We all have memories that come back to us from time to time and remind us of an event in our lives that centered around words spoken, a song, a sight, something that triggers that distant memory/ Tell us about yours.
Linda Rivas Bole, Bonnie Johnson, Tad Richards, Paul Bole, Meghan Elizabeth Robb, Abigail Rea, Mar Walker, Priscilla Tennant Herrington, Rhoda Rogers, Marsha Corso, Paul Bole, Mary Elizabeth Langley, David Lawrence Smoth, Christa Farmer
Soft Like a Pillow (kyrielle)
ReplyDeleteWhen traveling he sat on my lap
snuggle in and take along nap.
Why sit there his friend wants to know
because she's soft like a pillow
comes his sweet little boy reply
he moves in closer with a soft sigh
his cherubic face all aglow
because she' soft life a pillow
he whispers with such sweet delight
I could hold him all day and night.
Gentle words like soft ran drops flow
because she's soft like a pillow
So touching!! I loved the imagery!!! I felt like I was the little boy all snugged into you. mmmmmmmmm soft like a pillow!
DeleteI love the feeling of a toddler on my lap. I don't have any handy anymore. I envy Linda with all of her brood because she still has more moments like this. Nice memory. Nice poem.
DeleteI still have 6 of them who love to cuddle. Of course, with me I have hard spots from years of working out so little tiny boogers won't stay with me long! I'm not soft like a pillow. But once they get older, they find the soft spots. lol Even my 5 year old still climbs on my lap for a while. It feels sooooo good.
DeleteSweet.
DeleteBonnie, this is a very soft and gentle poem. I enjoyed reading it a lot.
DeleteLoved this sweet poem. Thanks for sharing.
DeleteAin't No Way (Rispetto)
ReplyDeleteAin't no way I'm ever gonna love you
Meatloaf sang as we snuggled in our bed
It hit me like a brick the words rang true
words I never spoke - words I never said.
I looked into his eyes and saw so clear
silent words so loud I could hear
echo as if an empty room
shallow lovemaking where nothing would bloon.
yep, so many relationships are "nothing". And sometimes you don't see it until that one moment when you're looking into each others eyes and feel "nothing". It's such a let down...."I could hear, echo as if an empty room"... "where nothing would bloom" Yes, well written.
DeleteSomeone posted on FB once to list the song you would never want played at your wedding. I listed "Two out of three ain't bad." LOL. But yes, this is a great poem, and I've been there, done that too. Memories that many have.
DeleteI like this a lot. I especially like the first verse -- scansion is spot on, no wasted words. You might fiddle a little with the second verse.
DeleteI always did like the fiddle better than the violin :-). The violin has too many rules.Sorry, couldn't resist. Yeah I see what you mean about the secornd verse.
DeleteBonnie, I believe we have all had an experience like this in our lives. You expressed it so well.
DeleteSweet Smells - a Kyrielle
ReplyDeletethe sweet smell of coloring books
the aroma when cookies cook
packages of new underwear
the sneaking looks in presents dare
all remind me of Christmas past
I make the season last and last
I start in August buying things
so everyone gets joy that Christmas brings
I feel like I'm the Christmas girl
giving things like batons to twirl
coloring books to color in
because the Christmas girl, I've been
ah yes! this really took me back...the smell of coloring books and crayons :-). yes you are the christmas girl. fun write with a lot of good memories.
DeleteYup. Mom instilled that in all of us. No matter how poor we were, she made Christmas special. I think there are a few lines that seem forced to make the rhyme but overall good rhythm too.
DeleteThank you Bonnie for calling me the Christmas Girl. That made me feel like I took moms place. Although I think we all three took over. Vic makes the cookies and you and I buy the presents. I just pass them out. LOL and Victoria you are right, Mom did instill the love of Christmas in all of us, especially we girls. Yes, I did force a couple of lines to rhyme LOL. Thanks for the nice comments.
