Just Hang On!
When I was young, I played outside
and cousins often were my crew;
the big kids usually would decide
which games to play, and what to do.
One spring day my excitement grew
as we set out just after dawn:
my cousin said keep him in view,
to grab a branch, then just hang on.
We headed through the countryside;
the morning world still wet with dew.
The teenagers would be my guide—
at five, I tried to be brave too.
For days it rained, now skies were blue;
then, as a group, we came upon
a swollen creek. Somehow I knew
to grab a branch, and just hang on.
It seemed more like a river wide
as leaves and branches by me flew.
My cousin, eight, said I could ride
upon his shoulders—he’d wade through.
Halfway across, a slippery shoe
submerged us both. A helpless pawn,
I couldn’t swim, but had a clue:
“Grab a branch, and just hang on!”
We did, and thus we found it’s true:
when fear is great, hope’s never gone…
If the world tilts, and goes askew,
grab a branch, and just hang on.
Dusty Grein is a retired Managing Editor of a small press publishing company—as well as a graphics designer, author, and poet. Originally from Federal Way, Washington, he is a lifetime resident of the Pacific Northwest. His critically acclaimed best-selling novel, The Sleeping Giant, and his first poetry collection, A Mist Shrouded Path, are available in print and as Kindle Select titles. His shorter works and award-winning poetry have been published in several collections, including Chicken Soup for the Soul, OWS Inked, and The Quarterday Review. His blog, From Grandpa’s Heart… is followed by fans around the world.
Eight beats per line makes this piece race along.
Much of your audience is of an age that your poem is pure nostalgia, Dusty, and we even have a piece of wisdom wrapping it up. What more could we ask for.
Thanks for the read.
Thanks Paul. This is an autobiographical story and I can still remember getting washed down that stream, even though I was only five… and you better believe there’s no tighter grip than the one I had on the branch I finally held onto.
Enjoyable poem with an uplifting message.
Thanks, Cheryl. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
This may be an autobiographical tale, pure nostalgia, and a bit of wisdom, Dusty, but it’s also one of your “hallowed rhymes of old,” a ballade! One in the classic form, and like French examples, preserving the same rhyme sounds throughout rather than changing rhymes other than the end-of-refrain sound in each stanza. Admirable!
Thank you, Margaret. In all honesty, it’s a bit of a blend between the classic ballade and the kyrielle, but of course, it is very much a structured form, like my beloved ‘hallowed rhymes of old.’ You warmed an old poet’s heart today.
Happy to know it, Dusty! And glad to get your fine distinction of the poem as a blend of ballade and kyrielle. “Fair forms” (in Helen Vendler’s terminology) constantly catch my interest
Dusty, this is a scary but uplifting personal tale of paying attention to instructions and hanging on for survival at such a tender age. The lesson learned is an important one for all of us.
Thank you Roy. I was quite young, but it was a lesson learned very well.
Excellent embodiment of the ideallic childhood with a sweet message. Love the iambic tetrameter. It does your poem service