Long Gone (1)

boys

long
gone
those days
when we played
not counting the days
now we watch the the children play
and recall those days
when we played
those days
long
gone

This poem was written using the Fibonnacci Sequence.

Β©Jane Paterson Basil

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28 thoughts on “Long Gone (1)

  1. Funny, those memories of childhood. I always think I can’t remember much, then I’ll think of the way my nan cooked toast – wonky slices cut with a knife with a curved back, over sharpened blade: the day I caught butterflies in a net, kept them in a box and went back to find they’d all died. The out side loo we had to use when our bathroom was being done up – the dark torchlit path to it, the cold and the spiders.
    Why are childhood memories so sad, so wistful?
    Nicely written Jane, and beautifully constructed.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s telling that your childhood memories are sad. Mine are all joyous. Does that mean that my childhood was happier than yours, I wonder, or was it that I blocked out all of the bad stuff? I did, you know…

      Liked by 2 people

      1. I feel, looking back, that childhood was quite an anxious time. I never thought I was a worrier until I examined myself and realised how much I worried as a kid – about school, about my Dad’s temper. And it’s something that’s escalated at times through adulthood.
        I’m sure my childhood wasn’t that bad – I was just fretful on a low level all the time.
        Did you really block the bad stuff? And if you did, does that mean you have gaps? I guess many childhoods are the same – moments of pleasure, moments of fear.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I had forgotten about your dad. You must have been trading on eggshells (excuse the cliche). That would have overshadowed a lot of the pleasure of childhood.
          I don’t think I blocked much – there was one incident which my sister told me about, and I never believed her until I wrote that memoir, but as I wrote, it came flooding out, with details that my sister wouldn’t have been aware of.
          Mostly I didn’t allow myself to think deeply enough about the bad things to string them together and get a cohesive picture of what was going on in the head of my poor, sick bastard of a dad, and what he was really up to – but I think that he did some of it on a sub-conscious level.
          He messed us all up, one way or another. That’s why we’re such a bunch of losers.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. Amazing what can come flooding out of you at times, isn’t it? It’s good if you can come to terms with it and leave it behind – if that’s ever entirely possible.
            I know some people who carry the hurt and anger forward and maybe I do as well, but I’ve tried to leave it behind, especially now he’s gone. I just want my son to think more highly of me than I did my dad.
            And as for being a loser – look at your blog and all you’ve produced. Far from being a loser, my love πŸ™‚

            Liked by 1 person

            1. Somehow I suspect your son has a higher opinion of you than you had of your dad.
              When I talk about us being a family of losers, I’m referring to our tendency to focus entirely on our current obsession, to the detriment of everything else in life.
              I write, and hopefully I write well, but I make no effort to get anything published. Writing is no challenge – I need it more than I need coffee, but getting published is, and, much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to take the necessary steps.

              Liked by 1 person

              1. Well, it depends on your goals for your writing. If you don’t want to be published, then why force yourself to fit into a particular, commercial-shaped hole? Go your own way, enjoy what you do – you’re work is read online and that is success enough.
                If, however, you’d like to be published but are too wary to take those steps then that’s a bit different. I don’t blame you for being cautious about it – it’s hard to get published and it hurts like hell when you’re rejected, and we all are. It gets easier, though. When you get one rejection, you just have to keep the next goal in mind – and the next – and the next – and the next ….. πŸ™‚

                Liked by 1 person

                1. So they say.
                  I do want to get published. I tell myself that maybe I’d go for it if I wasn’t so surrounded by chaos, and I could concentrate…
                  Wouldn’t it be great be to publish a book full of rejection letters, and for it to become a best-seller! It could be done if you sandwiched in a load of sarcastic humour… πŸ™‚

                  Liked by 1 person

                  1. I’d like to see you try and publish that kid’s book you mentioned a while back – very promising idea. And your memoir – there will be a lot of people very interested in what you have to say, Jane.
                    Well, you think you’re making excuses, but it is hard to concentrate when you have other things going on. Baby steps, Jane. Return to the projects you wrote a while back – revise, revise, revise – then send out to some trusted writer friends and gradually whittle away at it. Consistency is the key, not necessarily speed. (Don’t you just love how easy it is to give other people advice whilst ignoring it yourself?)
                    And I love your rejections book idea – could be a thick book though πŸ™‚

                    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Anton! I was the rebellious daughter of a rebellious bohemian. I didn’t even take O’ levels, because I hated school so much. I went to Art college for a year and casually did a couple of A’ levels, plus an English O’ level – that was an accident. I was put in for it by mistake, and only informed the day before the exam. Then I dropped out of college, and have been dropping (or falling) out of things ever since.
      If I was younger I would be tempted to take an A’ level in Maths, just for fun. I was never degree material – although I had the ability, there was something lacking.
      I wonder, where did I go wrong? πŸ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautifully written and constructed! I didn’t know that the Fibonacci Sequence could be applied to writing. I always thought it was something spatial and mathmatical, but I guess being mathmatical it could be applied to anything.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Terry!
      The sequence is 1,1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, etc – but you probably know that. It’s asking to be turned into syllabic verse.
      I think of poetry (also music and dance) as being mathematical. I’m thinking of playing with a couple of other mathematical sequences if I don’t become distracted.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I love the integration of math with words. There’s something so natural about it. Math describes our world and so do our words. I love how this poem sounds and looks; again, it seems so natural and cyclical, just like life. Even the theme is like this, being a child, then growing up, then watching children. Nice job.

    Liked by 1 person

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