DeleteSewing - a Rispetto
ReplyDeleteWhen sewing I prick a finger
It reminds me of being eight
making doll clothes my thought do linger
prick my finger seemed to be my fate
I learned to use the needle and sew
It's a talent, it makes my face aglow
I must tell you it's not work
for in it a fond memory does lurk.
love the way this unfolded. from childhood to now when the pricking of a finger can bring back a fun memory from the past.
DeleteI remember trying to use a thimble but found it less difficult to prick my finger.
DeleteThank you for the nice comments. This was my first Rispetto. Or at least the first one I can remember writing for a few years.
DeleteLinda, I sat and watched you sew tonight and your hands just fly. I can't tell if you prick your fingers or not. This is another neat form that you and Bonnie did. I enjoyed reading it.
DeleteSo, I didn't do last week's. I STILL WILL!! Really! LOL. But I already have at least one exactly to this theme. I have to post it. A way too long pantoum.
ReplyDeleteERIE, PENNSYLVANIA
March 2008
a pantoum
Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…
memories the radio plays. I’m transported…
Click. Silence. I can’t stand songs from my youth as I
drive the downtown streets where I hung out. They bring back
memories. The radio plays. I’m transported,
roaming through Murphy’s, Grants, The Boston Store. Now ghosts
as I drive the downtown streets where I hung out, they bring back
this feeling, my chest sinks through my heart. I recall
roaming through Murphy’s, Grants, The Boston Store. Now ghosts
like false fronts, familiar, not the same, confusion,
this feeling, my chest sinks through my heart. I recall
those old stores to life, remove the new names, faces
like false fronts, familiar, not the same. Confusion
under control, I invoke my past to rise, bring
those old stores to life, remove the new names. Faces
appear too, ghosts unbidden, cannot get the spell
under control. I invoke my past to rise, bring
old lives, buried in concrete, up through the snow. They
appear too, ghosts unbidden. Cannot get the spell
right, to bring back the good times. I want to leave those
old lives buried in concrete. Up through the snow, they
shimmer, bring me back, make it home again. It’s not
right to bring back. The good times? I want to leave those
days that smothered me like warm snowdrifts. Memories
shimmer, bring me back, make it home again. It’s not.
The past gone, I live in the present. The spell breaks
days that smothered me. Like warm snowdrifts, memories
remain behind. It looks as though they’re here to stay.
The past -- gone. I live in the present. The spell breaks.
Click. Silence I can’t stand. Songs from my youth as I
remain behind. It looks as though they’re here, to stay
yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away.
This is a great pantoum! I love it...the imagery is beautiful and the way it all fits together is superb!!! It was not way too long, it was just right, by the way...
Deletenow it seems as though they're here to stay as we go round and round and round in the circle game. love his poem! you captured the feeling wonderfully.
DeleteYou really make the pantoum work for you.
DeleteVictoria, sometimes too much nostalgia can make a body weary. I think that is why I don't think I have contributed anything yet. You did a good job on your pantoum.
DeleteSince youse guys seem to be doing two. I have another one that fits also.
ReplyDeleteOutside the Stark Reality
a villanelle
Deep snow falls in my memory
when schools closed. Bundled up, we'd play
outside the stark reality.
Cracked sidewalks, old, drab homes would be
all covered white. They would display
deep snowfalls. In my memory
loud laughing voices filled with glee,
our faces red with cold, we'd stay
outside. The stark reality
inside no longer loomed as we
pretended we were far away.
Deep snow falls in my memory.
Now rich with snowballs, poverty
stopped crying out, was held at bay
outside the stark reality.
We knew there was no guarantee
that life would change. But for one day
deep snow falls in my memory
outside the stark reality.
powerfully written and full of emotion. do you remember the snow caves we would build and how safe we felt inside them?
DeleteVictoria, yes, Erie was always very rich with snow. You did a great job on this villanelle. Snow gives me lots of great memories.
DeleteWhat a beautiful Villanelle!!! I remember playing in "that stuff" hahahahaha. It really dumped on us back then. Snowforts and snowballs...snow people! We were certainly "rich" with snow!
