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Array
(
[sid] => 152290
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => DUCKS REACH
[time] => 2009-08-16 16:00:43
[hometext] => its terrible to remember thoughts joyus.
[bodytext] => I found a photo in an old book of poems - Buk's. Its a photo of one of my places of joy, Holy ground. Its dated 13th September 1985 My mother took the photo & dated it. Its of a place called Ducks Reach, Its of an old power station circa.1920's Which clung to the river bank like the rocks in the gorge It grew in. It seems as natural and as permanent as the boulders heaped up by the winter tossed torrents. It could be reached along a 30 minute Hiking track wending along the gorge cliffs. I was just 13 years old. Later I found a back route to the place Hidden behind the suburban scrub & scrawl. I shared it with my friends. I was 14. We smoked our first cigarettes there. We swam & played & grew three summers long In the bubbling white rapids and pools Amoung the rocks sun warm & to large to hug. I once invited a girl I loved In my unformed self to come to Ducks Reach with me. It was as beautiful as she was - Dianna (Dee-yana). Dianna, she wouldn't come, she was a dark skinned Italian girl demur & good. I did love her. She & it will always be mine, though in memories like in its pubecent reaches of time, I'll share. It is a place of Arcadian myth to me. Fragile thoughts like water wash over a fragile me. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 220 [topic] => 64 [informant] => incognito_bombastus [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )
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