Who built the ark?

0000_nativityplay16_8It’s your turn to make the second pot of coffee

let’s take the day off, close the computer, shut our doors

silence the voices who sound awfully like 12 and 13-year-old teens

complaining about losing their homework and pointing fingers

when did we learn not to grow up?

I always thought Huck had a point when he tied his handkerchief on a stick and took to the wild

this is not the Peter Pan kind of childish fantasy

when we talk of growing up and growing down we forget

like Picasso once said in order to render abstract we first need to know the techniques of how to paint

then we choose like the 90-year-old who says screw it I will eat what I want, that’s informed consent

childish however, is the absence of reason and consequence splayed like tired kids exhausted from pass-the-parcel

fluttering like a torn flag over a battle field of this and that

the news isn’t objective the screech of complaints sounding like a hen-house on fire

nobody listens nobody really knows it’s not about fact it’s about opinion and who gargles loudest

I think back to the playground of my youth where twice a flasher showed his bits to the girls and they all screamed

ew it looks like a sausage! I never want to eat meat again! and ran off laughing

it is true, me and Donna plugged the girls outside loos with toilet paper

so Mrs Slug would come and tell us off, mushy peas staining her apron

detention is better when it’s freezing out

we had reason behind our madness

and whilst we didn’t see the folly of flooding the loos back then

or how long it would take with stinking mop and bucket to dry off

we learned our consequence and next time feigned illness to stay by the radiator

oh nurse it’s my head it’s pounding! You do look a little green, here read a book

there is a learning curve

lost to generations who think answers are found in the oracle of computers

and those older folk who try vainly to stay relevant and forget their lessons

we would benefit from observing consequence and seeing it through

rather than a sound bite on TV as we spoon feed ourselves snippets of news

nothing stays long enough to take it in, we’re attention-deficit spinning tops

straining to think

would the chilly air of our playground and the closed doors until after lunch is over

wake us to reality? and if we stepped inside, would we attempt to take with us the lessons

we internalized?

or like the hippies of the sixties do we grow out of phases and give away our flares for business suit to rule the world

is death so onerous that we fear anything but power?

is inconsequence so fearsome we’ll make a splash at any cost?

what of all those we know nothing of? they say history is written by the victor, I think often

of all those who didn’t traditionally ‘win’ anything and what they would write

it is said you are bound to repeat history if you do not know it

but what if the very truth we revere, didn’t get it right?

When I was a kid in the playground I used to wish to grow up so I could

avoid being told when to play and when to learn

not knowing then nothing changes as much as you think

I envied the teachers their staff room where they thought we did not know

they smoked and ate hot cross buns and talked of rumors of the headmaster and

his male deputy

who both wore open toe shoes in Winter and I once asked him when ushered into his office for winning a poetry prize

don’t your toes get cold?

and he said

I do this in remembrance of christ I want to feel what he felt

and that Xmas we put on Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat

the drama teacher said candy you can do backflips can’t you? You can be the queen of the Egyptians

and I never felt so good as that day I wore an old wig I once dressed up and played Kate Bush in

with sequins and blankets stitched into approximation I shook my belly and pretended it contained jewels

the headmaster’s eyes teared up and he stole a look at the young junior who

sang along with our ‘who built the ark?’ louder than us all, dabbing his small eyes with the back of his hand

afterward Clement and I climbed up to the roof playground and on the wire we swung upside down

daring each other to fall knowing we couldn’t

maybe that’s a metaphor for the fear we need to feel

the safety net

of all endeavor

how holding hands with a boy in the dark

briefly I was the queen of egypt and everything seemed so real

in a way it never does now

because not once did I need a search engine to tell me

what I believed was true

43 thoughts on “Who built the ark?

  1. 😉 some of the ole hippies stayed true, those I commend, but to those who sold-out mmm not so much 😉 I miss the radical socialist teachers of old, all that has gone by-the-by and it’s a shame really it had an enduring innocence
    (thank you btw) xo

  2. Absolutely brilliant – I am so delighted to know you and the way you express. Huck!!! all the way. You took me straight back to my play ground- I am laughing at my self as I remember much of my life … I am happy in side as I read what you have written. May I say I have been struggling to write- but today you have taught me something about my self- I do love to laugh and enjoy life- Thank you today for your humour and insight into the lives of others. I am still beaming as I remember my teachers hahaha. Bunch of nerds most of them hahahaha/oh boy what a release tonight ….. Thanks my friend …… Love it!!!!!! Bobby… KEEP GOING ! See you in the playground… What a joy you are……….

  3. I have tears in my eyes from laughing…. oh Candice you are great !!!!!! My sense of humour all the way…..

  4. “detention is better when it’s freezing out
    we had reason behind our madness”
    Phenomenal lines, well you know the whole piece is amazing, but those two lines still echo deep within me. You are amazing Candice

  5. Once again, you have written a piece which touches mine and I’m sure, many hearts. Thank you. The word revealed to me as I read your writing was the word ” pure “. I then went back to read it again, plugging in my memories….many already forgotten. I had and still do, a best friend named Nolan. Small, real small Michigan town. Grandma Warren was not really our grandma but I think we called her that out of love and respect as she never seemed to tire of listening to us and letting us play on her front porch. We must have watched many western movies on the family white and black tv. You see, Nolan and I were going to ride our horses from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We were going to be Cowboys and shared our grand plan with Grandma Warren. Pure, revealed to me so beautifully with your words. It was a time when as children, we were allowed to have imaginations and dreams and not have them shattered at first mention. Pure. Now, it at least seems to me, that such pure time gets stopped as quickly as possible. Pure time was just as real as real time if that makes any sense. We didn’t turn out to be Cowboys but he did have a herding dog named Stella. Nolan instead got ms at a young age and chose to live remotely in the words. When he would fall, Stella would lay by his face and lick him until he could gather the strength to stand up. Stella. Also pure. Pure love.

