Memory – Page 3

July 26, 2016

MY MISTRESS

On the mountains of Washington
fields of wildflowers
cut a swath through my memory
as do the sandy beaches
my native California bearing

Inspiration comes in slices
not always the juiciest fruit
my muse won’t be blighted
by the guise of petulant youth

I sought solace in all beauty
the thundering of a waterfall
the perpetual volley of waves
speechless innuendoes calling
only a tumultuous roar

Nature has become my mistress
breathing soothing sultry calm
capturing a dissident muse
held within her arms

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

Ocean

October 31, 2014October 31, 2014

*CURLED LEAF FALLING**

a curled leaf
falling
slowly
touches the ground
without
making any sound

when the haunting past
of flickering images
in shadows cast
no longer stalks
your dreams

can the obituary
seem to be
a means to heal
distant
memories
hardwired nailed down

you will be a plaintive
no longer
but seek solace
in images
much stronger
in a broken spirit
set free

a curled leaf
falling
slowly
touches the ground
without
making any sound

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitally Altered by Myself

June 18, 2014June 18, 2014

Dissolving Pearls

adrift on the tide of time
ebbing and receding quickly now
dissolving pearls seen
as minutes of time
becoming particles of sand
an hourglass known
to be tailored to each one

recognition briefly still here
the brightness of a smile
a twinkle in the eye
checking memories each one
to know they do remain

a lucky penny catches the eye
it is quickly snatched up
deposited in a pocket
a mockingbird song entertains
sun up to sun down
each note a suggestion…
of something

the sadness finally dissipated
as a rain now a fine mist
settling but only briefly
the sun always bringing
a warmth to the soul
a new day beginning

looking around for the familiar
knowing it is there
just beneath a hazy morning
burning off in the heat of day
where all is now clear
the years only an illusion
and youth just beginning

Visiting dad always has the variable of “what if” involved. Now at 90 plus years of age and due to mild to moderate dementia, dad has good days and not so good, and through it all he still perseveres and manages to get through every day no matter what.

Image Taken From Morgue File

March 5, 2014March 5, 2014

Unaltered Moments

precious unaltered moments
the symmetry of which
never wavers
even when out of focus
as images do
in the memory of ones’ mind

laughter repeating
over and over again
& you know
it is completing
the song
the dance

colors languish
a day never to repeat
as no two are the same
because you know
in your heart of hearts
in another time
you will meet

Image Taken From The Morgue File

No two memories are the same. No two are alike. The resemblance ends with the many different people who have them, even though they might have been in the same place at the same time. What do you see, when you see a specific color, a winding road, a waterfall? What brings to your mind the smell of food cooking, bread baking? We each store our memories in different ways and our senses bring them alive each day that we live. In this way we are never really alone.

December 1, 2013

The Memory Thief

feathered cobwebs secreted
in the color of gray mist
thick as yellow turpentine
like filtered rays of sun
days longing to be kissed

light filters through
from a place called Spring
soft moments slipping away
brushing against your cheek

whispers fill the emptiness
playing amongst your dreams
settling in the hallways
hidden from sunlit streams

edges are tinged in sadness
as a funeral wreath displayed
before life was colored green
when the air was scent imbued
before time began falling away

a thief crept silently to you
as you felt a rush of air
as feathered cobwebs gathered
in the color of gray mist
now caught in memories’ lair

Photo by Karpati Gabor/Morgue File

A visit with my dad recently brought closer to home, once again, the dilemma of growing old and having memory problems. I find, at the age of 61, that I, myself, cannot remember sometimes the things I need to…that seem just out of reach. Dad was diagnosed with mild to moderate dementia and on good days, he is “spot on” as they say. But other days I can see the fog that settles in as he struggles to grasp those things that came so easily to him only a few months ago. He is in very good health and for that I am thankful but sometimes wish he was just a bit more of his old self. We have all adjusted as with time everything changes.

November 3, 2013November 3, 2013

Germantown Walnuts

walnut trees growing
in Germantown, PA
as I walked beneath
their leafy boughs
another time & space

I knew how it felt
to touch their
rough tree bark &
believed I could climb
upon a branch &
share with singing lark

for she brought them
into her kitchen
to share in baking song
& made them part & parcel
to bring us all along

her memory of growing up
as she walked
beneath their shade
baking smells embracing
in Germantown, PA

My grandmother was raised in Germantown, PA and came to live on the West Coast as a teenager. Walnut trees grow in abundance there and so using them in baking became part of her tradition. There was rarely anything that did not have them in it and her coffee table always had a variety of nuts in the shell to wait for someone to crack them open.

Image is My Art/Colored Pencil, Pastel, Digital Enhancement

September 29, 2013September 29, 2013

I Considered Myself

Google Image

I consider myself to be
a peaceful person
living in a place
not fraught with war
void of detonating bombs
fragments of life gone

I consider myself but
to no avail
for the rumbling of war
has never been far
as off in the distance
on foreign soils
it creeps very close
to my own back door

I considered myself to be
living my life apart
even during Viet Nam years
seen on broadcast news
of death and others tears
of something I was
unable to touch

I considered myself & then
my son joined in the ranks
of men and women called
to fight in a war fueled
by the inner turmoil
of a people distant
and out of sight

I considered myself to be
untouched by the carnage
the destruction of
people unknown to me
whose lives were
never mentioned

I considered myself & then
you came home & you
seemed different
for you brought the
memories with you
that now touch my life
to forever affect it
with war

I have known many who became soldiers. My own father and his brothers fought in World War II, my brother was in service during Viet Nam but did not see battle. But when my own son went to the Middle East, even though he was fortunate enough not to have had to be in a battle, he saw enough of the aftermath, that it has affected his life in ways I will never be able to understand. For most soldiers do not speak of what they have seen and heard but these things, I know, cannot be erased from memory.

http://intothebardo.wordpress.com

September 2, 2013

Rose Petals Lie Soft

Google Image

rose petals lie soft
atop the cedar chips
casting no aspersions
on my memory of youth

they belie not their
sharp thorned hostess
as those in our lives
with empty laden promises

but they draw us near
as the insects to nectar
to plant seeds of life
as an unplanned gesture

life is never black & white
nor is my spiritual quest
like a rose in its’ guise
a journey of countless steps

Renee Espriu

August 26, 2013August 26, 2013

The Notes Embrace You

Google Image

i see you dancing
on the floor of the
pizza parlor
a smile playing
across your face

where every note
that is pumped
out of the theatre
pipe organ
embraces you

plys your feet
with rhythm
only you would know
caring not that
eyes are watching

i see you even though
you are gone now
a memory that
spilled out of
the letter you wrote

April 28, 2013

A Compass For Your Thoughts

Google Image

to be able to navigate through
timeless memories
steering clear of obstacles
careening intentionally
into elliptical forevers

stepping lightly past
moonlit nights kissed
by the fragrance of lilacs
spilling over from
sunlit days warm
as a breath of south wind

like peels of laughter
falling as rain driven
musical notes
cascading from
star dust covered bells

to bring back days on
beaches where the smell
of salt permeates the air
from briny ocean waters
to fall glistening
on your hair & skin

the smell of hot asphalt
beneath your feet as you
step lightly, a dance
of your own making
a revelry of heart and soul

to be able to navigate through
timeless memories
using a compass for
your thoughts
to guide you

on your journey of sojourning
& limitless imagination
testing the waters with your
inkwell muse….well,
what could be better
than that

http://dversepoets.com/category/trip-poems/