Bruises

…Not So Classic…

Time for another “Not So Classic” poem by none other than ME. Hope you enjoy this one. It’s from the first half of my book Summer Magic, wherein the poems are about my Wake-Robin Ridge character, MacKenzie Cole (or Mac, as he’s called) as a young boy in the mountains of North Carolina. (His Dad took him there for a Father & Son vacation every summer.) Happy Reading!

Pale blue eyes,
Fringed in black,
Look out at the world
With the wild, free spirit
All ten-year-old boys
Know how to nurture.

A shock of black hair falls over his brow
As he frowns thoughtfully,
Examining a scab on one knobby knee.
A souvenir from yesterday’s hike,
Acquired while showing off for Dad.
Again.

Long and thin, his scraped-up legs
Have become maps of small injuries,
Tracing each day of his summer . . .
A scratch here, from picking
Wild blackberries,
And a bruise there, from
Swinging on a low limb . . .
Those and so many more,
Evidence garnered while calling,
Watch, Dad, watch!
See what I can do!

Badges.
Attesting to his bravery,
Marking his adventures,
And confirming in his mind
His place among Immortals.

His dad sighs, all too aware
More bumps and scrapes
Lie ahead.
No way to guard him
Against the future bruises
Life will bring.
His boy will be marked,
Abraded by time and
The world around him,
Though some scars will be
Much less obvious than others.
And someday, scabby knees
Will be counted as nothing,
When weighed against
Those other
Invisible wounds.

You can download Summer Magic HERE:
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

I guess I’ll start off #ExcerptWeek by sharing a poem from my eBook, Summer Magic. I’m in the process of formatting it for print, as a small chapbook, so it seems a good time to give you a taste of what will be within the covers. The first half of the book is called “Mac At Ten,” and features poetry about MacKenzie Cole (the hero from my Wake-Robin Ridge series) as he spent his summers camping on the ridge with his dad. Hope you enjoy this one. (Tomorrow, I’ll share an excerpt from Harbinger.)

Bruises

Pale blue eyes,
Fringed in black,
Look out at the world
With the wild, free spirit
Only a ten-year-old boy
Knows how to nurture.

Long and thin, his scraped-up legs
Have become maps of small hurts,
Tracing each day of his summer.
A scratch here, from picking
Wild blackberries,
And a bruise there, from
Swinging on a low limb.
Those and so many more,
Injuries acquired while calling,
Watch, Dad, watch!
See what I can do!