  6. Oh sis, you have water flowing from aged brown orbs with this one. What a treasure this is. I will tuck neatly in the Candice chamber of my heart and smile when I think of you on that wire❤❤❤

  7. I don’t know that I ever seen you post something like this! It is so totally fun and delightful and carefree. You freed your inner child and she’s playful and joyful and feisty! I love, love, love it. Throughout my life, as I’ve met people and began becoming friends with them, the deciding factor in my letting them into my inner circle was would they have been the kind of kid I couldn’t wait to go play with when I got home from school, the ones I went as fast as I could to knock on the door where they lived to see if they wanted to come out and play. Okay so that may sound strange and silly, but truly the ones I think most hold near and dear are the ones who pass that litmus test of pure innocence and the trusting naiveté of childhood. Oh, C, do take the day off and turn off the computer again someday soon. If I knock on the door, can you, will you come out to play by charming, delightful Huck, Peter Pan, Tinkerbell friend. Je t’aime, N 🙂 ❤

  8. I laughed, I reminisced, I trembled a bit too, at the poignant words, intended or not 🙂
    Such a mosaic of emotion up there!
    Thank you. (I’ll be saying this a lot here, I guess 😀 )

    But this:
    we would benefit from observing consequence and seeing it through

    If only. Sigh.

  9. I agree. I think my best friend is someone I grew up with and we have that innocence to both refer back to and also recognize was damaged. It gives us a bond I think that is a good start for any friendship

  10. Dear Candice- we may not know each other than through my attempt to write a little… I have read your blog- to stop writing for awhile- maybe to return or not…. I can only answer this way- as I am not sure of any other way to contact you. I wish to say – last week I erased everything on my blog- as I felt unable to continue.Just could not add anything that I felt would touch others. I dared to write to you and tell you I was laughing when reading your blog- regarding play ground. I have been locked in my heart for a long time- and not caring to relate to any one- I had lost the plot to be human. As I read your blogs- and some others- a fire began to glow within my heart again. Slowly but surely I was becoming warmer again. I want to say – today I felt heavy hearted and a loss- knowing you may not return again. I just always want to be honest to you, My mother died – leaving behind her a trail of lies- My closest friend died in Carolina- it always seems to me my whole life- when someone special shows up- its good for a time and they leave again. Reading your blogs- are fine- BUT YOUR HEART AND LIFE IS FAR FAR MORE IMPORTANT TO ME HONSESTLY. Male / Female makes no difference. If you choose not to return- I will miss you sure! but you are far to important as I explained. I thank you for your writings of past- some are above me – sure- but what ever I just read and understand what I can- which are most of course. Even though I may be a shadow- in your plaground- I speak of you highly- to the very few people I associate with and pass on your life in writing. I long to see you back here- to conclude also- Candice- if I have failed you in any way- please forgive me. What ever you decide please be safe and know I care. Your friend.

  11. Don’t delete your blog. I know I’m guilty of all of that too maybe that’s why I totally understand where you are coming from. We who suffer from melancholy must stick together and support each other because others will only judge us. And we will only feel more alone as a result. You’re no shadow or maybe we all are and that’s a good thing. Either way the comparison game isn’t for us, and I am always coming back I just am always running away too! The mercury of sadness I suppose. xo Thank you for your lovely words as ever my friend (and please, don’t delete your blog, I deleted my ‘last’ one I had over 5ooo followers it was actually good to start over with those I felt really attached to which was far smaller number but I do regret deleting it and it was for a dumb reason too)

  12. I was going through the ones I was subscribed to and I saw several of yours still exist so I remain hopeful you will find a way back somehow I saw today’s post on ‘that’ subject 😉

  13. I’m so weary of how narrow the world’s become, so this did me a world of good…
    You know, there’s always a measure of pain reading these pieces of your past, because I go right back to places that are so similar — but there’s a strange peace as well. The girl I’d like to smother with a pillow gets eclipsed by the girl who actually learned something from her mistakes (and anyone who loved Kate Bush couldn’t be all bad, could she?) Sadly, neither girl could ever do a back flip… but they both enjoyed watching those who could. 😉

  14. Good grief you are so right, what a good way of putting it. The world has become VERY narrow. And it does make you weary. That is EXACTLY how I feel. So thank you for being able to translate my feelings exactly. And it’s good to know I’m not the only one feeling them and that maybe together we can laugh at the absurdity of it all. How right you are, a cross match of emotions, where you want to strangle something out of existence and also welcome it. (Anyone who loved Kate Bush must be totally BRILLIANT as far as I and my very biased self would say) 😉

  15. Oh sweets, they are just cached in the glorious internet memory for now. I am finished with the world of WP and am absolutely loving just letting it fade away ❤. I read only connected friends and interact on a small community site I built on another platform. You are always welcome wherever I am.

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