A Walk Down Memory Lane

Van Nuys Blvd In 1965

In having traveled to and lived in many cities all over the world, I enjoy from time to time returning to the images that reminds me of home.

I’ll revisit my hometown memories as a base of comparative reference and apply a broader appreciation for my evolving life’s wonderment.

No matter how many years have passed, this imaginary place lays frozen in the folds of my mind as a static page upon my memory.

So in my many travels over the years, I suppose I’ve unwittingly carefully pack these memories into my bags on each trip, keeping each intact as recanted.

The flavors of all of our characters evolve from a version of such places and whether it was tree lined streets or a hollow amongst the forest, it is in such places that we first become introduced to the world and the world to us!

Our emotions evolve from these planted seeds and sprouts from the world’s response, which helps us to form and shape our early personalities.

As such,…it is always fascinating to compare the memorex imaginary version of our memories for such places, in contrast to a current day reality..hum?

One day while on a business trip I took a little detour and wanted to refresh my memories of the village where I had grown up

This poem is about a observational retrospect for the changes that had occurred over the many years since my last visit…

A Walk Down Memory Lane

I traveled down a street today of one in which I used to play, I’d sit and talk with friends all day, ride bikes down endless alleyways.

Of tree lined courts and avenues the views of homes and nightly news would cuddle life of home’s support, make world seem small and just for sport.

The trees were small and all so new when child like life was in my view, family full and siblings all we never imagined that some would fall.

Climbing trees and being free while flavoring scents of summer breeze, the smog’s descent could cause refrain on playground fields and kickball games.

Boys in collars girls in skirts morals subsided Hippies divided chances taken page forsaken cause mistaken for looks that flirt?

Those days have passed and could not last the neighborhood has grown up fast the signs have changed with names they came in languages that sound insane.

Policies and politics and faces strong and guys named Dick have come to shape our world today and splash new paint in rainbow waves.

The town once new ‘tis turn mildewed with stewing brew of new strain flues ‘tis crimes and dimes and foreign mimes in silent words have painted slime.

‘Twas once a place of Beaver’s stroll on sidewalk paths and rock and roll, paper routes and neighbor’s shouts ‘twere absent words of filthy bouts.

‘Twas then a time when trees were small and we’d look up to those so tall like JFK and FDR and dreamed of things, not how they are.

Melodies of ice cream screams when idling trucks would seem like dreams. Long summer days where kids would play and sun drenched smiles would pave the way to long walks home to stews with bones and Moms and Dads ‘twere never stoned.

When life was new and thoughts were few the hues were all a skew, in black light smoke and hits from toke we’d fail to get a clue.

Those smoke filled bars would leave their scars on aging face of ageless and scream’s recant thy victims chants and blame disgrace on shameless.

What future scenes on wide screen’s streams can mute the tones of kids alone and days of now have come somehow from culture’s shift indulgent bliss!

No wonder why we’re breathing sigh why things have changed and sense refrained form focused view of me and you ‘tis absent pause in causes.

In walking down our memory lanes of childhood streets and neighbor’s banes of losing fights and things not right events came true in sky blue hues.

We ask whats changed, streets lined with gold crooked path yellow brick roads? As story goes we’ve all been tolled upon our wants we’ve sold our souls!

‘Tis age some wise from fear to die while heart still yearns for answers, the street I lived and grew from crib ‘tis gone from view thereafter.

Michael Chaffee



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Writing with the Veiled…