ReplyDeleteThe Sparrows
ReplyDeleteDuring my school days, around my early teens
There existed a small window like a big-hole in my room
Early morning even before I went to school, almost daily
I was greeted by the chirps of a four-membered family
“The Sparrows” I called them.
I remembered one of my aunts, who was highly sceptical about birds
Protested as the mother and the dad prepared their nest
In the ventilator of our long corridor. I left for school.
Post my return I found the remnants of a broken nest
Scrabbled on the cemented floor. I didn’t have much to say.
Upon returning to my room I was surprised to find the couple
Busy in building their house, and I kept a watch all day long,
To ensure no further encroachment in their beautiful home
The bossy male and the timid wife came to reside in my room, soon.
The eggs were laid in due course, and soon two babies were born.
The Sparrows soon left, all four, never to return to my quiet burrow
I did miss them from time and again, but the sand of life floated along
With aging me, I got married and had kids. Yet today when I glance back
I realize how much our lives are similar to those desperate birds
Looking for shelter all along, in a war plagued lands of Peace.
oh my gosh! this is so touching! my heart broke at the thought of the nest destroyed then soared as the story unwound. lovely! lovely! lovely! and I love how you merged the story of the birds into the story of your family.
DeleteWow, this is such a beautiful tale. I was heart broken when the nest was ruined and loved the way you wove the tale into your marriage and children in comparison with the poor little birds. The last line really got me. I loved it!!! I want to carry on and say more but I loved it says it all.
DeleteGlad that you all liked it :)
DeleteWe didn't like it .. we loved it! we're still texting about this one :-).
DeleteIt was like a glimpse into a beautiful life...that's what we're texting...this is the most beautiful poem you have contributed thus far. We can't begin to tell you how much we enjoyed it...
DeleteYes, this is a story that sticks with you. I can't believe a bird built a nest in the house! Incredible! And yes, I love how you brought it back around to your family. Nice job!
DeleteThank you once again for your lovely comments. Will try to contribute more in the near future :)
DeleteAnindya, What is there to say that hasn't already been said. How tender and sweet is this poem. So sad, so happy, so gentle and everything.
DeleteHere are two. I was looking for the Uncle poem, found the Audie Murphy poem as well. They both seemed to fit.
ReplyDeleteRECEIVED WISDOM
I.
You can get a
Jeep packed
in grease (World
War II surplus)
For seventy
five bucks
build it from
plans included
jounce over deep
dug ruts
mud tracks like
Audie Murphy
II.
In a knife fight
you might
be better
off with no knife
the other guy
will be
unbalanced
to the blade side
tugging at his
right hand
skewing his
vital center
III.
With this gizmo
(only
two bucks) you
can throw your voice
you're over here
two guys
are moving
this heavy crate
a muffled cry
Lemme
outta here
no one knows it's you
WHAT DO I SAY ABOUT MY UNCLE
What do I say about my uncle,
who calls to remind me about
the Lord who made us all, ask me how
he can get his hymns recorded,
tell me the one about the dumb blonde
or the two colored gentlemen:
What about my mother's funeral,
where he reminded us all that
although he loved his sister dearly,
she had not taken Jesus Christ
into her heart as her personal
savior, so she was doomed to hell?
Or when he ran for the town council
on the Lyndon LaRouche ticket?
How'd he get duped into that? I know,
it's the same thing: his innocence.
Eighty four now, he's still a small boy,
calling with blonde jokes, darkie jokes,
asking if I remember Chaplin,
the Toonerville Trolley, Windsor
McKay, Snuffy Smith, the Two Black Crows,
warning—son of artists himself—
that if I let artists into my home,
next they'll be bringing naked ladies.
More problematic: how to fit in
1949, when he came
to Kingston, to visit my mother
in the hospital, and dropped in
to please a friend, on a young woman
who had been there for three years, and
would die within the month. How he was
handsome, innocent, bounding with
silly life, and fell in love with her,
and made his naïve vow that love
would save her. I guess she taught him how
to pray, he taught her how to love—
can it be that simple? Anyway,
they were married, and he moved out
of his quaint studio in Woodstock
to a trailer in Ellenville,
and she lived for nine years, and they went
to church, and sat on folding chairs.
