(1)
When the school bell chimed and the shifting sky
was dimmed by brooding clouds,
I hastily timed a brilliant lie
and escaped the schoolyard crowd.
Through the woodlands like a maverick mare,
I crashed past autumn leaves,
dark turned to light when I saw her there,
when I found Jacindavieve.
Her green eyes danced like butterflies
her hair swayed to and fro,
I stood entranced, transfigured by
her alabaster glow,
her prominent Arabian nose,
her skin so rich and rare,
her cheeks that glimpsed a red, red rose,
her loom of jet black hair.
While schoolboys puffed cheap cigarettes,
we fled to sparkling streams,
and soon enough our silhouettes
were locked in a synchronised dream.
(2)
When the boys of spring called out my name,
I ignored their frantic shouts,
my schoolyard sin was to shun their games,
and hence began their doubts.
“She does not exist!” they taunted me,
“She’s only make-believe.”
They would not resist their laughing spree,
and offered me no reprieve.
When the school bell chimed a prisoner fled,
with no time left to grieve,
my enemy time as I passed the shed,
and trampled on fallen leaves.
I climbed the hill with determination,
’til my goal I had achieved,
the greatest thrill, the sheer elation
of finding Jacindavieve.
(3)
While the boys of spring chased red pigskins
on fields of emerald green,
I clung to the wings of my dreaming-twin,
I clung to my dryad queen.
But when September died and the hollow willow
replaced the oval ball,
I searched far and wide by the drying meadow,
but could not find her at all.
With the saddest of smiles I withheld my cry:
had the girl set me free?
I sat for awhile with watery eyes
by the trunk of a thunder-clapped tree.
(4)
So I gathered my feet and humbly descended
to the playing fields of boys,
I offered them treats and shrewdly pretended
that I knew how to play with their toys.
On the emerald grass I dreamed, I wondered,
gazing up to that far-flung hill
unexpected, the cherry would pass like thunder,
I would let the lads down with a spill.
(5)
Our youth would end with the clanging ring
of the golden bell of school,
and without a friend I could not sing,
the classroom’s lonely fool.
“She does not exist!” they taunted me,
“She’s only make-believe.”
They would not resist their laughing spree,
“Surely you’ve been deceived.”
When the school bell chimed and the shifting sky
was dimmed by brooding clouds,
I hastily mimed a feeble lie
and escaped the schoolyard crowd.
Through the barren fields, like a frightened mare
I rushed towards the hill,
to the past I would yield, I would breathe its air,
to the past I would stand still.
And what I saw by the trickling stream,
I scarcely could believe,
just like before, with those eyes of green,
those eyes of Jacindavieve.
How to explain? A fountain of joy
sprung forth from my wounded heart,
erasing all the pain of a lonesome boy,
and then God revealed his art…
for assembled by clouds was the form of a name,
the name of all names, I believe,
announcing to crowds of her beauty and fame:
that name of Jacindavieve.
When the school bell chimes my mind conceives
of brooding clouds and fallen leaves,
and the hands of time cannot unweave
these visions of Jacindavieve.
Note, earlier versions of this poem appeared in Prince of the Apple Towns (2000) and Daniel Yammacoona (2013)
About Damian Balassone
Damian Balassone is a failed half-forward flanker who writes poetry. He is the author of 'Strange Game in a Strange Land'.
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Great work Damo. A mix of Wordsworth and Conway Twitty. Takes great skill and patience to keep that rhyme in rhythm. Flows beautifully.
DB,
I’m a sucker for ballads, so I like this very much.