Tag: Memories

Orchard Days (Transient Youth)

I recall the orchard days
The youthful fruit
Juices flowing
Now the bark
is noticeably gnarled
bathed in the melancholy
gold of mid-Autumn and
the breeze
once blunt and hot has
been burnished to a
clean edge by the brush
of long summer days
and it clips away what
the tree no longer needs
scattering leaves
and years

Field of Dreams

Broken bicycle a
clear compound
of the spine
whiskers of rust
a twilight shadow
along its lines
barely visible in
what once was a
field of dreams
does its long time
best friend ever think
of it on warm June

Drifting Away

Silently sitting
an unfocused stare
that relieves my mind
from its watch
and it has taken
leave of me
bouncing along the
surface of the past
a well skipped stone
Momentum spent
I begin to gently sink
calling to myself to
return to me
There are things for
which you are needed
but there is only
Drifting ever deeper
My voice

A Tale of Water

I was afraid of it then
The water
I would jump in the
shallow end of the pool
standing straight up
as if on a pogo stick
My feet planting on the
bottom while my head
stayed above
until once it didn’t
My feet shooting from under me
trying to grab air with my hands
certain I would drown until my
mother pulled me up
The Navy later cured me
of my reticence
and now I fear it anew
Not for the lack of air
but for the memories there
waiting in the deep

Alone Off Broadway

I saw
“I’m Not Rappaport”
in New York one street
back of Broadway
in the mid-eighties
Hal Linden
Ossie Davis
A fine play
I saw alone
No one wanted to
miss drinking
on the town
to go
I still have
the Playbill
In a box
Where all
mementos go

Tennessee and Me

It was a cheap motel
Best Western maybe
My folks liked those
We were down in
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
Their go-to vacation
destination through the
mid-seventies and the room
had a balcony overlooking
nothing that I can recall
I can still see dad sitting
out there smoking
In shorts
An item of clothing he abhorred
and never wore at home
It was like a Bigfoot sighting
He was briefly some mythical beast
but my fondest memories revolve
around eating
Breakfast specifically
Pancakes and syrup and sausage
and milk every morning
Living the dream
There was also a store
in town that had knives
and swords and oh how I
wanted a sword! In the end
a few cheesy trinkets from
Cherokee was the best this
budding Lancelot would get
there were bears
along the road through
the Smokies that I wanted
to get out and talk to but
wasn’t allowed
I’ll grant the wisdom in that
I didn’t see it then
Was sure we could be friends
Found some dinosaurs, too
A Dinosaur Land in fact
My cousin and I in
Polaroid shots buddied up
with a Triceratops

So long ago

A few years back I saw
that fires ravaged the town
Much of the place reduced
to smoldering embers

Like my memories

Syrupy Tale

Today is
National Maple Syrup Day

So this

In its honor:
My dad would
take a butter knife
and get a goodly
amount of peanut butter
and smear it on a saucer
squirt syrup on it and
carefully mix the two
like a chemist
then spread it on
soft white bread
Best sweet treat

Except For Attica

My life prior to nine
is an unsolved mystery
Few pictures
and all memories
erased by an
undefined trauma
Save for one
The mind
ever odd
held tight to the sight
of a riot I saw
on grainy color TV
I was seven
It was ’71
Carnage at Attica Prison
in New York
Strange what a brain
deems noteworthy

A Not So Idyll Idyll (Long Ago in West Virginia)

I only visited
my paternal grandfather
A man who mistreated my dad
passed him around to
relatives houses
My mother insisted on the visit
I don’t know why
I was around nine at the time
sitting in the front room
The special room
that was not often used
in their little West Virginia
farmhouse and most of what
I recall is how dark it was
And small
And a smell – mothballs?
And how tall my grandfather
looked entering the room
Backlit by the bright
kitchen light behind him
and a mantle clock
Tick tock
Tick tock
Tick tock
and it was the only
sound on the face
of God’s green earth

Stain of Youth

When I was eleven or twelve
we lived in a house on
Grove Lane
The grove was
noticeably absent
but we did have a huge
black walnut tree and
boy did she produce
big aluminum trashcans
full we gathered and
dragged to the garage
until the green husks
began to fall off
The rest was up to us
and they stained
anything and everything
they touched
but I don’t recall
what became of them
or who ate them
I never really
cared for walnuts