Where does the poetry go
When it leaves us, departs
To parts unknown, perhaps
Unknowable? May we also
Follow? Should we? Is an
Invitation required? Is it?
Don't I have an open invite
To drop by any time? Can't
I find the lyric, the tempo,
The reason to rejoice at will?
Isn't inspiration my whim,
My whimsy and the rhythm
In my days, life as it comes
And goes. I can follow along
I can see the poetry. There,
Where I left it to sit, to stand
To rumble in the corners, to
Await a new day or an old night
Never quite gone. It's there.
Category Archives: Connection
Your memories
He told me all his stories, so
That when this day came, I'd
Be the one who remembered.
Why?
Why did she hesitate when
She could have moved with
Certainty, moved forward in
Time to catch this bus as it
Idled, ideally positioned to
Pick her up. Why hesitate?
Why wait til that moment
Had passed and certainty
Certainly gone. Why wait?
Versus vice versa
Against the tide and up
Close is where it begins
To get personal where it
Looks like a fight to the
End that endlessly drags
You around. You want to
Hold your horses, but can
Only hold your water and
Ball up a fist, pugnacious
To the core. Up against it.
Slamming at windmills,
Going against the tide to
Find trouble even where
There is none. Up close.
Timing’s off
On rewind, it could be yesterday
Or maybe ten years past. The day
Might not matter or occur to you
As events recur, but for you there
Is a certainty. What you remember
Is framed in time. Time past or is
It tomorrow? The future will happen
Maybe as soon as today. Time is
Not a surety. It isn't fixed although
On rewind, yesterday is fixed, as
Steady as a rock or a remembrance.
A life, in sum
You are not your memories, although
They tell a story of your life and deeds
Time has traveled with you. You have
Traveled through time. Before and after
Then and now mean less than they once
Did. Time jumbles and connects, past
And present colliding. In time, it's all
One. Your memories will not define you.
Damned, Amen!
Not believing in heaven nor hell
I am the one who comforts and
Consoles. Fear of eternal [mind
You] damnation does not stir in
My mind or heart. You have to
Believe to care about that. And to
Fear it as she did. Worry for my
Soul upset this dear sweet little
Innocent. I say religion be damned.
It separates and offers damn near
Nothing in return. Threats or lies
That unbind the ties we made,
That undermine love, friendship.
Damn near nothing in return to
Feed the soul or heal the spirit.
There should be comfort in belief.
It should refresh and bolster us,
Not damn us to such trepidations.
Trauma and fear do not console.
Tick tok
Do you need time?
Time, it's of the essence.
Time, it's elusive. Time is
What we crave or dream
On. We waste it or hoard
It, lose it, or gain it. Time
To work. Time to play. We
Fill the hours as we can.
They go too fast. They go
Way slow. Time, it's ours.
Time is hours. Tick. Tick.
Have you the time?
I have never stressed more over
The loss - or is it the gain? - of an
Hour. Fall back. We give away a
Bunch of them when we travel.
Those timezones cost, and pay
For the pleasure of meeting a
Daring Frenchman or a dashing
Brit. After our trip, we fall into
A different time. It's not ours, it
Is theirs. Are we in Rome! Oh my,
What time is it? I've lost track.
Random
Conversation if you are not a
Participant is so much random
Noise and emotion. Mainly, it's
An outpouring of feeling, often
In a foreign tongue where the
Speaker is wrapped up in those
Moments that are intimately felt.
You pass, not sure if empathy is
Called for and not knowing which
Sympathy to extend or to whom.
Tamara, really 