I Remember

I remember a time
When all was so bright
With bustling crowds
And neon lit nights

Covered wagon caterpillars
And bunnies of blue
Teacups that spun
You sat in them too

I remember the days
When scooters could fly
Pinball was king
And everything thrived

I remember the smells
Of hot dogs & beer
I remember it all
And wish it still there

Bill MacEachern
05/02/2022

there is water
somewhere on my right
i can hear it
the gentle patter
of what must be
a delicate fountain
hidden amongst
the foliage and flowers
of freshly bloomed lilies
or falling from a feature
at the water's edge
there is a far-distant
rumble of jet engines
undoubtedly drawing
trails of vapour
across an otherwise
unblemished blue
sounds of traffic
dulled to almost nothing
a background hum
barely noticeable
even the unfamiliar
shrieking of a siren
as it passes by
cannot overpower
the drawn-out strains of violin
the rasgueado strum of guitar
the echoed stomp and clap of dancers
performing or practicing
in front of the monument
to a public figure
of some kind
that i would likely
not recognise or be aware of
on the other side of the park
a clock tower bell
chimes the hour
two o'clock
setting a fluttering
of birds to wing
chattering on the breeze
the seemingly constant
pattern of clicking heels
and scuffed steps
along the nearby path
tell of an exhaustive
cosmopolitan life
a dog begins barking
as i open my eyes
reminding me of home

2023, timemindspace
in the future, my attention
is the cost,
I imagine I love what I am being,
a riverwise mathematical being, seeing
my self realization occur
on the existing internet, according to plan,
according to the web trafficked clear text codes

Wee'll see, now, this is me editing me,
with intention, I wish to focus
home fires, village commons,

re-aquainting me, with my dreams. Simple as pi.

Undulatus Asperatus one day,
Altocumulus the next,
yes, we all have
seen clouds from both sides now,

with no mountains to climb,
nor wings or wind to lift us,

we stop calling now unbelievable.
Believe me,
one lief left to relieve your self, a tip
to insure proper
service.

Think, softly, so no sign, no tell tells
the rule of law, chances are, chaos is not evil.

pleasant-to-be duney minded    sediments of mood-blooming    yet to calcify          light wind and arbor    harbour from record heats          meat fed steaming sun    looming life    bawling upon the venue    hosted with joshing glee    but experimenting with confused bratty states          mottled and strobed    in the brushed shade          for now    a stood peace

I choose an area where I can watch from afar
Sit on a bench covered in the clouds light tears from the morning
My red plaid shorts damp beneath me
A book sprawled on my lap, eyes tracing the outline of the sentence I can't stop re reading
"it's the truth even if it didn't happen"
I experience the sun blazing down on my thighs
I trace the red marks on my strawberry skin with my nails
Finding a strange sense of comfort in the burning sensation
A sense of knowing that no matter what
One can always expect the sun to burn
I don't like the thought of not knowing what to expect
the isolation in the unknown
I can trust that the sun will never stop sizzling my skin
And although it hurts, it's the safest I've felt in a while

I saw Sting in the lobby this morning, we were going out and he was coming in. Lisa nudged me, “Sting” was all she whispered. He was with a woman and a man. The woman was talking to the doorman. Sting was dressed all in black except for a long stark-white cashmere scarf, he was chatting and working a dark-gray French-flat-cap around in his hands. His hair is very short and white.

We wanted to walk in the snow, if only for a minute.
A gust of wind caught us as we reached the sidewalk. The two American flags, on either side of the entrance, went rigid, at 9-o’clock as if saluting us. “Jeeez!” I said, like the Georgia girl I am - or was. “Don’t be a baby,” Lisa answered, like a true, pittyless New Yorker but her cheeks had turned a child-like pink. She flipped up her collar.

I patted my pocket, relieved to feel my phone and know that if we froze to death the authorities could use “find my friends” to locate our bodies.

Leeza joins us a moment later and I can’t help but notice that she’s dressed like it’s a cool fall day. Back in the day, when my brother would dress like summer even though temperatures in Georgia had dipped cruelly into the fifties. Seeing him, my mom would say, “Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling,” but I don’t.

“Did you see Sting?” I asked Leeza (12). She gives me a blank look. “Sting”, I said, “the lead singer for The Police?” I add, as clarification. “I don’t know who that is,” she says flatly. “He was famous,” I say in surrender, “a long time ago, in the 90s.” Maybe the next generation won’t be as celebrity driven.

Thank God Lisa suggested I pin my artist-beret down or it would have blown away, like my resolve to walk in the snow. Still, I followed Lisa into the park like a cat on a leash - unwilling to be seen as any less Canadian. The show crunched like we were trampling over snow-cones.

Trees began turning away the wind as we entered Central Park, “I think we may survive.” I said cheerfully. Just because you're freezing to death doesn’t mean you can’t be ​​affable.

Why don’t pigeons freeze to death - I thought birds flew south for the winter?