Where is the scene of triumphs made
Do not photographs etch these truths
Forever binding that we paste
In endless journeys of our sublime hues
Where absence has no mask
As each dance seems quickened
Until melodies seem to glance
Why are expectations arrayed
Do they not contain a substance
Where sunshine had once touched warmly
On street corners and mom and pop diners
Where all knew what was what
And neighbor knew neighbor
And daily life knew each pit stop
When do changes cease their welcome
Do prisms vary in their path
As reminders keep vanishing
Erased, forgotten except photographs
Which are kept in silence
Without thought of amen
By a thoughtful librarian
Why has no concealment to breathe
Nor can longing seek therapy
Preservation sang a sad song
The architect commissioned a new sign
Which developed a view
For someone's new etchings
New photographs to cut and paste
Where do we divide up the lines
For journeys lose measures of time
And confusion like searing wound
Has lost the victory of longed repast
As dreams faintly echo
For relics which are saved
For familiarities grave
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Comments: 40
You certainly have been coming out with a variety of poems lately.
I think my brain is still in bed.
to tell me things could be right but then may not
be that way at all. I'm a little confused here.
on Bluebonnets Of Texas Sunday afta' dinner hopefully.
A remarkable feat in a poem it is as you´ve done here, to capture the ´pastness´that beleaguers all of human consciousness in memory, particularly when confronted with a facsimile of what ¨was.¨
As reminders keep vanishing
Fabulous writing - and regarding style - I have always created my own rather than following designated steps - so maybe that is why I love this particular poem so much - it's passionate voice echos the one inside of my head about past things...that other language caught between fingers typing and visions forming...I know exactly what you're talking about and you've done a powerful job. Salud.
Certainly we did not capture the parts we didnt want to remember.
i love your newfound 'graphics' talent... great...
Girly Comments & Graphics
"When do changes cease their welcome" is a particularly nice turning point in the middle.
read it once more to find that part I liked most....
only to find John Beck had found it interesting too.
"When do changes cease their welcome"
One either enjoys them or are horrified by changes or saddened by losses.
I pak my memories in a glowing box in the centre of my heart. When I feel like it or some event asks for it, I take out a memory and relive the glow of the moment or reflect on meaning of the sadness involved.
Thank you Bill. Your poems are becoming great literary adventures.
btw- I loved this piece!!!!
And I appreciate your muse, she leads you well.