Categories
Tag: memory
Categories
The Old Man – a poem
The old man paused on the bridge
a favorite stop
upstream of the lazy oxbow
where a boy once watched
the milky gold
afternoon light
spill through the alders
into empty space
over still water
its silent weight
filled the air
suspending dragonflies
as they patrolled the cattails
urgently
as if they knew
the lateness of the hour.
Categories
Fidelity – Poem
Fidelity These days are not grey as I will remember. These days of low fresco skies watercolor apples bruised life, still life. These nights not empty as I will remember, of silver moons, cinnamon light. So much depends on forgetting. But one promise I will remember every day each jewel of light grinds down to cool darkness.
Categories
The Passing of a Poet
Mourning the Passing of a Poet
You distilled life to a poem
Knew what to hold
What to let go.
Like a poet only you knew
Each word you left out.
Absence carves niches in my heart
For the absent.
Memories cast light
On what I cannot see.
I mark your passing as I write.
I read back lyrics
Milled from memories
By my split heart.
I grieve with and without words.
Remember, echo is to laughter
as bronze is to sculptor,
reflection can only recall a face.
Remember the echo grows mute,
all traces erased in time.
Unlike sun full gold upon your face
memory of sun leaves you cold.
I remember: A memory drawn
from grey matter
like ink up a quill, wicking
up neurons, seeping down limbs,
leaping pen’s synapse with paper,
becoming this poem.
Remember.
So much in time
is remembered far too little
and too late in time.
Fidelity
These days are not grey
as I will remember.
Days of low fresco skies
watercolor apples
bruised
life, still life.
These nights not empty
as I will remember
of silver moons
cinnamon leaf-light.
So much depends on forgetting.
But one promise
I will remember
every day
each jewel of light
grinds down to cool darkness.
Categories
The Old Man
The Old Man
The old man paused on the bridge
a favorite stop
upstream of the lazy oxbow
where a boy once watched
the milky gold
of evening sunlight
spill through the alders
into empty space
over still water
its silent weight
filled the air
suspended dragonflies
patrolling the cattails
urgently
as if they knew
the lateness of the hour.
I Could Be Wrong 