Sunday, July 31, 2011


She woke up in the morning
blanketed with memories
of a place long lost and gone
from all of her five senses.

But in her heart she knew it still
and revelled in its majesty
for a spell, yes, just a spell
until it disappeared again
into her subconscious.

She calls it up sometimes at will
to pretend but yet she knows
memories are punishments
that leave one, oh, so low.

So she looks out the window,
ventures out to stand upon
ground she doesn’t know,
and beats a hasty retreat
from the feel that creeps within.

And when it seems one shutters out
the place where we are at
it’s only for a moment
to gather up the manner, means,
of beating memories to pulp.

Pulp?  Oh, yes, indeed, just pulp
that swirls and swishes in/around
to make of mind not worth dime
in life’s economy.

But in the currency of heart
some memories pay and pay again
when viewed as not a punishment
but as antiques worth a million!


  1. This poem is just so well expressed, I can totally relate to this state of mind and the effect of memories on the heart and, well, it's just so well said...You really captured something there...

  2. Thanks. I suspect we all experience the same things at some time or other in our lives. We perhaps just don't pay enough attention to them at the time which is normal in a life of so many distractions.