I’ve made a promise to myself.
I will like anchovies – even olives.
I shall adore caviar, manage to walk
in four-inch heels.
Watch the whole
of Marathon Man and not hide
behind a cushion, petrified
of dentists evermore.
Take just two spoonfuls of sugar
instead of four in my tea.
Listen to Peter Grimes and not yawn,
progress from pitch-and-putt
to a pukka golf-course,
eat spaghetti without splashing the cloth
and the person sitting opposite me.
Refrain from running like a headless chicken,
whenever I see a wasp.
I’ll not believe in fairies anymore
or that West Side Story
will end up happy-ever-after
when I see it for the umpteenth time.
Won’t cry during Thelma and Louise
or squeeze that squidgy sea-weed
till it pops.
Shall go a bundle on oysters
and wild over snails,
get hooked on raw fish,
lose my passion for sugar-mice,
get high on liquor and tripe.
Realise that childhood
is a place, rather than a time.
Make up my mind to stay there
till I’m at least a hundred and five.

Comments
Nathan Bednarek | September 12, 2008 - 12:48
This is ... amazing. I was very surprised by the last stanza, but that's just what made the poem complete for me. It was very clever the way you guided the poem to it's thought-provoking last stanza. The last stanza is definitely my favorite because of it's rather powerful role. The lines...
'Realise that childhood
is a place, rather than a time.'
... are so simple, yet genius.
I also love:
'eat spaghetti without splashing the cloth
and the person sitting opposite me.
Refrain from running like a headless chicken,
whenever I see a wasp.'
I have to say that after reading this poem and writing this comment I realized that it is one of my favorite on the site. A piece I'll keep coming back to and
'Make up my mind to stay there
till I’m at least a hundred and five.'
;-) Nathan
Nathan Bednarek | September 12, 2008 - 12:53
I made some spelling mistakes as I was in the rush when writing the comment, so I've just edited it. ;-p
By the way, I don't think he minds that his shirts and ties got smothered in Bolognese sauce if they're an inspiration to your poetry. Plus, they're probably more colourful. ;-)
Silver Spun Sand | September 12, 2008 - 13:01
Nathan - thanks. You picked the stanza that is closest to my heart too. The one about the spaghetti. My other half has banned me from ordering the stuff if we happen to be eating out. I'm only allowed to eat it at home. The exact number of his ties and shirts I have smothered in Bolognese sauce I haven't the foggiest. But quite a lot!
Tina ;-)
Silver Spun Sand | September 12, 2008 - 13:10
Talking about spelling mistakes - I have just noticed that, quite correctly, you had spelt 'Bolognese' with a capital B and, inadvertently,I hadn't :-( but I have now:-)
And speaking of hubby, fortunately he is quite used to me by now. He usually refers to me as his 'occupational hazard'.
luigi_pagano | September 12, 2008 - 14:08
Another from your unending repertoire, dearest Tina, and a classic to boot.
I never tire of reading your work.
L.xxxx
Caolan_le_Paddy | September 12, 2008 - 16:55
We all have to go through those stages in life one step at a time, sounds a dreadful lot like my little brother which made me smile.
A great poem definitly :)
MistakenMagic | September 12, 2008 - 17:23
'or squeeze that squidgy sea-weed
till it pops.'
I don't know why, I'm just drawn to that line. It's very reminiscent of my own childhood when I went to stay on a welsh coast town and they had the rock pools with the squidgy seaweed.
Another genius poem :)
Silver Spun Sand | September 12, 2008 - 20:59
Luigi - from the girl with the geese, a very special thank you.
Nor me yours, I might add;-)
T. xxxxx
Silver Spun Sand | September 12, 2008 - 21:03
Bournemouth, as I remember, was an especially good place for the particular 'breed' of seaweed, MM. It was a vintage pop! Or so I recall it to be. But the Welsh coast - must remember that. I'll let you know if I agree.
I really do appreciate your reading and commenting. Thank you.
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | September 12, 2008 - 21:06
Caolan - you are so right! I never had a brother. Always wanted one. Maybe I would have gott'n along with him better than my sister. We fought like cat and dog!
My appreciation for your comment and for reading my poem.
Tina:-)
Ewan | September 13, 2008 - 16:54
I liked this immensely; especially, as others did, the 'childhood is a place' stanza. However, getting 'high and liquor on tripe' is an image that will remain with me until the end of my days, or childhood, whichever comes first. I strongly suspect this will be on the receiving end of some well deserved fruit.... Oh it is!
Silver Spun Sand | September 13, 2008 - 18:00
Ewan - much appreciate your reading my poem, and for taking the time and trouble to let me know you liked it. Speaking of 'liquor and tripe', my other half is mad for it. He used to work in East London and nearby was a restaurant called 'Manzies' (not sure how you spell it). Anyway - they were renowned for their tripe, mash, eels and liquor and probably still are. I hate the stuff myself as I guess you gathered!
Thanks again.
Tina
sunshine | September 13, 2008 - 21:04
agree with previous comments - the final stanza is the perfect ending, determined and spirited Margot
Silver Spun Sand | September 13, 2008 - 22:12
Margo - thanks.
Out of curiosity, I took a look at your profile and one piece of yours grabbed my attention. 'Mistaken Identity'. Brilliant poem.
Tina:-)
Nathan Bednarek | September 14, 2008 - 00:35
Here's the cherry... and a well deserved one! ;-)
Silver Spun Sand | September 14, 2008 - 07:46
Nathan - you are too kind;-)
And it is a really juicy one!
ralph | September 15, 2008 - 17:48
A lovely, life affirming work.
Silver Spun Sand | September 15, 2008 - 20:06
Likewise your comment and I thank you for it.
Tina