I found  the ring I lost last Summer
It was lost in a drift of leaves,
and I wonder
how it got there.

I forget so easily these days
Yet I still hold memories
like cream in a fine china jug

Present moments just drift away
like these Autumn leaves
So I sit down with my jug

Like a bright eyed magpie
I pluck choice berries.
Then pour over cream
and like  those leaves
I drift, just drift away.

You glance up once again
from the rediscovered photo,
sellotape stained and saved
for this future finding.

You hold me yet again in
the honesty of your peaceful smile,
in that shared perfect moment
catching us all unaware.

But that was just before our fall
into confusion, into the fog
that suddenly enveloped you
and robbed us all completely.

But now you return to mind
and I can return your smile
once again.

Imagine living your whole life with memory loss..

Now forever in Love
with all the wonders,
all the dreams,
all the inspiration
your mind and heart has ever
pondered on, chased and sought after,
never realizing whatever you’ve always Loved is infact a story about yourself,
your soul.

Imagine reading a story to yourself about the parts of you, you have forgotten was You all along..

Adrift,
she fishes,
searching a foggy sea,
for a souvenir of long gone years,
and who she used to be

It’s the summer of 1937  
Gertrude is only fourteen  
She and her older sister sneak out of the house  
And Gertrude’s eyes have that certain gleam  
  
She’s mesmerized by the big city lights  
It’s something they’ve never seen  
They go into a club to see Benny Goodman  
As the big jazz band plays Sing, Sing, Sing  
  
-      -      -  
  
Henry has just turned twenty-five  
He and his friends go to see Cab Calloway  
They dance having the time of their lives  
Jumping and jiving celebrating his birthday  
  
Drinks and libations, it’s a celebration  
Henry and his friends are enjoying the show  
Cab on stage sings “hidee, hidee, hidee, hi”  
And everyone replies “hidee, hidee, hidee **”  
  
It’s the fall of ‘51  
  
-      -      -  
  
Sylvia lowers the needle on to the record  
Seeing Duke’s name go around and around  
And the piano starts with a pretty rhythm  
Then the band joins with a big wall of sound  
  
The records starts with it don’t mean a thing  
Sylvia is dancing by herself in the living room  
The eighteen-year-old gives it a good swing  
Sylvia is dancing by herself with a broom  
  
Spring 1946  
  
-      -      -  
  
Roger and his friends have a free weekend  
They hear Glenn Miller is in the neighborhood  
So they take a cab to a jazz club downtown  
And you guessed it, they were in the mood  
  
Inside the club Roger sees a beautiful brunette  
He knew he’d remember this for the rest of his life  
Summoning some courage he asks her to dance  
That was the night Roger met his wife  
  
May 1st, 1944  
A week later he went off to fight in the war  
  
-      -      -  
  
Oh to dance  
To romance  
To take a chance and be young forever  
To have those moments frozen in time  
To have them resurface from the darkness  
To have them move and groove again,
it’s divine…  
  
Henry cries remembering that night  
Sylvia recalls dancing all alone  
Gertrude’s eyes gleam, lucid once again  
And Roger knew he’d make it back home  
  
The nurse smiles as she plays another song  
The iPods are filled with a big jazz catalog
Memories seems to come flooding back  
Temporarily lifting dementia’s fog  
.  
.  
.  
That’s the power of music

On the day of all souls in the fall
as leaves lose luster to winter’s bane
my father’s shade returns to call
while I walk along a splintered lane:

His memory murmurs in a darkened nook
of years of yearning and wasted days,
as the distance that filled up the book
of our lives still grows as I turn to grey.

The care he’d showed I did not feel
as the pillars of our bridge began to crack.
Too late, I turned back to heal
the fallen span that we now lacked.

By then his old mind’s lantern had failed;
the new light I’d shone back went unseen
and broken arches into a chasm trailed
where once a golden bridge had briefly been.

Across the valley, dark, deep, and wide,
a spectral stretch of stones appears
to shine as a silvery coach now rides
across, to bring two sundered shadows near.

Now on this day of all souls missed
by those who find themselves left behind,
one faithful departed returns to kiss
the forehead of a son’s reopened mind.

The visitors help

her search, can anyone find --


her as she once was?

I've never saw such vibrant waterfall before,
Took off my clothes, left to dive in,
Ventured the silky blue till the bleak red,
Watched the paints washed together, before
Bask myself beneath the glowing yellow.
Only this time I had hurted my gaze,
I saw no more silky and bleak hues,
No more fluids, or glowing light.
I blinked once, then twice,
Through my eyes,
The pitch black waterfall became,
Nothing I could recall,
As the girl looked at me,
Like the empty space I saw.

Where do I end up?

Didn't I steer well or am I --


being pushed away?