You were my favorite subject.
No one could be more delighted
Or more honestly surprised
When I snapped a picture of you
Sitting in the sun, smiling, or
Pensive, always beautiful, my
Handsome man, my lovely
Model, always enjoying the
Attention, the adoration I knew
You felt pouring from me to
You. I will never take a new
Photo of your serious face. My
Favorite subject. I delight now
At how many photos, portraits
I have. I can study you for hours
My favorite model, patient
And willing, your photo alone or
With me. In a park, by the river,
At a baseball game or just at
Peace in the comfort of your
Big brown chair. My favorite
Subject, I have these pictures
As a memento, memories
That keep me company now.
Now I take pictures of all
The places we visited together.
More memories, pictures I
Had taken often before.
Repetition is also memory.
Category Archives: Gratitude
Legacy
What purpose gives you
The fulfillment of a heart
Yearning to do well, and
Leave a legacy worthy of
A purposeful heart? Does
It arise from the passage
Of time past, passing year
And year upon decade, as
If being duely relentless is
Its whole purpose, as if it
Can fill the heart with a
Direction, with purpose
important notes
It is important to document my thoughts. My memories have an even more important place. It’s important to remember.
We drove over the roads
Winding through small towns
Named long ago but unknown
To me, conjuring recollections
But still unfamiliar. We drove
Through towns, Amy and I,
Where I had been years ago,
Familiar to her in their autumn
Splendor. These had been the
Byways I drove years ago, we
Drove, my mother and I, our
Girls' trips, years ago, those
Last six months. We drove
Through trees emerging in the
Springtime, a farewell tour.
Today, I remember, I celebrate
It will not be for the last time.
We'll drive here again, Amy
And I, and remember.
Like Aeschylus
Shakespeare was clever, his
Language precise, but cheeky.
He was not a muse, he was a
Legend, an icon, one to envy,
One to emulate. To dream of
Emulating, a beacon and the
Star in a firmament of English
Poets, Marlowe, Jonson, Dunne
I am done and undone but I,
Like you, try, and want or wish
Or hope, to bend my English to
My thoughts, to trail in the vein
Of the Masters who have so
O'ermastered their English that
My trials are vain, and in vain,
Vainglorious, the Poet might
Say, but not to mock me as I
Try to follow a path that I am
Doomed to find harder than
The Bard's whose prose was
Poetry and poetry unerringly
Human and complete. I aspire
Where inspiration will not go
Now that you’re gone
A lament, an apology, a resolution
I am sorry I could not
Sit with you after you
Passed. My vigil was
For your life, not your
Death. And, yes, I was
Vigilant while you still
Drew breath, alert to
How precious a gift it
Was to watch over you
Of how precious our
Life together, our love
Was. I sit with you now
Still. I hold vigil in my
Heart's remembrances
Fix it, fix-ins, fixtures
So much madness, crazy
Stuff, so crazy you only
Can call it shit, crazy shit.
Just reach for the sides,
Sweet potatoes, they will
Save you, I like mine with
Out the marshmallows, I
Know, sweeter maybe is
Better, especially now, I
Agree. Pass the brussel
Sprouts, please. There's
A chandelier at the Met
That just makes me feel
Good, feel better. These
Lights go up before the
Curtain does. At the Met.
Yes, dear, I do
Do I miss you, darling?
You, of all people, know.
You know I miss you,
And, even, I’ll bet, how
Deeply I miss you. It is
Intense, this absence of
Yours. Yes, I miss you,
Dear. Yet, also, I live my
Life, a life different from
The one we shared, the
One I miss when I say I miss you, darling, so
Much. I […]
Yes, dear, I do
Because
You are not outside my window
Because
You are inside my home
Because
You are inside my heart
Because
You are not outside
Because
You are inside
Because
You are not outside
My window, my heart, my home
Because
You are my home
Because
You will always be my heart
Because
You are not outside my window
Because
You will always be inside
My heart
Because
You are inside me
Old friends
We were girls together 60 years ago
Today, we can still connect and our
Talk weaves a rug of oft forgotten
Memories, long life news, and there
Are newer topics to reveal, discuss
Debate. I remember, then it's yours
To recall, or correct my recollection.
As I remember it was always thus,
Even 60 years ago, when first we met,
Conversed, discussed, debated. Yes
There's nothing new under the sun,
As the saying goes, and lots new to
Share, and chew on, now that time,
So much time, has passed. Tonight
Feels as if 60 years were yesterday
Working, another way
Poets are not a lazy gazy lot, I canWorking
Attest as I am hard at work putting pen
To page, in the metaphorical custom of
A digital age. I write in deep reflection, thinking
Hard of what it all means, all– I
mean
To say– is life itself from beginning to an end we
Do not want to imagine or foresee, foretelling with the
Same foreboding you feel, an
end I
Can see is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my doings, coming and
Goings, as carefree as if there were not
An end in sight.
Tamara, really 