I love both of these. The first whimsical reminding us of our youth and the gizmos we could order from the backs of comic books or match covers but the second one... so powerful it left me breathless and with a lump in my throat. you have a way of placing the words so they fill the reader with emotions they (me in this case) were not prepared to feel.
DeleteI like the first poem. But as Bonnie did, I was blown away by the second.
DeleteBoth of these poems are prime examples of your terrific poetry. I enjoyed the simplicity and fun loving gizmos and gadgets of the first one and the serious note of the second one. The imagery was bold and let us see your uncle for the person he was. Poetry is short and it is hard to include a lifetime in a poem but, you did your uncle quite well. I feel I knew him now...in fact many men of that era were just like him. I'm glad he found love.
Deletemesmerizing and magnificent <3ed the second one.
DeleteTad, I thought these two poems were great. I really enjoyed reading about your uncle. There are so many males just like him and they forget to look around to see who is in the room with them. The blonde, the black man, you know what I mean.
DeleteAnd that story is true. She was a 17 year old girl who had been in the hospital for 4 years, would never recover, had only months to live. He fell in love with her and vowed that his love would save her, and it did. If my uncle were alive today he would be a Trump supporter. How important is that compared to saving a life with love?
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
Deletethis was the poem i had posted messed up with the copyright tag. Reposting . Wrote it today and thank your for your encouragement :)
ReplyDeleteMemories
Even if my brain forgets your name,
I will never lose the memory of your skin
The heat of your gybing vibes,
The feel of your beige-burned eyes
The warmth in frost biting gyves
Often pierce through my soul into the dingy alleyway
Drifting a sense of evanescence to the memoirs long gone
Craving to fall in love with your eyes once again
Yet in the closet of our past there lived days when you seemed pretty lost
Forgetting to stare back at my blue-tainted gaze
Doubting me as a stranger in our silent book of love
Looking confused and lost like a toddler forgotten in the sea
The storm breached deep, lasting for days ashore
Under an umbrella of a dark cluttered Sun bricks of promises were laid
Across the stripping miles with a tan of dipping blue
You called upon me out and loud one final time to bade a formal good bye
Yet today when you never glance back at me
With the hazel hues of fond memories stored in our little secret tree
I dare to steal a kiss from these moments of gloom
To cherish for our life amidst love, hate and chaos in this cold dark room.
Anindya Ganguly © 2017 all rights reserved
After reading this I just wanted to hug you but there was nothing but a beautiful poem to hug...I wanted to quote my favorite lines but there are too many...the imagery leaves me breathless with sad passion...the way you write is to open your soul and lay it before us and let us shed a tear with you...thank you for sharing with us. You astound me...you leave me with a lump in my throat...
ReplyDeletethanks Linda for your precious praises. it means a lot to me :)
DeleteAnindya, beautiful poem. I think Linda said everything that I would have said. Great job, poet.
DeleteThanks Paul :)
DeleteI was only one
ReplyDeleteand wanted to have fun
but they wouldn't stop their hate
they had no patience to wait
they didn't have to fight
I knew it wasn't right
I just wanted happiness
instead of an emotional mess
I wanted comfort for the life I would live
too bad they didn't have it to give
and now it's just a memory
that ended up in misery
Parents can really ruin a life with their selfish attitudes. They don't even realize that the child is in the room when they are screaming at each other. This is a very sad story. Thanks for sharing.
DeleteHmm..one of the saddest tales i have read for a long time. :/
DeleteI agree with anindya - this is one of the saddest poems I've ever read. i could feel the pain and sadness as I read. I'm so glad you found happiness with Linda later and learned how to love and to spread that love.
DeleteI can remember sitting on the floor watching my parents yelling and screaming at each other. I can remember feeling sad and scared. Not understanding why they couldn't see me sitting there.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteMy gardens of memory
ReplyDeletelie beneath drifts of years
vibrant and green as though preserved in crystal,
awaiting my wandering.
