Poetry

It’s funny sometimes, the memories that our minds decide to dredge up. Sometimes, there is a clear link between what you’ve just been thinking about, a memory that you’ve been searching for, and what then pops into your head. At other times, there seems to be no rhyme or reason as to why your mind has decided to hit replay on a particular event or time in your life. This poem is based on one of those memories that bubbled up from nowhere, surprising me with the level of contextual information that bubbled up with it. Looking back, I can…

I was remembering and sharing things from my past the other day, and it struck me that how we interpret the actions of others, becomes part of our narrative going forwards. Stories that were assembled, based on our experiences and perspectives as young adults, might look very different today, if we were to revisit those source materials, bringing with us a lifetime of lessons learned, and hard-earned wisdom and insights. As I thought some more, it made me think of how just by tapping or gently twisting a child’s kaleidoscope, you’re rewarded with an entirely different image. Later, I thought…

This morning, after waking up unreasonably early, I decided to work on my upcoming book of poetry. I’m at that fortunate and simultaneously frustrating stage, where I have too much material, and in addition to deciding what to leave out, I’m also struggling with how to organize and sequence things. Anyway, as a lifetime procrastinator, I turned to one of my tried and tested ways of wasting time, by reading my FB feed. On there, I was taken by an Internet meme that has been shared by my daughter-in-law, which purports to be an obituary written by an AI program….

no more talkof what wasor what wasn’tno could have beenor should have beenlooking forwardthe pastis left behind the ‘we’that we weretogetheris a history lessonof miscommunicationsmisunderstandingsand missed opportunitieswe’ve learned from itno needor timeto relive it todaystronger and wisermore resilientmore understandingmore acceptingwe knowourselveswe loveourselves I celebrate youfinding lovemy search continuespain and gaina bar has been setand youa tough act to follow hopefulthoughtfuland thankfulpatientcompetentand resilient embracing lifetaking warmthfrom the sunreachingfor the starsdancingto my own rhythmnlove is in my heart

Whenever I post a poem, I always face the dilemma of whether to share its provenance, or to let readers jump to their own conclusions. After some deliberation, I’ve decided with the latter approach for this one. The idea for this one, came as I watched the sun rise over Crescent Park, in St. Petersburg. I was still wearing a smile on my face, as I could still hear the middle-aged African-American woman still singing gospel songs, as she jogged around the lake. She was now at some distance, but her voice carried over the water, and her joy was…

This poem imagines a young girl who has moved across the country to a new home, a new school and a new start. Facing uncertainty in her home life, she decides that she needs the stability of a best friend, and so she seeks one out.

This is another poem that was written a long time ago (20+ years), and which I’ve only recently rediscovered and reworked. I seem to remember reading about ‘love’ hotels, and I just found myself wanting to write about rooms that were ‘rented by the hour’, digging deeper into the ‘who’ and ‘why’ of the people that were frequenting them.

Today’s the day that I officially mark the start of my 7th decade on this planet. Like many of you, I’m learning that aging is not at all how I thought it would be. My earliest birthday memories are from my fifth birthday. I remember that I had a birthday party, attended by my newly-minted friends from school. I remember some of my birthday gifts, and can even remember how they smelled. Board games of the 60s had a very distinctive boardgamey smell, or at least they do in my memories.

This is another blast from the past, and one from ‘The Final Carrot’ days. I am always amazed at the level of detail that is stored away in our memories, if only we look hard enough. I do remember getting so frustrated when I was told that I couldn’t have something or wasn’t allowed to do something, because one or both of my brothers had been afforded that liberty in the past, and it had gone badly.