Oh, the sounds that graced my ears
From childhood and beyond,
The memories they often stir
Seem sometimes all but gone.
On summer days with heat and haze
To a ballfield we kids went.
Just kids who came, with bats and gloves
And played ‘til we were spent.
My ears still hear the playful calls
“You’re out! No way! I’m not!
Let’s flip for it, do odds or evens,”
Until resolved it got.
Mowing the lawn with an old push mower
Cutting, pushing, whirring.
We don’t much hear that sound today
It soothed one’s ears like purring.
Dad used old hedge clippers
Long blades, oiled and sharp.
I miss the chopping noise they made
As clippings filled the tarp.
Today I clip our shrubbery
With a fancy trimmer brand.
But just in case I need it
I keep his close at hand.
The “clip, clip, clip” that sounded
As he moved along the row
Accomplished more than yard work
He always taught me so.
With each rhythmic cutting chop
His burdens clearly eased
And when the job was finished
My father looked so pleased.
Entering the local drug store
Over the door a bell.
The druggist knew the customers,
He knew them all so well.
That bell that “dinged” when we came in
Was like a kind “hello”.
We knew that we were welcomed there,
We always liked to go.
And when we made a phone call
The rotary dial clicked away
And sometimes a voice on the line came in –
A party line? We can’t stay.
The TV set had a big round dial.
It clanked at channel change.
We got but a few stations,
Just those that were in range.
These are sounds that are no more.
Our lives have moved along.
But I do miss some of the sounds.
I sometimes hear them strong.
The typewriter keys banging away:
The heavy Smith Corona.
Another bell at the end of a line
With its very own persona.
Soon I know more sounds will go.
I wonder what they’ll be?
My kids I hope will miss these too,
As they remember me.
Computer bells, cell phone alerts,
Perhaps a texting “bing”,
Electric car “whizzes” as they swoosh by,
The next best sounding thing.
But either way, within my heart
I’ll always know for sure
The graceful sounds I knew at youth
Will be my special cure.
When I am quietly pondering
The sounds I left behind,
I’ll value what they were to me
And pass them on in kind.
So listen close, you folks today
And lend a gentle ear:
There’s nothing that will warm your heart
Like memories you’ll hear.
– C J Gibson