#reminding
“reminding me to remember what has yet to occur”
~for Jean Fisher~
*this poem title lay fallow now near four months;
the poem title, a riddle in and of itself,
my inability/reluctance to bring it to a
spoiled fruition is simply and sumptuously explained,
no idea what it meant and
cause I got an F in future-telling in 8th grade,
when we still believed anything,
even hap-hap-happy was a possibility
all day long fits and spurts;
a sad poem rattles around in every part of my overcast Saturn day,
this last eked out September pretend summer weekend,
bereftness so powerful,
that the weather is slapping me down, hard, for begging,
gray grey sadness in the windless stillness
asking,
why,
do you deserve it?
the death of summer is a tree ring completed, a marker of
nearer-my-death that I dare only utter to my pillow,
hoping it won’t betray my statelessness to whomever makes the bed and plumps up them pillows up into squealing my hidden
truths and trust
birthing the past is easy and not what the title,
words I wrote somewhere, is asking for;
no so more straying and to the
scribbling and pecking
do I attend
that title commenced ironically at the end of May
when the summer man feathered his mental nest once more
and now my blindness clarified.
now when summer commences, was I not secretly reminding myself of what was sure to occur -
that troubles will come in cold and snow,
and no longer will the little house by the sun bathed bay be an available antidote to the real toxins that grow stronger*
this then
was the clarion self-hint to prepare,
reminder to self
for the summery summation-end inevitable,
for the perfect ending of this poem
now that I have accurately
predicted my future
the title has borne its
bittersweet fruits
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Let these words manifest,
collecting light particles
to form blinding orb pairs:
weightless, mysterious---
unrecognizable to untrained eyes.
Let these condensed suns travel
at their own patience pace
down the desperate path:
unaware, hunting---
aiming to impact with wanderers.
Let this vehicle of literature
resonate earth and air
as they who stand before:
afraid, curious---
awaiting the damage yet inflicted.
Let the impact pass like typhoons,
thrashing warm winds and caressing rains
to sooth the fragile forsaken soul:
trembling, confused---
contemplating the value of their breath.
Let the moment remain frozen,
growing between forever and never,
sending important subliminals to foresight:
love, patience---
reminding the willingly forgetful.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:43 AM UTC
I don't really know how much longer I can hold on
it seems the time is coming to let go and move on.
For quite a while I've had to deal with personal loss
and some are reminding me they know who's boss.
____________________
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
when I remember the past we have
my heart split in the middle part
where my past feelings are hidden
like letters were scattered puzzles
you will find a solution to build
but the whole thing is worthless
I will be reminded of mistakes i made
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC