Posts Tagged ‘Memory’


Image courtesy kanshutters

Grey days politically so drab
Merge with weather inclement
Falling rain and moisture rising
See the share price, not surprising

Mood swings colour life’s intent
Rainbows form as showers pass by
Clouds break once upon a time
Clocks, remorseless, ever chime

Marching on with banners flying
Singing songs from days gone by
Onward to the known tomorrows
Built of memory’s joys and sorrows

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Lying in the folds of night
the spectres rose to fill with fright
as body turned and twisted then
the nightmare came to haunt again.

Transpiring from that hellish tale,
through gritted teeth there came a wail.
What tortured thoughts could bring such woe,
could take such hold, such fear bestow?

The demon raged, its madness free
to weave a horror none could see,
until the first light pierced the air
and drove the beast back to its lair.

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From the past was born a future
using strands of thoughts inane:
greying fears, transparent notions
binding, merged with tangled pain.
Rising then, it lurched unfettered;
trod the road that lay ahead,
ribbon in the darkness calling,
grinding grit of words long dead.
Onward to those new tomorrows
scattering while on its way
seeds of madness finding nurture
from tears of some yesterday.

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One gets an education
To learn a thing or two
Some will become the clever clogs
‘I know it all, don’t you?’

Who gain a first or second
To research, teach, dictate
Upon the board behind the pawns
The moves meant to checkmate.

Spout as someone of letters
Or conjure with the mind
Something of scientific worth
That had lain undefined.

We aid thought in its conquest
Of Nature’s mysteries
And help build up the walls of fear
Protecting histories

By squeezing information
Beyond the membrane’s skin
Into the hearts of waiting cells
To nestle there within

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Seasonal whims

Late September, summer hesitates
As autumn freshness brings both dew and mist
To longer nights,
And in the afternoon is warmth to swoon
That turns back time with memories of June.

Oh time, you marching, so untiring host,
Do you hold no regard for one as I,
Who watches as the clock’s about to chime,
And hopes the minute hand will slow its climb?

What will the autumn bring to those who hope
That better times wait just around the door?
No one can tell, I fear, for no one knows.
In human mad affairs, that’s how it goes.

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Cursor flashes
Waiting for a sign
Behind the scenes
Patient to a degree
Only software can muster

Eyes watching
Waiting for a sign
Behind the scenes
Patient to a degree
Only cells can muster

Thought rages
A word appears

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This is one of the more poisonous substances being added for commercial gain to the things we ingest. Amongst other harmful effects on the organs of the body, it destroys the neurons of the brain.

I praise the neurons of my brain
They let me feel the sun and rain
My thoughts would be unthinkable
My memories irretrievable
Without these wonders there would be
No intellect, an end of me
So any act designed to kill
By way of food or drink or pill
These jewels of Nature that I need
I class as murderous indeed
So you out there in some disguise
Who have no care for my demise
I trust one day you’ll suffer too
In punishment for things you do

For more information Google E621

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Muddied waters

Symbols, symbols, in my brain
swirling round footholds to gain
on the memory’s worn out slopes
scarred by wishes, worries, hopes
clawing to remain on high
while I would have them fall and die.
And there below lie quite serene
the ones I need to intervene.
Heading down, most times in vain,
symbols, symbols, in my brain.

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Image “Winter Landscape” courtesy maple

Small clouds drift in the clearing skies
The thick snow blinds with searing white
A carpet laid while all were sleeping
Crystals shaken from the night

While Nature moves, man hesitates
His thoughts step forward one by one
The landscape that is now unfolding
Has already been and gone

Man’s world is built of memories
Interpretations through the years
Passed on to each new generation
All is now as it appears

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Bound as I am by unseen cords
My mind a figment of some dream
The words I speak are nought but sounds
And those I write a squiggly stream.

Until, dear Reader, you decide
By searching memories within
A meaning for these lines of verse
Released when found each squiggle’s twin

With success yours there will appear
A replica for you to read.
If after this, it disappoints
Then that would be a shame indeed.

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Photo entitled “Spheres Balance” courtesy Filomena Scalise

Designs of matter
Filling all with endless chatter
Scales that weigh behind the eyes
Balanced only by the wise

Worlds disguised
By veils of fear
Hiding what was once so clear
Blind are those who seek the way
Heading out from yesterday

Mind the step
Time the measure
Space divides from centred pleasure
Fettered gods are we by hope
Promises define its scope

Count the heads
One, two, the rest
Racial form has been expressed
All are joined, but to create
The opposites must conjugate

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Photo courtesy Filomena Scalise

When coming or going
The door stands ajar
Two worlds interacting
In ways most bizarre.

