Tag: memories

My home

Inside my bag are packed the things

that fill my heart with joy

the faded, threadbare shawl

that whispers 

a tinplate soldier toy.
Inside my bag wrapped well in cloth 

a tiny mirror fragment

immortalised inside that glass

the ghosts of those I love

Some memories are intransigent
Inside my bag stowed very safe

two  engraved silver napkin rings

a wooden bowl of cedar wood

an ebony black queen a

reminder of past sins

Inside my bag I have my home

memories, from days gone by

I lost the rest, I am alone

I will be till I die.
The hostel for the homeless 

Is where I rest my head

My bag stops my neurosis

My home sits under my bed. 

Museum of the mind

​Frozen in time, behind windows of glass

in the museum of the mind

Events from the past 
But how clean are those windows?

 From the thoughts we revive

When we dredge deep, in minds’ recesses

for treasures or lines

Have some of the mirrors

 become distorted,begrimed

As we struggle to focus, to keep them alive.
We use  tricks to remember

 the good and the bad

Hurt and misery, etched deep  a recurring repast,

Happiness  in a golden glow,

 romance set in amber, meant to last,

special moments, scattered around, hallmarked with glad

so many more stamped  bad or sad

The museum of the mind is

 stuffed full of concepts

But do these pictures and words

truely represent or project

Are some things forgotten

 have we added some lines

Are they a true picture or sanitised and swept
Frozen in time behind windows of glass

In the museum of the mind

Events from the past.

Revised You

I posted the poem you yesterday I have reviewed it and changed and hopefully improved it what do you think? 
There is no mistaking you,

Standing poised by the jeep, 

Surrounded by  fractured light, like

a being from another  dimension,

Your head thrown back, emitting sounds

that I cannot hear,

 I am imagining, the infectious

booming laughter, rolling from your lips. 


Images blown like paper, stirring, in the draught

from an open window,

Random thoughts of you, connected like patchwork.
As I move closer, you shift, showing

your chiselled profile, from under 

the blue baseball cap,

The dark blue fatigues emphasise the sculpted

compactness of your form,

 I walk quietly towards you, but some sixth sense,

Causes you to turn, and I am caught 

mesmerised, by the brightness of your gaze,

Those glorious grey eyes flecked with gold, dominant 

your tanned face, drawing me into your world, your soul ,

My heart hammers.

 Images blown like paper, stirring, in the draught

 from an open window,

Random thoughts of you, connected like patchwork.
I see the colours, the colours of the African day,

Reflected in the honey toned 

clarity of your skin, 

The vividness of your eyes, the glinting silver 

stubble  on your chin, 

and the crow’s feet wrinkles, 

mirroring the drought parched land.

Etched in memory.
Images blown like paper, stirring, in the draught

 from an open window,

Random thoughts of you, connected like patchwork.

Firm lips, corners kinked, into the hint of a smile,

 Speak words in accent less English,

Always a surprise given your antecedents, 

There is a hint of croaky gravelliness,  in your diction,

 Some harshness evident,  like the croak of an eagle,

You turn back, then lope off with

 long strides, lithe as a big cat,

Your controlled movements, denote a man of action,

Sexuality oozes, even from your retreating form,

How can you be defined?

My Patchwork picture has empty squares.

 Images blown like paper, stirring, in the draught

 from an open window,

Random thoughts of you, connected like patchwork.
There is a cold breeze raising goosebumps on my skin,

As you disappear into the heat haze,

Hopes, dreams, and beliefs unshared,

Images blown like paper, Stirring, in the draught 

from an open window,

Random thoughts of you, connected like patchwork,

Whirling, swirling always mine.


Events from the past

Frozen in time, behind windows of glass,

In the museum of the mind

Events from the past, in crystal clear clarity

The memories are stored, allowing recall first class.
But how clean are those windows? From the thoughts we revive,

When we dredge deep in the recesses, for treasures or lines,

Have some of the mirrors, become distorted with time,

As we struggle to bring events to focus keep them alive.
We use some tricks to remember the good and the bad

Hurt and misery are etched on the glass, the texture abrasive, a recurring repast,

Happiness sits in a golden glow, romance set in amber, held to last,

Special moments in a corner marked with glad. 

Evocative smells or sights add to our minds concepts

Memories so clear from the mysteries of time

What have we forgotten, have we added some lines?

Are they truly a picture of the past, or cleaned and sweot?
Frozen in time behind windows of glass

In the museum of the mind

Events from the past.



Starting a new chapter


New period of rapture

New dating

Maybe mating


They tick all the boxes

How thick a façade do they have to fox us


Expecting lots of validation

Out if the window procrastination


Putting aside old wrongs and disappointments

Clean sheet foregoing clairvoyance


Hoping for a match

Going to damp down expectations

Waiting for this adventure, too unfurl and hatch


one memory

​If you could keep but one memory

Jut a single memory from your past

What would you hold close to you

From all your lifes repast

Could you distill all that was important 

When life doesnt come by installment
Would you systematically discard all the dross

Memories unimportant, trival or gross

Left with the treasures, held to the light

How long to examine them, to get the choice right

Would it be that memory of happiness and fun

Something to make you smile when you are on the run
If you could keep but one memory, a thing to reconcile

Would it be one, that inspired you to walk the extra mile

Would it have to be of that one true love

Or would memory of family have to come above

Having crystallised the memories too precious to discard

I find to choose just one is really just too hard
I find myself with a treasure trove

All too precious to remove

With only one memory would I want to remember

The person who is me, because it would dismember

My whole ecology

My memories are the sum of me.

Memory Book

For the bemused and bewildered, a memory book
Sets out main events, to reminisce and look
I am bemused and bewildered, by your behaviour
Trying to understand it, taste the flavour
The trouble is, that memories vary
My grasp on events, is contrary
Are the vignettes of life, just pantomimes
Was it smoke and mirrors, no substance, a crime
I need to preserve the essence of us
Treasure the best, keep hold of the plus
Preserve the real, stop looking at rust
Wipe the tears from my eyes, the books,a must
Paste in the photos, add words to describe
My memory book, for a dream that has died.


Future memories

What will I think of you in years to come
Will my memory of events be true or turned to none
I hope the best moments will still be there
Or will they be subsumed by the bitter share
How can I hold the bliss, the joy of you
Will it just be a transient pleasure, with no review
As life twists and turns and feelings change
Will memories be soured and rearranged
We are in the throes of passion
Let it in we don’t have to ration
Let’s enjoy our time together
Hope these headlines showcase the endeavour
With work and luck we will continue to add new chapters
Keeping love in our lives, making raptures
Right now let’s try to make great moments
Catch the rainbow, bottle the psychosis
What will I think of you in years to come