By Gone Days

If I were able to remember, I might rather not

continue to glorify living by a rope’s single knot.

~

For every afternoon I soak in a wistful memory,

I’ll easily pass on the fear of societal misery

~

While around me the world continues to age

I wonder what’s it is like to finally be that sage.

~

Because last time I thought about prior years

there came to mind an epiphany of fears

~

today, I look behind my walls to understand time

while the world moves forward, I live a life sublime.

~

I wish a memory might energize your state of mind

in the manner we used to think about, how we remind

~

ourselves that each living hour, each moment, second

chance we choose to pursue, becomes an amend

~

again, a reminder of our lives in the days before

suggest we give solace to knowing there is more.

Quiet Intersections

When tears would will

in sight were our lives

I watched you walk, still

forty years later survives.

~

Just the trace of boots

stepping across pavement

no eyes yet, only the roots

of then just as love meant

~

Today our lives are romantic

we choose to recall, spend

moments imagining, a tantric

soliloquy, dance, we suspend

~

In reality only for this release

will ourselves, find our peace.

How Much is Life a Setup

I went home last night,

everything around me was real,

the fantasy had spoken of a reality

now today,

we were all together again,

yet, the years had created lines,

the sort we watched in our elders,

when as children we would laugh,

out loud on occasion,

despite the wells of afterthought,

we noticed in their painted grins.

~

I went home last night,

drove past my memories,

recalled how often I was perceived

by my own insecurity.

I discovered as I looked around the room,

at the smiles, they would quickly glance,

look for refuge,

find their own,

whereby their laughter became accepted.

~

I went home last night,

wanted to cry,

yet, not the sort that brought attention to me,

more the kind of gentle reminder

our lives in the balance,

only need to me,

just,

you and me.

When People Do Depart

Years ago,

with a stamp and a leap of faith,

I would begin my wait,

until one sunny afternoon, I would see the delivery,

always hoping you might be there,

to say hello,

~

So often as the gravel chimed my feet,

I would hear your voice again,

through the words on paper,

a parchment even in your selection

would offer solace,

in knowing there was a care,

for every aspect of your return.

~

i would then smile,

imagine the next round, our continued love affair,

miles away, yet immediately bound,

by the words we awaited, we lived for, we delighted

in realizing when they returned our thoughts,

the imagery in our mind,

remained strong, and evident, and real,

again.

~

Today, is it too easy to be swooned,

by the romantic nature of our words,

by our ability to recognize truth,

by our willingness to be vulnerable,

by the sheer virtue that sometimes our words …

are all we are,

remaining,

left behind,

in the immediacy.

Once in My Life

I would recall a song or certain melody,

mood change, slow recall,

a memory might take me miles away

that time before this past

outcome. An adventure is welcome

when fear is abated sooner

than an insidious need to redefine,

to understand of course,

a recognized outcome similar to having

processed a difficult moment

We have had them occasionally, like

just the other night.

I was recalling when a summer rain

brought me back to a walk

just you and me and city lights, cobblestone

a European fantasy,

even a Christmas time walk along the lights,

far ahead, I watched you stroll,

wondering if I might lose you tonight,

not knowing when, just that sense

we all get when we haven’t a desire to really

face our demons in such pretty

surroundings.

When I think about how much hardship I let

myself go through the next

few blocks, hours of time, years, months before,

I suddenly am thankful,

I decided to spend my life with her.

She’s not someone you know,

We’re both really fine with that knowledge.

Once in my life I did the right thing.

The Want of a Tear

We’d like to believe we will not

yet then it happens,

a simple vision,

a memory,

a lyric reminds me of when …

yet, there are times like these,

a tear seems so far away,

amidst the challenge of staying normal.

How often do we lay out a facade

in the morning,

the right buttons, a proper tie,

perhaps that blouse that covers our shame,

and yet, we do remember,

a time with similar yearning,

our tears did come readily.

~

I found your old journal when rummaging last night,

the things you’d forgotten about,

I still remember, like yesterday,

I used the words frequently

when in the need of a tear.

Today, though, they remain memory.

Old Neighborhood Stories

I drove past today,

said hello to nature nearby,

years older, more sage,

aware of everything I commonly ignored.

I wondered about their being here,

knowing when then,

I would frequent their energy,

with thoughts of my own,

total disconnect yet within

their stone-reaching range,

always a touch, or easy duck

to avoid interrupting their unwound

shelter ready for our eyes.

~

I walked inside a graffiti drawn

room, held memory again,

wondered where they all might be,

the voices and faces and scrutiny

bore the same witness

another time,

have they returned ever again,

and wondered the same

as we all do when we

return to our prime to question,

whether our same ideal

can be strong today,

or does it weaken like rhyme

in poorly drawn script.

~

Today I do see the same,

young people holding hands,

a family together,

watching children grow,

around soccer balls and angst,

a lively parade of instinct and innocence,

the only interruption

being held back,

not knowing whether this day,

might change the scope of an

evening ahead,

a reminder of yesterday,

perhaps a notion,

a look, glance, bump in the side,

reminds me of a different time,

when all of our sublime

aspiration seemed to be

just alright.

~

I drove on, trying to let go,

of that very time, that same response

to a memory I did cherish,

to fond nostalgia

we all do witness,

did, can, will, want, would

need

to recognize, need to,

canonize.

That was our time,

and seems on some sunny morning,

when we least anticipate,

wish to perhaps forget,

we always will somehow return

to where it was,

we first began, not really though,

where we might have thought,

here is where we will land,

yet again,

we once believed to be true,

what today might only remind ourselves,

once we were

what we can ponder,

as having been,

a different time,

yet always the same.