> back in it with his next still-running step.
>>>
>>> He stood, heaving, in his oversized hand-me-down shorts.
>>>
>>>
>>> The yard a week later still bore cracker detritus,
>>>
>>> remains of red print on damaged white paper.
>>>
>>> Jamie plodded back to his Lego bricks.
>>>
>>> Why did he snivel so much?
>>>
>>> More engine noise below, door scorch-marks,
>>>
>>> Mrs Crouch somewhere inside.
>>>
>>>
>>> bw
>>>
>>> ########################################################################
>>>
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>>
>> Douglas Barbour
>> [log in to unmask]
>> https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
>>
>> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations
>> 2 (UofAPress).
>> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
>> Listen. If (UofAPress):
>>
>>
>> Done in by creation itself.
>>
>> I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
>> The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
>> We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
>>
>> Robert Kroetsch
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
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>>
>
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