I draw my childhood on my notebook
As far as my imagination can take
I was once a shepherd to five sheep
I watched them graze and sleep
I ate alone and slept on the grass
Then I went back to the city and school.
Field of hay flickers in my memory
A lingering kiss of time.
Tag: memory
what was it
They walk the ruins
haunted by all the brokenness
for what was once there
Uncertainty
Remembering certain moments of elation of the afternoon
And not the whole idle expansion of the day
We walk towards the fountain expecting a cooling mist
It’s windy, we laugh as our hair and faces get wet
The changing detachment and tone in the photographs
Overhead a falcon practices its dives,
Hiding a new flying patterns and surprises
The day ends and we go our separate ways
Not knowing if there is a new day.
Soundless
Old age approaches threshold of innocence
easing it’s way for memory to slowly fade
soundless like a star falling from the sky
a swan in the river.
misplaced memory
A woman wearing a multicolored scarf
waits for her friend in the Flower Fields
on the wrong day.
photos: Flower Fields in Carlsbad,CA
sorrow
sorrow travels with crowd
releases its arrow
when you look back
In trying to remember
a plough stands in the yard
remnant of the old farm
my rusted mind
remembering
“Run and be free.
Look both ways
before crossing the street”.
My instincts
but sometimes I forget.
I’m so absorbed
with Jack Kerouac’s On the Road
or when I’m in the middle
of a thousand projects
and I’m running
through “a maze
of twisting little passages”.
It’s not all these things.
I have changed
since the cherry blossoms.
When I see any flower
my memory of you returns.
who keeps the memory
Stars overwhelm the sky
with brightness.
Who will know the night
has one less star?
When I die
will my soul
keep the memory
of my love for you?
edges of things
“The moment of magic”,
that first line of thought
that comes unexpectedly.
I remember you telling me
you become attentive
“more loving, more courageous”
the moment will come
like “a baby deer trembling in the woods”.
I remember you telling me
“in any field, cognitively demanding fields,
there are no naturals.”
I remember your fondness
for toasted baguettes with dungeness crab dip.
I remember you telling me
you like to sit on the “edges of things”
or roam “landscape of chaos”
looking for stones one will remember
or enter new conversations
and plant “little futures”.
I will not see you anymore
sitting under the palm trees,
every morning, with a cup of coffee,
holding a pen or reading a book
a graph ruled notebook at your side.
Now and then
your absence will become
a presence in my memory.
You may return one day
like a moment of magic.
I barely know you.
edgarone2