{"id":4807,"date":"2014-08-01T17:54:41","date_gmt":"2014-08-01T21:54:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/?p=4807"},"modified":"2014-08-01T17:54:41","modified_gmt":"2014-08-01T21:54:41","slug":"memories-of-summer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/2014\/08\/poetry-in-motion\/memories-of-summer\/","title":{"rendered":"Memories Of Summer"},"content":{"rendered":"

I love summertime \u2013 it brings out the kid in me. I love to be outside and enjoy the sun, from a nice shaded place to sit. But, when I was a kid, I was out and about, covering some ground around town till the sun went down. My bike was my Peterbilt, and my town became my cross-country run. I even made diesel engine and Jake Brake noises as I rode my bike everywhere. I could not wait to grow up and then really travel far in my own big rig. My dad would caution me that growing up would happen fast and then I\u2019d wish I was a kid again. Oh, how true that is! It\u2019s funny how men and boys spend so much time trying to be like each other instead of just enjoying where they are in life right then and there. This poem is just a daydream of a man who longs to relive his youth, as he remembers the simple summertime pleasures he enjoyed as a kid, and how he finds himself just longing to be that little boy again.<\/p>\n

TO BE THAT BOY AGAIN<\/strong>
\n By Trevor Hardwick<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"AugPoem1\"<\/a>Oh, what I wouldn\u2019t give, just to be that boy again,
\nWho thought the world was big, and everything was slow.
\nOr, how I\u2019d love to sit, on a bench down by the barber,
\nIn the center of a little town, and watch the morning glow.<\/p>\n

And in my busy mind, I can see the heated vapors,
\nRising off the highway, at the southern edge of town.
\nI can hear the bells that chime, as storefront doors are opened,
\nAnd old men talking \u2018bout things, that make the world go \u2018round.<\/p>\n

Up there on the wall, I see, the mercury is rising,
\nBut I don\u2019t mind, \u2018cause I\u2019ll go find, a creek to dip my feet.
\nI can picture, up the road, a girl that I\u2019ve been eyeing,
\nWalkin\u2019 and talkin\u2019 with her friends, on my side of the street.<\/p>\n

Hopping on my bike, I ditch the old men telling tales,
\nI pop a wheelie for the girls, \u2018cause that\u2019s what girls dig.
\nI can hear them giggle, as I blaze on by with purpose,
\nMy rusty little bike, becomes a fancy big ole\u2019 rig.<\/p>\n

\"AugPoem2\"<\/a>Glancing to the sky, I see, the sun is far from setting,
\nThe ocean in the distance, is a summertime mirage.
\nRiding past the fresh-mowed grass, I breathe the smell of summer,
\nDrinking from a garden hose, attached to someone\u2019s garage.<\/p>\n

I approach the fire house, and I see the firefighters,
\nThey open up a hydrant, and my friends all gather \u2018round.
\nI cannot resist the chance, to play out in the water,
\nWe\u2019re dancing in the street, with a river on the ground.<\/p>\n

The afternoon will find me, in the cool grass by the meadow,
\nIn the shadow of the water tower, on the edge of town.
\nDrifting off to somewhere, in my young imagination,
\nListening to a sweet and lonely diesel engine sound.<\/p>\n

As evening comes, the neon sign, will flicker at the caf\u00e9,
\nAnd amber lights are glowing, on some out-of-towners\u2019 rig.
\nI snap out of my daydream, and I see my boy beside me,
\nWatching out the window, and his eyes are open big.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re flying down the road, in a hurry to get nowhere,
\nAnd he\u2019s content to ride along, not knowing where we\u2019ll go.
\nOh, what I wouldn\u2019t give, just to be that boy again,
\nWho thought the world was big, and everything was slow.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I love summertime \u2013 it brings out the kid in me. I love to be outside and enjoy the sun, from a nice shaded place to sit. But, when I was a kid, I was out and about, covering some ground around town till the sun went down. My bike was my Peterbilt, and my<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4808,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-4807","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-poetry-in-motion"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4807","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4807"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4807\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4858,"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4807\/revisions\/4858"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4808"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4807"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4807"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tenfourmagazine.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4807"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}