Tag Archives: memory

Run

Press against resistance

deliver from moments left on the floor

scattered across the hall

I run.

Seething at darkness creeping

into photograph ghosts left hanging

littering walls with pain

I run.

run…

Where can I go
Where the images cannot touch memory
and memory not ravage tender heart bleeding?

and so I run
down halls with walls hung with tears.

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Days have passed

The days have passed into fuzzy waves
like looking at a tree’s leaves when the sun is peeking through
and so it is, this life, this dream of a dream
living and breathing without moments
without recall
just waiting for the sun to set so I can
see the ocean of dreams meant for us
now meant for me and try to fathom
which one I shall choose to rescue
and bring to the shore of my soul
it is not going to be easy
when the days have passed into fuzzy waves
like looking at a tree’s leaves when the sun is peeking through

Blu thoughts on a cold night

It has been a hard few weeks. The days and nights have run cavalierly into sepia dreams.  I lay awake deciphering the light and shadow blurring upon the pages of mind. Are the colors of my youth so diluted into the whitening hairs upon my head as to be forgotten? Or is this simply a new canvas upon which the universe has given me to paint? Perhaps with new hues to draw out new wisdoms?

Pausing. I do not like the world to glimpse the unsettled floor of thought beneath the glass covered waters of words. Yet, even poets grieve, heave, and slump at the weight of life. Sages, too, surely pass through times of wintered worry and sands of doubt. So here lay drafts of a soul in need.

Sometimes it is hard to remember the passings of adventures I once held as trophies bravely displayed. Sometimes it is difficult to call to mind the faces of those with whom I shared briefest joys. I mourn them. I let loose the tears of forgetting to wash away the sense of loss. Then, I come here to be refreshed and revitalized, renewed by words my former self gave to those I have never met.

A question:  Did my past self, in prophetic unknowing, leaving a message for this self who would pass by to read her words?

Perhaps. A thought is pushing forward, determined to be written.

The colors of my life have not faded, have they? The passing of my youth does not mean the youth of my soul has gone. I have passed into the world, been changed, and continue changing. This is epic. This is the epic journey of life. To fill the world with naivety of youth, to paint with the grandiose visions of eyes yet tried, and to live a life filled with the struggle to see it come to fruition. Who is to say that vision should be now? Perhaps the painting will not be finished by my hand. Perhaps the painting will be finished by the ones who come after. Maybe this self, is leaving breadcrumbs of wisdom for another hungry soul, who will feast on them and leave the scraps of their successes, failures, fears, doubts, and triumphs for the next. So… mourn I the last of my memory, but joyfully I claim the knowing that the tomorrow I have not come to will be greater than this if not in me, in those I share with.

I shall leave these thoughts as they are, for now. Perhaps I shall make sense of them tomorrow.

My Day of Silence

I remember a day of silence. It was not a day of rememberance, nor a day of joy, nor a day of  being brave, nor a day for courage. It was a day of silence – of no acknowledgement of my existance. And I remember it well.

A perceived slight at the hands of this geek

this braces wearing

band playing, A making

never popular

ever on the outside

set a off a fire storm

from every girl

in school.

Not a single one

lifted their eyes

lifted a hand

lifted a smile

lifted a word

for an entire day.

Not a single

girl, had a thing

to say

to me.

Save two

just outside of the

‘ones’ the perfected

the wealthy

the beautiful

the wanted

the non-hand-me-down

I get around

cheerleading

misleading

everyone seeing,

and everyone ‘loved’,

decided to shed

light and give

me a clue

to what was

happening

and why.

The crime?

was lingering

in the favor of the boy down

the street

who had taken a liking

to me;

we spoke

and broke every rule

of highschool love affairs

which clearly states

in everything but greek

an ex-lover can never

speak to a geek

and soon the speak

became a speck

a peck

a kiss

a lingering desire

and the world then

was set on fire

and they conspired to

make me pay

in the only

way possible

to not cause confusion

or retribrution

from the leadership

and the pastors

of churches

preachers, teachers

and mothers….

just

be

silent

don’t lift a word

to the satisfaction

of heard

don’t smile

or greet

not a hand shake

or eye to meet

her…

meet me.

And this day was just one

of many

but it is indellibly marked

upon memory

without fail or forgetfulness

I recall all their faces

sitting on benches and

taking their places

in the history of my mind

and I regret not

being strong enough to

fight back

to just stand up and not

care to failing to

find silence my friend

but in a school of less than 400

where everyone knows

everyone’s sister, brother,

father and mother

that is

not an easy feat for

a young teen to

complete

and though I confronted

I witted

wiled and wisely

wiggled out ever

word to stop the

day I heard

no sound

that day

will remain

as will the faces of the

season and her ‘cheer’sisters…

and the only good

that came of it

is I am determined

to not let it

happen again

to

you.

‘Memory’

{{written in e.e.cummings style}}

 

Memory is more fragile than porcelain

more strong than granite’s soul

more stuck on repeat than mockingbird

more weightless then summer’s gold

it is maddeningly vivid and vivacious

and sanely it nevermore is

than all the stars flickering in violent

contraction are beautiful

Memory is less forever than rainbows

less forgetful than why

less remembered than sometimes

less hopeful than unhurt

It is always loud in soft places

and never quiet in traffic jams

or when all the night has

covered land, and see and eyes

Memory is tougher than hide

more weaker than shattered glass

and only when cats have tongues

will memory ever be unlast