High Rollers

3 Comments

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  • Family

    High Rollers

     

    High Rollers

     

    A coaster rolls its dragon trails

    Against a cotton sky

    A friendly sun brings summer fun

    Where kids can learn to fly

     

    With shear delight they master flight

    And subjugate their fear

    They test their hearts and stuff their face

    While father’s drinking beer.

     

    Then when the end of money flows

    Like rivers to the sea

    They muster their persuasive skills

    And surround the money tree

     

    So on it goes around again

    Until the darkened sky

    Then sends them to the theater

    Where everyone is dry.

     

    Genormous screen, surrounding-sound

    ... a concert of their faves

    And right next door a water park

    With never ending waves

     

    The sky has blued - the rain departs

    The summer sun’s a friend

    They ‘re saving up their part time cash

    And coming back again.

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    SavVySam commented on High Rollers

    08-01-2009

    Ah Summer!!! Thanks, for taking us along on the ride!

    NevillePark

    08/01/2009

    Thanx Sam. Wacky weather for summer this year however. At least for most of Ontario Canadians and upper NY. Outright goofy (and mid May weather).The kids have the rest of August to salvage some memory making time however.

    Madelynn commented on High Rollers

    07-25-2009

    Beautifully written summer song.I can so remember this! Thanks for bringing it all back so vividly!

    NevillePark

    07/25/2009

    Thanx

    HarverTomsson commented on High Rollers

    07-23-2009

    I loved the whimsy and the clarity with which you distill the passtimes and values of the young.

    NevillePark

    07/25/2009

    It's not actually part of my childhood experience but to write the scene was enevidible for me. I live in Toronto but work two hours north of here. Off the highway there's Canada's Wonderland with at the superstructures of at least three roller coasters which I gaze upon at least once a week coming up on the bus. Many of my poems find life on the bus.

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

    Unknown Source

    NevillePark’s Poems (38)

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