Locks is a regular guest on the Scribbler. He lives in Albert County with his wife Trish. A published author with a Young Adult series of novels as well as many short stories. A clever story teller and a poet.
This week on the Scribbler he has agreed to share both and tell us a bit about each one.
Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission.
Grandson (Tiny Angel)
L.F.Young
Tiny
fist pressed tight against mouth so small.
What
gift is this?
Small
drool trail catching sunlight’s glint
And
crooked smile…leads us to think
Of
the wonder of it all.
Tiny
angel in my palms.
My
hands wrinkled with age and wisdom, hold you strong.
My
thoughts travel through time as I look in your eyes
Reminding
me of times
When
I held your parent, just as fragile.
Same
face, same smile, same eyes.
Oh
my how time flies.
I wrote this poem around the time of the birth of
my first grandchild. I think the things I thought and expressed at the time are
shared with every grandparent who holds their grandson or granddaughter for the
first time.
Baby No More
L.F.Young
Little baby
boy
Of not so
long ago
Miles in
between, sights have been seen
Flashes of
smiles missed.
Flashes of
cries kissed.
You look at
me
A boy I see.
No baby
here.
In your big
voice crashing
Running hell
bent for greatness
In your
dragon quest
Or dog tails
best
As you pull
for all you’re worth.
Little baby
boy
Of not so
long ago
Fly away
home, lands left to roam
Flashes of
golden clouds
Flashes of
cries aloud
You look at
me
And a man
you’ll be.
Now my eyes
cloudy with age
Wrinkled
hand on crown
Little boy
now grown.
This poem,
also about my grandson was inspired by this picture taken by his dad. When they
visited in the summertime, the little guy loved to pet the dogs and gently pull
their tails, and I can still hear his child’s voice shouting as he ran from one
end of the house to the other, so full of energy and play. They grow up so
fast.
Diary of an Orphan
L.F.Young
Sun
dried dirt on sun browned feet
Dust
clouds rise in the village street.
Walking
from here to over there.
Walking
from here to everywhere.
African
sun beats down on my head
No
food in my tummy, no soft place for bed.
Yesterday,
today, tomorrow, the same
Tho
hungry and dirty I have no shame.
I
want to live on, to love and to laugh
I
want to belong, forgetting my past
So
much death, so much sorrow
Will
I see some hope tomorrow?
Sun
dried dirt on sun browned feet
Food
in my tummy and off of the street
This
is my home now with people to love
This
is my hope now, sent from above.
In 2008 I had an opportunity to
visit South Africa with my family. While we were there we were going to visit
an orphanage in a neighboring country called Swazi Land. Swazi Land is a
landlocked kingdom, and is a very poor country with some alarming statistics.
At that time the average life expectancy was 35 years of age and due to
education has recently rose to 5o years of age as of 2013. In 2002 the World
Health Organization reported that 64% of all deaths in Swazi Land were caused
by Aids or Aids related diseases.
My Mother in law was over there as
part of an educational contingency to educate the Swazi people about the
dangers of unprotected sex, among other things such as hygiene and proper
nutrition. According to her, and not a widely publicized opinion there, the
King did not believe his people were poor, and therefore there was no need of
any orphanages or any support for them. The consequence of this was very bad,
because clearly over half of the population was dead or dying, and as a result,
there was no middle aged population. This meant that grandparents were left to
rear children, as in many cases both parents and even older siblings were dead
because of this terrible epidemic. As a result I wrote Diary of an Orphan after
my visit to one of the many non-publicly funded orphanages in that country. It
is written from my imagining what a young girl or boy would experience when
there was no one left to care for them.
L.F.Young
Diary of an Orphan
L.F.Young
The
water leaked from my eyes and made snake trails down my dusty face, just to
fall from my cheek onto the mud floor of my house, in silence.
Grandmother
is dead.
She
passed from here to there sometime last night. She wasn’t sick like the others.
She was just old. She was just tired.
My
mother, father and brother, the others… are all dead. They had the sickness and
they left me a long time ago. I hope I don’t get the sickness.
Grandmother
has looked after me for so long now, but she has left me too.
Now
I am all alone. My belly is sore again. When I eat my belly feels good and is
not so sore, but now it is sore again, and I am so afraid.
Like
the water from my eyes fading into the dirt of the floor, they have all
disappeared.
*
Today
a nice lady arrived at my house to talk to me. She said that I could go with
her to the mission and get some food for my sore belly. I don’t know what a
mission is, but I like food for my belly and I said I would go with her.
She
is a nice lady and she smells like clean sweet grass growing in the fields.
We
left the village and took the dirt road that leads to nowhere. It was a very
long trip, and when we came over the last hill I saw a place in the distance.
It was all wavy from the heat of the road but it became clear as we got closer.
There
was a big building in the center of this village. It had two sticks on the very
top of the roof, and they were white. The nice lady who brought me here said
she was teacher, and the big building was called church. She said a man named
God lived there, and that someday I would meet Him. It was a fine house.
Teacher
brought me to another building where there were lots of boys and girls my size.
The floor was different then my home. It was made of wood. And there was food
for my belly, and my belly told me it was going to stop the pain. That night I
slept in peace, and did not dare to dream.
*
I
awoke in a strange place, and was very scared. I could see the sunlight just
peeking under the door, and then I remembered everything. I was safe. I was
near God’s house and today I would meet Him, and see Teacher, and the other
children who were here with me also greeting this new day.
After
some good food, which made my belly quiet, I went to the house called school,
where Teacher was to be. I liked this place and I had a warm feeling in my
heart. It felt like when I hurt my toe on a sharp rock, and I went to Grandmother,
and she held me and talked softly to me and said I would be safe. This was
safe, and warm, and even if Teacher was not Grandmother, it felt the same and I
was happy to be in this place.
Today
I went to God’s house. He was not there but his friend who looked after God’s
house was there, and he said welcome. He said that God was always in His house,
even if we could not see him. He said God would always love me no matter what.
I thought of Grandmother. I could not see her but I knew she was there, and
that she would always love me too. I think God and Grandmother are a lot alike,
and that makes me feel warm inside.
Thanks again Lockie for being our featured guest.
Find more of Lockie's work here.
The Legend Returns:
Ryan's Legend:
Lockie is my cousin and he is one of the most kind hearted, giving people I know, not to mention a talented writer. To think someone stole one of his poems makes me very angry! I am a firm believer of what goes around comes around and Lockie will have countless more good things come his way. To the person who stole his work, he will pay countless times over I'm sure. If they stole from one they will do it again. They say karma is a bitch, in this case it will be a blessing. I just wish we could witness it when it comes their way. Love you Lockie and keep writing, you're the best <3
ReplyDeleteThanks for another opportunity to showcase some of my scribbles, Allan. The story you refer to is called Not Waxing Poetic and is on my Blog, Lockie's Lectern for anyone to read. I discovered it a few years ago on another blog and found out that between 1996 or so and 2013 or there about it had some fifteen million views...without my name attached to it. These things happen, especially with copy and paste. Right now at this stage of my writing, I'm very pleased to be able to show readers my style, and a chance to do so on a blog like yours means a lot. Much appreciated my friend.
ReplyDeleteAlways a pleasure to have you on board Lockie. Thank you for the comments Sheila & Lockie.
ReplyDelete