A kite is a kite

I was a kite
packed in a box
set on a shelf in a room
painted and sewn as a gay silk kimono
but could not shake a strange gloom.
unknown unclaimed safe-captive and free
hems, seams and grommets
bound round bamboo you see.

A whistling man strode in one noon
to gather some trinkets and things
he asked the shop keeper for licorish twizzlers
and songs for the church children sings.
He whistled like a kettle
calling sugar biscuits to tea
I peeked thru my eyelet
and listened intently.

He spyed me on my dusty shelf
‘as she evah been out the box?
“Nay” said the shopman “never been flown
came in and stayed next to the clocks
from the first rush of the last kite flyers flocks.”

“She’s a Sode Dako and may seem fragile
but she only needs tail and flier
and I’ll throw in the string and the bridle you’ll bring
if only ya promise ta fly her.”
cuz . .
“A kite is a kite
and meant to fly
and meant to soar the breeze
and a kite is a kite
whenever in flight
she’s meant for those clouds above trees.”

Well I ‘aven’t much time ta be aflying a kite
what with workies and duties galore
but it gives happy pause to give her ‘er chance
cuz she’ll never fly here in yer store.

I was happy just to sit in the auto seat
as my whistler tootled down the lane
and in between whistling he seemed sort of sad
as he sucked on his striped candy cane.
He opened me box on a tall wooden bench
and unfurled me out on the table
he whistled and exclaimed
My you’re certainly yar!
I twoulda kissed ‘em iffen I were able.

He hooked me up good
and he tied me up strong
as carried me out to the meadow
while he whistled and cheered me to not be ascared
he was certainly an awfully kind fellow.

Tied a silk tassle of ribbon on board
like he pinned a tail on my dress
I wasn’t so sure I wanted to leave
I’d gone favoring him some I confess.

With a run and fling
he let go of my wing
silk vibrate did hum and sing
I was anchored in his hand
and I circled a radius ring. . . .

AND it was GRAND I TELL YA!!!
Just GRAND!!

And if a kite could laugh and smile
well surely I was agrinning
the things I saw from up in the air
set my spirits to sing and be spinning.
He flew me up high and never let go
even when I got caught in a tree
if ever he left me hanging and waiting
it was only
because
he was trying to untangle me.
and now I understood
the words that I heard
about longing and freedom and place:

“A kite is a kite
and meant to fly
and meant to soar the breeze
and a kite is a kite
whenever in flight
she’s meant for those clouds above trees.”

My whistler gifted me flight
as he soared me in light and I wished I could
give something back
but a kite cannot bake a cake or a pig
or even give a pat on the back.

As if my whistler could read my mind
while following me in the breeze
I flew over him and when I looked down
his words came up through the trees:

You call me to look up
instead of down down
even though
my feet stand on this same hard ground
when I whistle
you hum
when I think I’m alone
there’s a tug on my thumb
your silk kimono flutters so lovely and free
I am tethered to you
and you’re tethered to me
you take me up with you
to float in the clouds
Yea my spirit soars high up with thee.

y 2012

A kite is a kite

evon ski

Joined June 2009

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 19

Artist's Description

kinda childish but cute poem . . .
I just granted myself permission to be childish. hahaaa. hope you do 2. :)
Tim wrote a very nice (short) concise poem on Flying a kite here and I remembered that I really like these Japanense style kites ~ that look like kimono . . . and a bubble bounce was born.

Artwork Comments

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