Memory – Page 2

September 16, 2017

The Happiness of Music

Visiting family always meant surprises
anticipated from my niece then a girl
who loved everything theater and song

whose tight curly hair & bright eyes
shone like a happy beacon of light

she remembers talk of a voice teacher
& the one time both niece and sister
practiced the violin

but the one memory that dances across
the pages of her mind is the visit
to a restaurant on a clear warm night

where the happiness of the girl seemed
simply to overflow & take flight

so when they walked into the night air
she believed they had left her behind
but not very far had she gone

for the landscape had small hills there
where she stood upon the top of one

hence she raised her arms spread wide
breaking into song to make us smile
‘the hills are alive…

my sister just smiling at the big voice
that filled the night and I sighed

This was first published in the Jamie Dede’s August Issue of the Bezine at https://thebezine.com. The photo below was taken from the Public Domain Pictures and digitally altered.

Love of Music

September 12, 2017

Nostalgia of Letters

This is in response to Rick Daddario’s 30 DOH/Days of Haiga. Read more at
https://19planets.wordpress.com/2017/09/11/haiga-2017-011-30doh-mothers-hours. My own photo digitally altered.

Faded Letters

August 28, 2017

Persuaded By A Smile

I never knew her name and remembrance
of her face has faded from memory
but her kindness still remains steadfast
within the warmth of my beating heart

where upon I still see the upright grand
dusty and in need of repair standing
proudly in the living room of a house
I only encroached drawn by its’ beauty

for she saw I was smitten by its’ presence
and invited me to play for even though
not a lesson had I the music seemed to
pass without pause to my finger tips

as I came to knock each day upon the door
to see the beauty of her smile and knew
that she no longer played but entreated
me to sit once more at the upright grand

This is in response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/08/23/mrs-g-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. Please visit her site and read more. The photo below was taken from Morgue File & digitally altered by myself.

Music Piano

August 14, 2017

An Infinity of Stars Woven

Within the landscape of time are
the shadows of war residing
casting doubts of fear
over hope filled integrity

for if I could but ease the pain
& erase the memory of horror
that slices through hearts
once laden with joy
I would

but there will always be those
who seek righteousness loaded
with weapons of destruction
their efforts devoid
of compassion

and soldiers who participate
on the battlefields of wars
whether at home or across seas
will carry scars always

and if it were possible within
me as a wordsmith to pen a poem
of salve and healing
I would

so that children may once again play
on peaceful soil under watchful eyes
of mothers and fathers
who can rest assured
of a tomorrow

filled with the spirit of love
& that fireworks will be celebration
& not the deafening voices
of bombs falling

for my soul cannot rest within me
until the vision of the universe
is the essence of peace shining
like an infinity of stars

the threads of woven fabric
like none that has ever been made
containing naught of the shadows of war
but a humanity of peacemakers
the gardeners sowing
seeds for the
future

This is in response to Jamie Dedes’s Wednesday Prompt. Please read more poets responses at https://jamiededes.com/2017/08/09/do-not-make-war-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File and digitally altered by myself.

Field of Peacemakers

July 17, 2017July 17, 2017

A Siren Wailing For No Reason

The sun had risen high in the blue sky
over rolling hills of farm country
causing a dry heat much as the roiling
heat of the home of her childhood
produced in waves upon asphalt streets

she knew the howl of a siren near by in
the close distance as she sat visiting
with her son her terrier mix at her feet
and he saw her puzzled look asking why
to glean the meaning of that sound now

for she recalled a time years past
in the elementary school days now gone
the drills that came, of getting down
upon the floor to hide beneath her desk
with her hands upon her head to wait

but as the memory flashed upon her face
her son smiled to say the neighbor
who lives not far likes to hear the siren
wailing as it does for not a reason
but he hears it every afternoon of a day

so she smiles with him to recall those
drills of her youth and hoping as she did
that her desk might shield her from harm
for it might come with her eyes shut tight
the all clear was given & she breathed a sigh

This post is is response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Prompt. You can see more of other poet’s responses at https://jamiededes.com/2017/07/12/at-the-dead-of-noon-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. I visited my son recently in the town of Ritzville which has a very small populace, a very large granary and railroad tracks running through town carrying all manner of things from lumber to oil to grain and much more. But the one thing that made me take note was the siren which someone sets to wailing every day. Brings back memories and for some of you it may spark your own and for others perhaps not but I hope you enjoy the read. The photo is of my son’s house which I have digitally altered for this post.

