Theme Me, Baby - Vol. 3

The power of memories.

The broken tea cup
upon the apple green ledge,
filled with the fixins of old time shaving,
Accoutrements of a bygone era.
The smell of onions roasting,
Blueberry bangbellies
risin' up in the belly
of the old black woodstove,
shimmering blue scents alerting feral neighbourhood cats
of the anticipation of bubbled-over scrapings
Red Rose Tea figurines
adorn the otherwise empty window ledges.
Candy apple green rockers out front,
plastic tomato crates stacked floor to ceiling,
in anticipation of crazy Nelly,
the man who would make bird cages from them,
sell them in town for a bottle of gin.
The power of memories,
how they come alive
with the smell of an onion
in a simple grocery...
bring back the quiet summer days
in the attic of that great manse.
You and I, dreaming
not imagining that one day
when youth removes me from its seal
that you would succumb to age
and me to melancholy and time.
And there it is,
the scent of a blueberry
bringing me back to that time
that house filled with the musty scent
of your ancient library...
that quiet stack of tomato crates
waiting for a man long dead.

The scent of coffee on a hot summer breeze
puts me there
and I remember
you and I
and the scent of sunburn is still dill pickles.
We splashed each other with vinegar
to ease the sting.
As long as my nose remembers
my heart will never forget
I miss you, Dad.

Life in a Bottle

I remember

I watched as you carefully eyed the bottle
And slowly raised your fist above its mouth
Your chin on the table, your left arm outstretched
You didn’t dare blink and miss your aim.

Without shifting your glance
Another scoopful of sand you did grasp
The chocolate brown was a good choice
To rain atop the layer of soft vanilla.

An insurmountable task lay ahead
But, you seemed undisturbed
It had to be just right
You told me so.

You labored for hours and hours on end
Then, draped the opening to protect it
That night, you released your dreams to me of
Crossing deserts and moving mountains.

I miss you

Sorry, william--just a quickie off the top of my head. I'm trying to finish off a huge grant proposal.

The grapes of our life
loose sweetness
in the ferment,
and in the process
they can be spat
as vinegar
or celebrated as
the finest wine.

His and Hers Memories

We were so right, that day, that one day
Me and my mud dappled jeep on the ridge at sunset
You and your untamed hair, your smile, restrained and demure
The end of the end was as good as it got …but still…
I wanted to hold you forever, and in thought, always will

What keeps me from loving, but you, always you
Showing me all that was safe and warm for so very long
Only to snatch it with dead eyes that wretched last day
You and your wicked one-for-the-road grin
And me and my lifetime of heartache begin

These are all wonderful - truly!

14, I told you I was not well
and asked what happens when you
crack wide open
and would I know when it happened
and would it hurt
and you never answered
and I dangled out a window
and maybe you thought
I should have paid you for the hour
to answer the letter

But 30 and the same question
always breathing three inches from my neck
while I punish you in my mind
for wearing the robe without feeling the calling
letting 14 wait by the mailbox
for the expert answer
about whether the tarantulas would leave
or multiply
and if she’d know the moment for goodbyes
or if it would slip quietly by
when the screaming set in to stay

something I want

Sunlight traces fabric edges and
Touches my skin
Chasing dreams away
Coaxing phantom hands from around me

I struggle against the coming morning
Wishing to stay in a past encounter for
Just a moment more before obligations
Pull me from warmed sheets

My day drifts along
Memories weaving their way along
Tracks leading toward a horizon
I watch intently

Searching for the sun to
Offer its blessing and give the
Promise of another day to come and go
my afternoon slips away

Night brings
Whispers shared and separate
Dreams intertwine into love realized

i am completely floored by these.

'No'

Not for the coward
These thousand deaths;
they are bravery's
bastard curse.

nothing worse.

The bubbling blood
pepper in his veins
and swelling inside him
propelled him once

just once

to a shy gambit
as he unhusked
his timid heart
in open light

"I thought you might...

go out with me
or something
sometime?"
So brave; just thirteen

He'd never seen

her face, her perfect
face so pained
as she shied sad words:
"Let's just be friends"

and friendship ends.

the balm of years
dissolves the scars
of cruel young afternoons
but now and then

he feels anew
his soft, raw shame

again.

