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Five more poems for the Carter County High School members of the class of 1974

Part II or Barnett’s Blue Bike Broke Badly

Five more from seventy four, my thoughts,

I’m trying to retrieve from my account,

Some old coins covered thick in dust and fraught,

My memory rabbit hole caved, no doubt.

But enough cream rises it seems, for plots,

Or words to form in either, springs the fount,

John on monkey bars now unsafe for tots,

I raced Jack in a sprint, Coach stopwatch count.

Chip dribbles to the right and then set shot,

Barnett’s blue bike breaks, though fairly stout,

Saxophone reed in mouth and music dots,

Some things captured from the past, top of mount.

It’s late now, I hope these words bring you joy,

This sixty four year old, feels like a boy.

Erwin Curry

I’ll say I was somewhat lost in those days,

But teenage brains, what, but an experiment,

I tried many things, sports, not purple haze,

Searched for myself throughout without a dent.

Yet lessons were learned even in malaise,

And football ‘boot camp’ still stings, an imprint,

The basketball court’s smell, locker room praise,

And high hurdles, like soldiers, stalling sprint,

Singing “Waterboy” solo within a daze,

And one homecoming dance partner accent,

Yes, my teenage brain was built in that phase,

I conquered, and with a diploma went.

Regrets, but too long ago to ponder,

Now fondness nestles mind in its wander.

Barnett Dean

Barnett and I befriended in fourth grade,

Two country kids with bikes and rubber balls,

Barnett jumped bikes long ago, he displayed,

Nerves well beyond mine, even after falls.

His bike broke in two once, he not dismayed,

Think it was welded together, one recalls,

Barnett’s ramp was too narrow if one strayed,

The jumping left to him, I watched enthralled.

Scott, Barnett and I played until we bade,

Goodby towards our homes, into springtime squalls,

We sure had some childhood fun, a cascade,

Those were fun days, and with no shopping malls.

It’s been long since we’ve rehashed our shared past,

Must talk soon, with no ramps to go aghast.

Chip Dye

Chip had a set shot on the court, cat-quick,

I could not block it, even though shot low,

And he seemed to sink them, some magic trick,

On separate gym teams we played long ago.

He, always in a good mood, the same kick,

He found humor without search, he would forgo,

Much a reason to laugh, life but slapstick,

Our best attitude, more than status quo.

Not moody like most, his laugh was heard thick,

There was a “Chip n’ Dale” time, laughter flowed,

Chip, as courteous as a Disney pick,

He added downhome flair, which he bestowed.

Last saw Chip at a wedding county south,

He smiled, was happy, even in drouth.

John Emerson

John was there throughout the class’s twelve years,

He, always a force, one we listened to,

He, a good student, not one to show fears,

To town John, us wildcats were from the blue.

I recall Mike and John as friends, like gears,

On monkey bars he climbed to the top true,

He would climb high, not low, to new frontiers,

Thorfoson and John, solid, playground glue.

Babe Ruth first base, his bat’s smack to our ears,

Seeing him on first from the bench, white imbue,

John, the silver coin, to our class cashiers,

It’s so long ago now, the John I knew.

John lived in Bismarck, we both with children,

Far removed from monkey bars and boy fun.

Jack Frye (1956-2001)

In a Cub Scout pine cone fight I tossed him,

A young Jack to the ground, he looked surprised,

That before as classmates training in gym,

Or our playing saxophones crystallized.

Jack was Jack, nobody else with his vim,

Smile that launched rockets, Jack undisguised,

He was a summertime friend, peered the rims,

Fishing, hunting, over campfire, times prized.

On a football field, beware, hits were grim,

Coach paired us in sprint, I won, my small size,

Barely though, Jack competed to the brim,

Jack, Ed and I watched stars, tear to my eyes.

Jack, the heart of our class, though he’d say no,

He’s easy to string words to, brag of so.

Next week Kelly Gundlach, Keith Jesperson, Lynette Johnson (Donahey), Bryce Johnston and Kris Keith.

— Erwin Curry, CCHS Class of 1974

 

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