I walk the length of my great aunt's fence of roses
taller than my eight year old self by half.
The bees plunder the petals and their rich scent
lies heavy on the fresh June air.
I see my grandmother's dahlias, grown with loving care,
nodding their great heads, and her proud zinnias,
marching along the gravel walk
brilliant against her white picket fence.
There are the rows of Mama's garden, practical, like her!
Edibles predominate. In my mind she kneels still,
picking the beans for supper, wearing shorts and a halter,
her browned back bare to the summer sun.
Here is my childhood garden, made for me
beneath a friendly birch. Scant of sun, nevertheless
each year it hosted one tall glowing aconite,
it's wondrous hoods purple in the twilight.
Time lies upon these gardens like dried leaves.
Yesteryear's petals are long since recycled, grown anew;
yet in the scrapbook of my memory they make
these bright collages of my childhood days.
Wow, I was walking through your garden of memories, best poem I have read for quite a while.
DeleteThank you so much. I appreciate your kind words. You write very fine poetry yourself, very evocative.
DeleteI can discuss and explore this poem for hours, if I wish to and yet when I re read it several times, i was discovering fairer amount of flowers in your garden. Love. Love. Love :)
DeleteTasha, what a lovely write! I could see and smell and flowers...see your mother picking the beans! wonderfully visual!
DeleteThe imagery is terrific in this poem. I am tired of trying to fit my poetry into forms. It is so much more easy to put your real feelings into a free form. I really enjoyed this poem.
DeleteTasha, this is a very beautiful poem. I enjoyed reading it. I was in this garden with you. Thank you for sharing.
DeleteThank you all for your kind comments. I am so glad you all enjoyed my poem and that you told me so. Wishing you all every joy and many poems to come.
DeletePerhaps
ReplyDeleteI wish to dance naked in the wistful rains
And croon those songs of love to you again
And take you up in my arms of warmth
And fly you to our Animal Farm
While hiding in some yonder lair
I read you tales about things you cared
Crafting scenes from wonder lands
Singing songs of 60s bands
Fondling words that you wish to chirp
Talking wild with occasional burps
Time perhaps shall never stale
As we plunge into life's eddied well
Where fear shall lose its virginity too
Reciting poems of romance and coos
Under the effect of some random tweet
Yet again someday, we shall meet
Life will jump in our memories hole
And live our breathes as purist's souls
Taking our hearts to some newer lights
Where there is no drama, no more fights
Flying again to our wonder years
We shall walk, searching for each other’s ears
And whisper treasures that we haven't told
And let our promises unbox, unfold
Tonight, after ages as I seek those wondrous states
Perhaps, after decade our lips shall mate
And live and last for decades more
Where nothing shall trespass our lives anymore
And talk of past entangled with presence and live
The life that was promised when we were conceived.
Anindya Ganguly © 2017 all rights reserved
awesome! someday I will share my poem 'It Was the 60's' I think you will enjoy it and appreciate it :-)
DeleteWould love to read it :)
DeleteSmooth and beautiful...I loved it...I love everything you write. I especially loved running naked in the rain. So romantic...
DeleteAnindya, I did run naked in the rain once when I was 19. It was a very special feeling. I love the special imagery you put into your poetry. It makes me feel that I am with you in your life.
DeleteI am so happy that I could constructs poems with which you were able to connect and thanks a ton for your compliments. <3 u guys :)
DeleteThis is one of my favorite poems, and since it seems ok to publish older ones, I will share it here. I'm hoping to make a new one,too however there hasn't come any memory as yet to share. There are so many good poems here I couldn't comment on them all so I will juat say what a great bunch of poets we have here!
ReplyDeleteHey Tasha I added you on fb. Just felt compelled to share your poetry and hence wanted to tag you in the post, with your due permission :)
Deletemaybe you could leave a comment on one of the poems each contributed? this seems to have been a fun and easy prompt as many did contribute more than one poems (including me :-)).
Delete