Child's Garden of Voices

A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VOICES

There are many different voices in the world, and we all have a handful of them to ourselves, for use in different situations. Wheedling, whining, begging, soothing ---- we shift voices almost unconsciously from moment to moment. Below are two sets of voices, one from poems written by a very perceptive and talented child, the other from an adult who has similar qualities, except that he is no long a child. In a world in which adults often write like children, and smart kids like grown-ups, it can be hard to tell the difference. Take a look as see if you can tell.....

SNAKES AND SNAILS

Bigger than big
higher than high
My eye looks down from the sky.
I see bright blue and in the night
Many little points of light.
Someone says they are far away
But I know in the warm summer evening
They are very close.
Blue is from one violet,
And the fireflies.

Silence is an empty word.
Filling it up with
Dogs barking, whistles blowing,
Radio playing music,
Drums booming, and sometimes
Parents screaming
It's never full, but like the pail
When you have poured the water out
It's still there, empty and waiting
Full of silence.

III

Mommy made Dad set the trap
Right after dinner, and the next morning
I saw under the chair a mouse
Dead. Mom says its our house
And there is no room for a mouse
I wonder if the mouse has a family too
And maybe they are waiting for him
To come home. Forget it, the trap
Snapped and he is dead, forever.
In a corner of my own garden
I will make a little place to bury mice
I can make a cross with two
Chopsticks and a rubber band.
If there are ten or twenty more they can all
Sleep under a blanket of green grass there.

Good night little friends, not much pain
In the fast snap of a baited trap
And you are gone into mouse heaven
The mice keep on dying every day
Dad sets the trap and another mouse
And another bites the bait, and another
And another and another. Are they always
Coming back from somewhere else?

Today Dad took me to the park
We played ball, had hot dogs for lunch
With catsup and mustard and a big coke.
I felt a little sick, then we took a long walk
Down to the frog pond and I saw some fish
Jumping up to catch mosquitoes in the air.
Dad forgot the mosquito spray and we were
Trying to get them off us. I hit one hard,
He was full of red blood, Dad's I hope.
For dinner at home we had a cookout but
The chicken got burned and the potatoes
Were burned outside but still hard in the middle.
I was glad to get a big glass of orange juice
And four oreos and sit on the floor with a big
Pillow and my favorite blanket, and at last
Do something that's real fun ---like watching TV

It is raining this morning
Outside is wet and gray
I can't go out, nothing much to do
Inside, maybe clean up my room
Again and cut up some more paper
And clean my room. What a day,
A bad rainy cold day.
Can I watch TV, Mom? OK that's better,
People talking and the sun is out
Everybody is happy and running around
Having lots of fun. On Saturday morning
The comics hour is full of cats chasing mice
Never getting them, unlike the next house
Down the road with two cats and no mice.
TV is so much more fun than living here,
I can watch it for hours, all those great cartoon
Animals, but I can never get to play with them.
I think I'll go play with the dead mouse
Push him with a stick and see if I can
Make believe he's still alive.

VII

Dad beat me with a stick this morning, while Mom
Screamed at me as loud as she could. I know
She hates me, you can see it in her eyes. Dad's a beast.
I think they are not my real parents, they adopted me
And that's why they are so mean to me all the time.
I've got my things packed, Snoopy and a blanket,
Toothbrush and a towel, and some bread in a sack
Under the big tree, and when they aren't looking
I'm going to run away and live in that cave
Where the woods are across the river.
They will laugh when they see I am gone, I know it,
They really do hate me.
Rain, it's starting hard now.
I'll never get to the cave, I feel awful.
Mommy is calling me, probably a trap
So she can whack me some more. She asks if I want
Ice-cream with a whip and a cherry on top?
Sure would taste good, I just could go have a look.
Boy, that was good, Mom, could I have a little more?
Dinner was very quiet, they seemed sort of normal
For a change. So here we are now all on Mom's big bed
This evening watching TV. Maybe they are not so bad.

VIII

I am over here
You are over there
I give you a smile, you are quiet.
I try again, now you
Look at me for a second.
I know you saw me and I wait.
Then you nod you head and we both
Smile, me over here
You over there on your rocking chair.
I am glad that you smiled at me
And that I am here too.

Getting toys and presents is great fun
But sharing is something I don't like much
Thinking about. Mom tells me always to share,
But she doesn't share much with her sisters,
And Dad would never share his car with anyone.
Our dog would never share his bone,
Look at his big teeth if there's any question.
So I don't see why I have to share. Maybe
Just maybe sharing is something kids have to do
But when you are grownup you keep things
Just for yourself and never share at all.
I hope I grow up soon because I am not happy
Sharing anything. There are things I could share,
Like carrying the garbage out, and raking the lawn,
Or weeding in the garden. Some of these chores
I would be glad to share with anyone at all.