A Sound of Siren

May 3, 2017September 2, 2017

Dreaming of Children

A landscape of memory littered
with pieces of dreams
children that once lived
once laughed
oft times schemed

she sees a house abandoned now
ought times with love filled
each & every birth an
auspicious moment still
& each year

she knows she has been gifted
that any tears shed
were merely a bridge
between yesterdays
& tomorrows albeit

as other mothers cry oceans
of salt filled tears
for children that lived once
without fear in loving arms
with kisses, soft still

their auspicious moment shattered
a broken memory like
shards of glass
now buried descending deep
earth’s grief surpassed

whose sorrow cannot rebuild
houses in ashes smoldering
whose dreams
hold ghostly remnants
pale & fading

where a timeless epitaph remains
of young lives interrupted
photos tinged yellow
touched by death
a noxious poison

thinking of this she turns pages
a book of photographs old
& knows dreams
will still be her comfort
will still unfold

that some mother’s dreaming will
become a vile nightmare
an interloper in sun rays
unwanted slumber
empty days

I am a little late to post this on my site. It was first posted in the Bezine last month. You can read more of some wonderfully written poems and other posts at https://thebezine.com/project-type/the-bezine-april-2017-vol-3-issue-7. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File & Digitized by myself.

Dreaming Children

April 23, 2017September 2, 2017

Flight of A Fashion

She traveled north
with her husband she chose
based on society’s mores
his decision accepted based
on her need to fly

trading asphalt and concrete
for a similar landscape
peppered with evergreens

leaving behind her self
melting in the heat of day
preparing for a rain cleansing
her of tainted memories

she traded her self-identity
with the prospect of years
rearing children alone
in unfamiliar landscape
needing to fly

always tethered & wings clipped
by a ritual of custom
her wings a rainbow

coloring her inside and out
brightened by the sun
dampened by the rain
her self conflicted interests

birds fly home to roost and nest
innate to their very being
so each time she returned to
her place of birth she
fell into memories

coming to know her colored feathers
of self would always remain
inside no matter
the need to fly

This is in response to Jamie Dedes’s Wednesday prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/04/19/the-same-old-self-delusions-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt/comment-page-1/. The photo below is taken from the Morgue file and digitized by myself.

Colored Flight

March 23, 2017September 2, 2017

The Road Leads Away and Back

The road leads away and back again
for the tiniest of babies now living
but for the creation of incubators

the path could be a distant memory
for those stricken with lifeless legs
albeit for the miracle of polio vaccine

memories might be a thing of life’s past
due to serious illness or head injury
life possible due to life support equipment

born with loss of limbs or due to accident
immobility the darkness of every dawn
mobile once again with prosthetics

every breath painfully labored and slow
lungs damaged by disease or by choices
the miracle of oxygen lines extending life

the nucleus of human life suddenly stops
a heart unable to support another moment
an artificial valve ignites beating again

for all of these reasons and many more
the list too extensive and long to write
the road leads away and back again

This was first published in the Bezine. You can read more of this current edition by going to https://thebezine.com/project-type/the-bezine-march-2017-vol-3-issue-6.

Photo Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

The Path Back

January 1, 2017September 2, 2017

Gracious Hearts

I am humbled this past year
by those with helping hands
those with gracious hearts
whose first thought is
of others

those who meet each day’s sun
though hidden behind clouds
as though its’ shine alone
is not gray but silver lining

each moment & thought they have
like pressed leaves & flowers
in the pages of their memory
resilient as though just picked
of others

I am mindful of how they sweep
the path I walk with their grace
imbued of soft colors filling up
the empty space left with love

these others with helping hands
who walk as angels amongst us
with gracious hearts aiding my own
I hold up each moment I breathe
as I think of others

My best to all of you in 2017 and may a New Year bring you in company with the angels amongst us. Thank you for stopping by for I am always glad our paths have crossed. The Image here is Taken From the Morgue File & Digitized by Myself.

one-path

November 20, 2016September 2, 2017

Drought Parched Land

You wait beneath
drought parched land
he stiffens
as bent curved tree
detail memory fades
once sharp pinpoint light
emanated by moonbeams
he sees my feet as yours
your face I see in a mirror
the years bring you close
as you wait

This was posted for Jamie Dede’s Wed Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2016/11/16/for-mrs-whitman-a-poem. I am not sure if my piece hits the mark of her prompt as she talks about the writing of a fond memory and juxtaposition. For me that happened recently when I visited dad and even with dementia he saw the likeness between my feet and mom’s (now passed away) and was touched. Even with my aging I find mother in my features, especially my eyes and expressions, and know that youth is always there. If you would like to participate in her Wed prompt and look for them weekly please pay her a visit and enter your poem in Linky.

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

wait-for-him