The flatness of daydreams
And tangles of green
Merge into the light of
Dimensions unseen.

The mind reels in wonder
Eyes try to reveal
What memory offers
Perhaps to conceal.

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Past life


Photo courtesy Filomena Scalise

From nothing to nothing
Something in between
Thought paints on the canvas.
What does it all mean?

The red hat you’re wearing
These soft blades of green
Just forms from the darkness
That my eyes have seen.

The senses take snapshots
Of what might have been
Just memories fading.
What does it all mean?

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Picture thanks to bela_kiefer


I’m catching my breath in this wonderful place
hidden one step ahead of normal time and space.
It’s a world where all’s living
a warm vibrant light
and there’s more than just darkness to shadows and night.

I’m filling to brimming with something unseen.
It’s a force emanating from what’s in between.
There is no separation
except to the one
born of memories gathered since time has begun.

I’m free now of wanting and dread brought by fear.
It’s a sense of belonging without being here
as I walk no one sees me
a ghost passing by
unadorned by the raiment that captures the eye.

I’m inside and outside, above and below,
both behind and in front of what I’ll never know.
There’s a certainty somewhere
of that I am sure
an eternity waiting for me to endure.

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It’s rising up to heaven
or falling down in sin:
the one true firm believer
no longer held by skin.

Its former expectations
will now be put to test,
no one to know its future
or one to be impressed.

To speculate is fruitless.
Thoughts are of yesterday.
Religion’s of tomorrow
when we at last must pay.

Hope is the only doorway,
forever locked in life,
the gateway for immortals
who never know of strife.

That matter of creation
contains our troubled minds,
the memories of daydreams,
ideas of different kinds.

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Almost there

Thought holds us ever one step away from the flow of life

Give me your hand that I might see
I’m not alone in mystery.
Let warmth flow where now cold holds sway
in frozen wastes of yesterday.
Thoughts, layer on layer, excite, invite
show smiles and tears in that pale light
and glimpses of those times gone by
ghosts dancing for the inner eye.
Grasp now my hand as tight as can
so I can feel when now began.

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I blink my eyes and see the skies
make jumps of monumental size
so clouds that are so far away
might fall apart without delay.

Light sends its message to my eyes.
Does it show all in some disguise?
The gray clouds it would seem are meant
to share my mood without consent.

The orange sun peeps out to say
‘Do I bring joy now with my play?
The warmth of yellow merged with red
can hardly fail a smile to spread.’

Then suddenly I see it blue,
the canopy that thoughts subdue.
Behind its mirror darkness lies
and there beyond what I surmise.

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I come to cover all in white
bring crispness to the cold of night.
My crystals fall to mesmerize
awaken memories that rise.

The winter is my time of year
from anywhere I can appear.
In showers born over warmer seas
or clouds brought by the easterlies.

This year and end of last it’s true
I’ve drifted and become ice too
but for the children it’s a treat
to build a snow man in the street.

The sledge when greased again appears
to slip and slide to laughs and cheers
and snow balls fly from many hands
to shrieks and cries from where one lands.

A wondrous landscape meets the eye
of one still young and brings a sigh
for though some wish me far away
warm hearts find magic in my play.

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Strange things happen to old-timers – not the automobile variety but the human male one. Such as peeing in two directions at once, a renewed interest in attractive young women, and suddenly finding old tunes and other memories, that prove surprisingly resistant to aging, rising up from the cellar of youth to haunt again. I assume I’m not the only one afflicted by the latter. Well, I think not.
It’s as if the body is saying to the brain, ‘Look, I’ve got an awful lot of old memories stashed away down here and there’s hardly any room for anything new, so I’m throwing this one up there again for you to decide if it’s worth keeping.’ Read more, also World Political news

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Once I was so small and now I am quite tall
but from seed to a tree is no great jump you see.
To the eye there above that may look down with love
that sees galaxies merge and new stars then emerge
I am tall but still small, not important at all.

My mind expands into the cloud
of thoughts that sculpture what’s allowed
that show my own reality
the realm that only I can see.
Though many visions we may share
a loneliness I still must bear.

Oh to see through heaven’s eyes
behind the mask, subtle disguise
feel movement of a distant star
touch all now whether near or far.
To be what I was meant to be
no outcast of eternity.

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