The Gift of Memory
The greatest gift my mom gave me
comes from the depths of my heart.
It reminds me of the beauty my life has seen,
and invites my mind to start
to recall each simple part
of a life-long lived and enjoyed.
My memories cannot depart
from my mind’s endless void.
The memories cannot be destroyed,
and release me from all care.
Even times when I’m annoyed
pass away when I stare
into the banks of memory
from my life’s deep treasury.
Christmas Photos
From deep within the box a picture falls
to the floor beneath my feet.
A memory of Christmas calls.
My hand moves to retrieve it, but stalls.
Thinking of Christmas past is sweet.
From deep within the box a picture falls.
I hear our feet rushing down the halls,
and feel the fireplace heat.
a memory of Christmas calls.
My mind quickly recalls
taking our new toys out to the street.
From deep within the box a picture falls.
We are a group of such oddballs,
dressed in silly p.j.’s, we are not discreet.
As a memory of Christmas calls,
I smile as I think of the snowballs
we throw in a rhythmic beat.
From deep within the box a picture falls
and, a memory of Christmas calls.
How do I mourn
How do I mourn for you?
I knew you once,
a long time ago
the memories are fresh in my mind
of the times you shaped my childhood.
You left my life suddenly
so many years ago
but, now you’ve left in a whole new way.
So, I don’t know
how I mourn for you today.
Our lives took different paths,
and I do not know
who you are anymore.
Tell me now,
how do I mourn
for someone who left so long ago.
I will keep you in my memory
Images of joy and fun
of playing in green woods
and sailing on alpine lakes
of skiing and sledding
across frigid ice and snow.
I don’t know
who you became,
but I will remember you for who you were.
That is how I will mourn your final passing.
With smiles and games.
I’ll remember the best times
and forget the rest.
A Changing Meaning
I remember clearly how Christmas was long ago
I remember clearly the bright lights, the falling snow
the gifts under the tree begging me to take a peek.
I remember the anticipation of Christmas day.
That day had so much weight of excitement and joy
of the gifts that hide beneath the paper and bows.
I remember waking up before the sun,
every other day of the year I hide from it,
but today the sun is magical
as its light caresses the tree and gifts.
Many years have passed away
I am much older now
Christmas doesn’t feel the same now.
Funny how life changes how we see
the magic seems diminished, the feeling not the same.
I sleep in on Christmas now,
the sun has lost its magic.
Christmas is now just an excuse to hide from responsibility.
On Christmas there is no debt, no deadlines, or bills.
On Christmas there is peace, and solace
a refuge from the world.
For one whole day I am free to relax.
But suddenly the feeling changes
the magic of Christmas returns,
They say having a child changes everything.
I never thought I would receive this great gift
of seeing the magic in my daughter’s eyes.
The sun has regained its luster, the tree again looks bright.
They say having children changes everything,
but they don’t talk about the gift
of rekindling childhood joy
of reigniting the imagination.
The meaning of Christmas has changed.
The magic has come and gone,
but thanks to my beautiful daughter
Christmas has returned
to its wonderful magical glory.
Hero today.Tomorrow?
A green like grass assaults my vision, blurred like I am looking through water. I try to breathe. The breath won’t come. My chest feels compressed, like I was hit by a car. The water is tears. The green is grass. The grass is the car that compacted my chest. The car is the earth, warm like sunshine, soft like a blanket. My vision clears, no more tears flood my eyes. I look at my hand, pinned to the ground by my sprawled legs. On my hand is a brown leather glove, a mitt is what it’s called. In the mitt there is a ball. Small and white as chalk freshly laid on the field, with laces red as fresh spring apples tracing ovals. A sound enters my ears, a dull roar like a distant thunder. I raise my head to look around, I catch my breath, and see forty thousand people standing on their feet. Arms raised high and smiles wide as can be. A moment later I realize, they are smiling and yelling at me. I caught the ball in a fantastic flight.
Today I am a hero,
tomorrow is a different game.
What they don’t tell you
A thousand books
spew advice
like a fire hose left on.
A hundred friends
with words of wisdom,
endless as the sea.
What they lack
in all they say
are the moments
that give me pause.
The times a smile
just doesn’t seem enough.
They all tell me,
life will be tough,
you’ll never be the same.
“It is worth it” they assure me
as they tell horror stories
of sleepless nights
and ceaseless cries.
They don’t talk about the eyes
that look at me with love.
A love so deep and perfect
I almost can’t believe
that look my baby has
is one hundred percent for me.
A thousand books
and a hundred friends
tell me how to be
the perfect parent,
but none of that I need.
All I need is her smile,
her trust,
and her laugh.
She coos and caws
when she sees me,
and that’s enough to last
through sleepless nights
and exhausting days.
Nobody tells me the joy
of just looking at her face.
The Executioner’s Fields (Narrative)
They call this place the killing fields
the place where enemy deaths are sealed.
Enemies of the crown
who sin against the town,
are brought to face my axe
to pay penance for their acts.
Our king prefers to be discreet,
no executions in the street.
So, the damned are brought to me.
I listen to their final plea.
They all cry out in the same way
that I should let them run away.
The fields are dark and far,
freedom only witnessed by the stars.
Over the countless years
their cries are deaf to my ears.
Month by month my axe will drop
and the cries for mercy will never stop.
They call this place the killing fields,
but the town wall always shields
the people’s eyes from the prize
the hidden bodies generate.
The headless figures lay to feed
the worms’ and bugs’ relentless greed.
In turn the crawlies work to nourish
the soils so the plants can flourish.
Vivid colors sprout and grow
along each manicured row.
My life is spent tending plants
while enjoying the peace they grant.
I wish the town would come to look
at the wonders of my nook.
If they came they would observe
the fields of the damned deserve
another name to be called.
Instead of fear they’d be appalled
to find the fields of the dead
a place from which beauty is spread.
The name would not be the killing fields
but the town would cheerfully marvel
over the growing fields.
Burden Overwhelming (Lyric)
Each and every day
I live with all this pain
the doctors can’t explain.
My nerves try to slay
my bodies various pathways.
The disease dissolves my brain.
I feel my strength continually wane,
in an excruciating ballet.
But I will not surrender!
No I won’t retreat!
From bonds I will break free!
The world holds too much splendor.
My life is not complete.
Too much I have to see.
Poetic Immortality
The First Time
Everyone knows it comes.
Life’s one unavoidable event,
is the end of life itself.
Death is the visitor,
we cannot turn away.
A person cannot see,
in what form death will be
when is knocks on their life’s door.
That is how is was for me,
death caught me on my knees.
I remember only darkness,
not an ounce or twinge of pain.
One moment I was breathing,
and the next I was sleeping.
The difference for me,
from all those others who die,
is that mere hours later
my heart began to pump,
and my chest began to rise.
The breath of life
washed through me,
waking me from slumber.
Darkness turned to light.
Death turned to life.
Focused and Tuned
I will never understand
the focus of a man.
Obsessed with the unplanned
end of his lifespan.
The end of his lifespan,
consumes his waking thought.
While his eyes scan
every darkened slot.
Every darkened slot
could be the hiding place
of death’s ominous mascot,
a black robe and skull face.
A black robe and skull face,
dominate his dreams.
Death becomes a chase,
With a soundtrack of screams.
With a soundtrack of screams,
death can seem quite scary.
I have experience on this theme
that will help you feel less wary.
It will help you feel less wary,
to know that death is pleasant.
Think of it as merry,
a wondrous kind of present .
A wondrous kind of present
ushers a new beginning,
a glorious ascent
to joy and peace unending.
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