Ephemerality
Wispy cirrus clouds of height whisking by,
While countless diamonds dance on the water,
And swallows do somersaults in the sky.
Like children there is a constant banter.
Sitting in the cool comfort of the shade,
Quiet as a lion stalking its prey,
I wait for the fawns and does to invade,
To drink the water, but long they’ll not stay.
The wonders of this day soon to depart,
To return only as a memory,
Bringing subtle warmth to my beating heart.
Tis my wish these memories never flee.
The Weight of Lies
I understand when looking in her eyes
The misery of her internal pain
A dreadful weight on my heart as she cries
Her grieving heart aches with every sunrise
Through her wakened day drags an endless chain
I understand when looking in her eyes
Each link equal to one of many lies
On her troubled heart they’ve placed such a strain
A dreadful weight on my heart as she cries
Can’t forget no matter how hard she tries
Memories so difficult to refrain
I understand when looking in her eyes
It comes to me without any surprise
That such a person from love should abstain
A dreadful weight on my heart as she cries
It was my lies which caused our goodbyes
For my pathetic self I hold disdain
I understand when looking in her eyes
A dreadful weight on my heart as she cries
Inger by the Window, Edvard Munch (1892)Breathe deeply so you can hear it enter.
Soft invigorating wind on its way.
A mixture of sweet grass and salt water,
Twisting and turning, dancing a ballet.
Precious in scent as it comes in but May,
With calm winds coming off the bright blue sea,
And the frolicking grass yet become hay.
Come quickly! From this window we must flee.
Naked toes shall mix in the grass and sand.
Collecting shells as proof of memories.
Now slowly walking back with hand in hand,
With enormous grins each other’s we squeeze.
Oh, the simply joys we visit in life
Giving us special moments from its strife.
This path that I walk is extremely short
But ample for my memories to sort
Today there is no need to hurry through
So I linger with many thoughts of you
Stopping and stooping at the lavender
There is no herb which can match its splendor
Its regal color and comforting scent
The many memories they represent
A little girl running filled with laughter
Who’ll remain in my heart ever after
Never in these years did a day go by
That you do not bring a tear to my eye
No thought of you would I ever rebuff
For the time spent would never be enough
As every moment would make my heart stir
No greater love than mother for daughter
The morning mystic maze of memories
Float as fog softly across calm waters
In the recesses of my laggard mind
Taking a form of silent silhouettes
There was me, there was she, stepping forward
(Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes)
Into the room, the door closed behind us
I turn to her, she turns to me slowly
I looked into her eyes, she looked in mine
We were frozen for a moment in time
While our hearts were sharing loving feelings
I leaned into her, she leaned into me
Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes
Her static energy fully absorbed
As if I were a naked lightning rod
Causing this burning heart to hesitate
Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes
Grabbing my chest, was it death I was near
For how could being in love cause such pain
Was this just a dream or a memory?
Ragpicker, Édouard Manet (c. 1870)His awkward gait sounds like rough sandpaper
Beneath his feet which never leave the street
Cane he carries has an uneven sound
Surely not the courier of the court
The clothes he wears were on others before
But prides himself to be neat as could be
The sack upon his shoulder soon to fill
With others now discarded memories
Blueberry jam on a favorite blouse
Most comfortable pants no longer fit
Into to his sack they will disappear
Later to be viewed for barter or sale
Some who say a street sweeper he should be
Provides security with steady pay
To him lacks important criteria
Looking at the blue sky and not the ground
Chatting chats with countless happy people
But not least the freedom he feels inside
The setting sun like a Christmas shopper
Elbowed its way through the grimy window
Filtered through gray swirls of cigarette smoke
Coming to rest on his crusty old face
Darted with numerous porcupine quills
Staring aimlessly at his headless beer
Giving it a quarter turn lifted it
To his chattering calloused puffy lips
His dewlap swings on cue with each guzzle
After three swings he closes his left eye
With spindle fingers aims for the sweat ring
Acting like the bombardier he once was
He has now had his limit for the day
Sliding slowly off his rickety chair
Making sure both feet were square on the floor
Tipping his cap he staggered to the door