Rob - that is just heartbreaking! What lovely torture. I actually got tears in my eyes! Holy ****!

All- These poems are unbelievable! (now I have to scoot and get my own done!)

Wow, these are truly amazing. I don't think I could ever come up with something like that. Your words are quite numbing.

memories-gleeful despots clinging
to breach and break
to never let me go
my black-hole not appeased

To lay myself in sleep
and face the guilt I need
to fix my past
and memories of fields
and ochre grains

Must I wake to try myself
again in memories past
to seek aknew some memories
tomorrow's hope fulfills?

Morning Ritual

The first moment I held you
I knew I could never say goodbye
That bald, wrinkled head resting in the crook of my arm
The tiny toes and fingers so perfect
Your small hands curled around my heart
As those eyes, the same gray blue as mine
Gazed with perfect trust
And I could swear you smiled.
You knew me.
This body in which you lived for 9 tumultuous months
Hearing me talk to you,
Hearing me cry for you,
Feeling me love you,
You knew me.

In your tiny ear I whispered
Of futures and possibilities
The endless memories you would make
And the safe haven you would find
In your family's love.
In that moment I told all
I gave you myself
So you would never wonder.
I gave you myself
So you would know that I loved you
And I always wanted you.

And by my bed a man and a woman stood,
So eager
Yet patiently allowing my time.
Handing you to them,
Watching the joy and love surround the three of you
I laid back and knew
It was the right choice.
The tears flowed then,
One in pain
Two in joy
As your mom mouthed the words…
"Thank you"

I think back my child,
For 14 years, I think back
On memories I have never known
I pause to say I love you
And through my tears I smile
As I continue my morning rituals.

------------------------------

Quite rough, but getting closer. I haven't been writing lately and wanted to at least post the rough draft. (It will commit me to finish.) I'm going to work on this one, but the final draft may not resemble this by the time I am done.

Soap

*I chose not to go serious on this topic I hope it doesn't mess up the flow of beautiful work here.

Smell Dial soap,
the anti-bacterial kind
and my jaw hurts.
feels like a mouth
full of fingers.
it triggers the taste
of latex and metal;
my gag reflex unhinges -
mouth waters with acidity
eyes water with pain
of bright white light -
my teeth hurt
when I smell it
like my orthodontist
is tightening my braces.

I love it Trish! I remember that smell all too well.

i almost gagged just writing it, Tammy. I hated that latex, metal, Dial soap combo always followed by pain - yuck!

K. Heh. Like these sorts of things. Good idea.
This is an old one, incredibly old actually and the translation from my native tongue is a first draft really. But, no matter. Hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

***

(Removed by Rivana)

Because despite all, they’re only recollections
which are fragile and frail in the mind
Especially if it’s like it is in this case -
that most are not memories, but lies

Oh, Rivana - you might as well have put a knife in my heart and twisted (okay, okay, that's really cliche - hey, I rhymed!)

Extraordinarily composed - loved it. LOVED. IT.

Shiraz<< *gently pulls out knife and applies bandages*
I'm sorry my dear, I don't try to be so depressing, honestly. ^o^

Oh, but thank you sooo much for that comment.

How often it brings them back.
To childhood homes and the haunts of youth,
Her hair now limp,
dancing with life
his face now lined,
creased only with a smile
as they walked the fields
in the summer sun.
The breath of a first kiss.

The smells of seasons turning,
new leaves in spring,
mown grass in summer,
the scent of bonfires
in the crisp autumn air
the pine wreaths
and garlands of winter.
The welcome aroma of newborn skin,
of hospital gowns and antiseptic.

The odor of blood
from first steps on concrete.
Bandages and hugs,
the warmth of small bodies
now grown tall.
Gymnasiums and sweat,
angry tears and tender reconciliations.
Silence and the dust of an empty room
Bouquets, bells and a new babies cry

All these moments that make up a life
You can hear them in their voices
as they reminisce, luring them
down those dusty roads,
pathways growing clearer
the further the watch hand winds.
They walk and talk
of time passed, never forgotten
but perhaps just a bit imagined.

Bodies long worn thin
are they waiting?
Is it fated then?
That we in our time
should sit as they,
bodies protesting
while minds wander
led by the fragrance
of memory?