prompt 11/12, hour 9 ~ against forgetting

Against Forgetting ~

It might have been the car’s fault, she told me
this when she lost her way home.
Or possibly I gave her the wrong directions.
To the house we shared??
Perhaps the names of plants she once knew
like those of her four daughters
whom she would lose as well
shook loose with overuse.
Never mind, I reassured her, it’s all okay.
But it wasn’t.

It might have been bad luck, of course:
the kind that seems so much worse befalling
those we love. I knocked on all the woods
I saw, and looked for four-leaf clovers.
It didn’t help.
Nothing did, certainly not time.

Days soon became nameless, as faces lost
context. The names she thought she knew
so well faded into then. And even though
I was against all forgetting, my name
too slipped through the cracks within her.
Until all that remained were the cracks
almost smooth from finger tracing.
A writing that might yet make sense.
Except it never did.

And now, like a softly ticking bomb,
I am still. Against forgetting.

Fruit of the Gods

Flying over flooded streets

I see the water rise.

My car is over there!

I think.

No.

Where did it go?

Let me drive from back here.

Backwards.

Who are you that leads me?

2019 #9 The Remains of the Day (title of novel by Kazuo Ishiguro)

I see it, and long for its extension

The drawing of darkness over light

It gives me cover over my present failures

Inaction and forward motion intersect

And fight over my soul.

In those waning moments of daylight’s decline

I just watch, an outsider to my own struggles

Marking and recording

So that when the sun sets I can simply call it a day

And claim to start fresh in the morning.

But in those minutes when the sky blushes deep red

With pride or perhaps with some shame

I take my desire

For love, for connection

And put it slowly to sleep

It fidgets-it aches with energies unused

But I prevail, before the brightness finally falls.

Poem 10: “Remove the Dis from My Ability”

don’t dis my ability to love

Get Well Soon

No one sends you cards
wishing you a swift recovery.
No one praises you as a survivor,
as someone who “beat” it,
this demon you wrestle with every day.

Because no victory is decisive,
no all clear, no all better, no cure.
The enemy persists, insurgent,
invisible, intractable, inside you.

And I’m out here, watching you fight
this war I can be no part of,
carrying a burden I can’t shoulder.
Feeling you struggle against limits,
imposed by no one for no reason,
that you have to live with and within.

I won’t tell you to get better;
That prayer has been denied.
There are a thousand useless things
We’ve said, and done, and tried.
But know this much, my love:
I watch your fight with pride.

Every day is a chance to quit,
to lose, or fade.  To die.
Every time, you choose the other way,
Stare demons screaming in the eye.
I can’t know how much it costs you,
To give each day a valiant try.
But know I’m filled with wonder,
As you let your battle-banner fly.

Hour 9: Post 9: Dreamscapes and Time Travel

Dreamscape or time travel

Which calls my name in the dead of the night

Oh how I  feel my dreams may be more thrilling than traveling back

Into the time in which I was myself

Not this bitter, cold hearted, evil bitch

They all seem to distance themselves from

Maybe if they could just see through my eyes

The pain and betrayal in which I have witnessed

They would understand how traveling back

Would do more harm than good

Live and let die

He was a martyr, an advocate, a hero, a beacon of light, a legacy like no other. Liverpool was his

inception and, from there, things could only go uphill. Despite a less-than-amiable upbringing, he cruised

to success as the invasion began. From a quarryman to

a beatle to his own man, he was the father to two countries and we spent so much time with him. At the park together, we always gave peace a chance, imagined what xanadu would be like and paid homage to the working class heroes as we celebrated the end of war, looking at cloud 9 in the rearview mirror.

December 8th was the shot heard round the pond. Words failed to describe the mass hysteria and utter despair that flowed through the streets day in and day out. The deafening silence was exacerbated only by the lack of recourse reverberating throughout the world. Sometimes, I still go back and read chapter 27 whenever it suits me.

The perpetrator still draws breath, having spent nearly three decades in a state of supermax. Though we can never absolve him, we can still find it in ourselves to offer our forgiveness. It’s exactly the way he would have wanted it.

In plain sight

i suppress parts of myself

to make others comfortable

to feel included

to be accepted

who am I anyway?

outside of what I withhold within

Or suppress outwardly

I wish I felt comfortable facing the world.

I just don’t know anymore….

The mortgaged heart

1
Somehow I’ve never thought to say anything
it’s hard to complain
when the terms have never been disclosed
and you don’t know who holds the note
or when it’s supposed to come due

I guess I’ve always figured the payments
will eventually get to the right person

2
Is every project a ‘fixer-upper’?
How much labour should we expect to put in?

3
I’ve given it away before
thinking the arrangement was permanent

Every deal breaks eventually

4
Am I mistaken in thinking
that mine was built for two
when it’s really just a room for rent?

5
I should stop my yammering
and get ready for the open house

I’m hoping to find a buyer this time

 

---

(22 June 2019, Hour Nine)

9. 200 up!

9.   200 UP!

Coinciding with the cricket world cup

this poem marks my 200 up!

With this poem, a milestone.

200th poem in a marathon.!

 

20 and some odd years,

I began to write with trepidation and sometimes, fears.

Each poem of mine, is a work I cherish,

since writing poetry is a passion , I relish.

 

Poetry has taught me , strength and discipline to find.

To flex the build and flex the muscle of my mind.

Through happiness and depression,

writing poetry , my solace and companion.

 

Inspiration , like my pen, is not dry!

Towards another double century, I am going to try!

My