Look, Dad, the circus man is putting
Gas into my new balloon
It is a little rubber bag
He blows it up and it gets bigger
I just let it go, it goes high into the sky
Further away and bigger, bigger
B i g g e r and then its goes pop
I see something falling down at my feet
I pick it up. it is a little
Broken rubber bag

PUPPY DOGS' TAILS

I walked down the trout stream
To where the ripples met a pool
And where the water went between
Green covered rocks.
The sun glistened onto
The crystal water.
With my fishing rod in one hand
I gave a swoop and the fly landed
Gently onto the water, where
I could see the silver scales
Of a fish swimming.

I climbed up the mountain
Where the tip met the sun.
The birds flew by slowly
Greeting me.
Wind flew through my hair
As the sun went down orange red
And the moon shone yellow.

III

I walked to home plate
With my bat in my hands.
I looked at the pitcher's
Red eyes
The pitcher threw
The big white ball
It came so fast
Past me
It was like white amber.
The pitcher threw
Another fast one
And with all my power
I swung my bat at the ball.
Crack!
I saw a speck of white
Glisten in the pitcher's eyes.

I woke up suddenly
To hear the faint sound of
A car horn.
I was soaked with sweat
So I got up and in the bathroom saw
A horrid, dirty, sad pale face.
I thought to myself
Who could that be?
But it could only be
One person, one I know very well.
Myself.

I looked past the dirty garbage pit
To see green treetops dance around
Then I could see a brown little chipmunk
Climb briskly up an old elm
And suddenly disappear.
The sun shone over tall, thin maples
As cool wind went through my sweaty hair
A brown bird flew before me
Up into the cool clean sky.

The wind stirred softly
As fields of peaceful land lay
In the distant sunset
And the lonely
windmill
stood
turning.
The sky was a dull orange
As the blazing sun levered
Down.
Darkness oozed over the horizon
A dreary moon shone over
The solemn night

VII

A dense layer of fog
Covered the distant mist
And in the deep blue sky
A rainbow showed itself.
The blazing infra-red stood out
Among the rest, it curved
Ending on a small stream
Of glistening water.
The distant hoot of an owl
Slurred through the morning air
The wind stirred gently
As the trees stood
Motionless.
A black hawk soared alone
Into the deep blue sky
As the sun's first glimpse
Was seen.

VIII

The lonely hawk
Glided swiftly into the afternoon horizon
It stared sternly downward
As moving cars roared.
Skyscrapers stood victorious above the rest
And the air was filled with smog
The hawk flew into the sky
A dark shadow in the sunset.

The fat pigeons waddled
On the ground of the city park
And old man threw food
From the worn bench
And up above the roaring cars and
Immense buildings
The keen hawk circles the innocent birds.
Sunset appeared
The old man stuffed the food
Into a small pouch
He grasped the leash
Of an impatient dog
And still up above the pigeons
Still the hawk's stare.

A conclusion to a bitter epic
Of a person who perished in warfare
His gravestone engraving etching of his excellence,
His end. Moss crawling slowly up the stone slab.
The chill in the dreary graveyard air
As the ghosts gaze down and vanish in agony.

The war had reached its solemn brink
Dead souls sailing in the air
The windmill rotates in the abandoned ranch
The valley confined to the unrested dead.
Survivors survey the area in bitter melancholy
Staggering on the warpath engaged in battle there
And blaring on the horizon
A lone wolf howls.

XII

Fly, fly into the land where worries don't fright
Fly, fly with your wings into the sunset
Fly, into the light of the night
Fly high.

XIII

The lone hunter marches in the light of the night
He walks with little fright
A death of melancholy killed him
But don't pitifully ignore
His last stride into the clutches of the night.

FINALE FOR MRS. MOM

Mommy lets me pick my socks
White and pink and rose,
Mommy lets me pick my shirts
And my other clothes.

She is very very proud
Her little fellow knows
How to pick the colors right
To go with other clothes.

In the garden Mommy lets
Me pick her special rose,
And put it in a fancy vase
To tickle nanny's nose.

But all the clever little things
Her precious sonny knows
Are soon forgotten when she screams
Because I pick my nose.

I don't know why I do it
But everybody knows
As dogs must stretch and cats must scratch,
A man must pick his nose.

The blood comes out
And dribbles down
And then it really flows.
Mom finds a pack of cotton balls
And puts one in my nose.

I slip around the corner
Where Mommy never knows
And without thinking, secretly
I start to pick my nose.

I think that it's inherited
Cause Daddy always throws
Into Mommy's flower pots
The stuff that's in his nose.

Return to Poems index

William Harris
Prof. Em. Middlebury College
www.middlebury.edu/~harris