Slipping away with bag packed tight
Greyhound north fighting darkest night
In early teens, half scared to death
Running away, now out of breath

Where’d brother go, what do you know?
Up to the farm to lay down low
Don’t know much more than I just told
Anymore news I must withhold

Down farm roads calling out his name
What have we done, who is to blame?
What if he’s hurt, or worse than that?
In this moment, we’ll just say brat

Boldly atop a poplar tree
Now feeling like an abductee
Nervous to drop, dear price to pay
Now in the clear, no will to stay

Feet peddling fast to grandma’s place
Dark setting in, a faster pace
Tears greet the ground, arms reach out
Voices vanished, not one did shout

Hugs and busters imparted ’round
Saline coating upon the ground
Prayers now answered, all have won
Forgiveness applies, now all’s done.

15 thoughts on “Runaway

  1. Olden, my man! Love this story. Absolutely loved it! Pacing, emotion-filled. I can hear his thumping heart. And, my-o-my when he is in those loving arms….great. Keep ’em coming. Take care.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wonderful, Alan.
    I must tell you, I don’t know how you maintain your rhyming prowess – I find rhyming ever so difficult. I’m not nearly that clever and my vocabulary is sorely lacking – thus, I’m saved by the lovely term – free verse!
    I also must tell you that when I was little I kept a little red suitcase packed and ready to go, hidden away in my closet. I had grand visions of making everyone suffer after I’d run away like Dorothy.
    Happy Wednesday.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Thank you AnnMarie. In my early school years the teachers were allowed to literally beat things into our heads and rhyming was one thing they stressed, using my head as a sounding board. When you say, “Little red suitcase” one could only assume that “Little” would encompass the distance you would have been able to travel. Wouldn’t that be a grand story for you to write one day! :o)


  4. What an excellent story within an absolutely brilliant poem. I’m not a poet myself, but I admire good poetry from others. I love the tension, the fast paced action and the way you maintain the rhyme and rhythm.
    By ‘Greyhound north’ do you mean my home area – or anywhere in the North of England, where most people at some time or other enjoy a night at ‘the dogs’? Or is there there is an equivalent area in the U.S.?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Millie. The Greyhound in Canada is a company of buses running across the nation and into the USA. Today they would not allow a child to depart on a bus without an adult purchasing a ticket for them.


      1. I did wonder if the phrase referred to a particular bus and the poem was set in the U.S.A. As it is, it’s Canada! Thank you for clearing that up for me, Alan. So, does that mean you are Canadian? I couldn’t see an About page on your blog. Perhaps I just need to have another look. :)

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Thanks Millie, Yes, I am a Canadian who was working on a project in the USA. It stopped the first of the year and we have been relaxing while the house is sold, with thoughts of returning to Canada at that point. I have been so busy writing that I failed to do an about page. I must make that a higher priority. Thank you for pointing that out Millie! It was pointed out a couple other times by some dear friends!

        Liked by 1 person

      3. I just wanted to write a little ‘hello’ as a new follower – which I usually do when I follow someone new. Still, we’ve said our hellos now! I’ll look forward to reading more of your great writing.

        Liked by 1 person

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