PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

FAIR DAY: Flight of the Balloon

Fair day came, she was all a flutter, 

A day in the fun with just her mother. 

Her conveyance, a stroller, umbrella and cramped, 

Held her restrained, hunched over, encamped 

Into transport too small, 

Her limbs overnight, too tall. 

Wiggling in the straps when she saw the balloons, 

She pulled to chase them in the air as they zoomed, 

Lookie, lookie, she cries, a pretty one gone up to the sky! 

Oh, the waste of the money, oh the waste of a five. 

I want one, Mommy, I want one of my own. 

I'll get you one daughter, when we have to go home. 

Their money was spent on games of chance, 

Winning a few, but really, just losing the cash. 

She rode the small rides, Mommy's face flashing by, 

Yet, always in her mind, the balloon, how it would fly. 

The day got late, 

They made their way to the gate. 

Mommy bought the balloon, purple, shining, and big, 

She placed the precious string in the palm of her kid. 

When her little hand reached for the sky to let it go, 

Mommy clamped her big paw down and startled with a, No! 

You can let it go at the house, but not at the fair. 

Five dollars isn’t meant for a brief little affair. 

And-the wailing began, and it ceased to desist 

Until the van brought them home, at Mommy's insist. 

Inside their abode, on that hot autumn day, 

The little girl wiped all her tears away. 

She let it go finally, sailed the balloon to the ceiling, 

It hit...it bounced gaily...in a....loud...latex...killing. 

They stood in the shards of the rubberized sphere, 

Purple joy dissolved swiftly into synchronized tears. 

Mommy held her daughter closely, 

Asked her forgiveness, mostly, 

For not letting a toddler's whim 

Become the greater wisdom. 

To have watched that balloon fly. 

To have stood, fixed to that sky. 

To have let it all go in that moment,  

Let it all go-unbroken. 

Let it go, there- 

In the flight of a balloon, you bought at the fair. 

Center of the Park

Centered within,

the center of the park,

The airplanes fly overhead,

Sirens churn on neighboring streets,

Visitors chat in strides.

The bird's cadence, the bird’s shouts

echo through the valley park.

He whistles deep and he whistles long,

A clear reverberation

Amongst the pine,

Who are you-who are you-who are you?

Leave from under my tree, he says.

But I can’t, I won’t, it’s my happy spot,

Among the people and ponds,

I don’t want to leave from under this tree,

I don’t want to leave

This intersection of sound and breeze,

Centered within,

The center of the park.