Some prompt poetry today:
.
I remember
yellow days,
sun bright on daffodil hills,
air stained with smokey forest pyres,
golden nights.
I remember
empty room,
first promise you failed,
fear.
I remember
twinkling eyes
hope
belief in forever.
I remember
.
.
.
Prompts from my 123 prompts for Writers & Poets book, a yellow day, a moment that scarred you, someone you value.
I’ve forgotten your name,
but one glance at the back of a pear-shaped girl
in a tight striped top and jeans,
brought you sailing through the years.
Short, feathered hair.
Acne scars.
Knock-kneed shuffle.
Booming laugh.
Where did I know you?
Whoever you are,
I hope you’re happy today.
I hope your life has been all you dreamed.
Just like that
you were back.
A flash.
Years had disappeared.
Your hair glistened in the light of the theatre,
our laughter and the crunch of popcorn on the air.
A flash.
Grief seeped through me,
sucking me back to the day they said
you were gone.
.
.
RIP Lloyd. 1964-1997 No one is truly dead until they are not remembered any more.
I turn on the TV:
Hockey commentary.
I am ten again.
Dad’s in the family room.
Whooping
Groaning
Arguing with the ref.
I feel a rush of nostalgia.
Turn the channel.
This moonlit night,
snow glowing with
luminescent memories,
I stroll along the old paths
thinking of the mystery you
made of me.
Identity molded like play dough
childhood laughter
leaching from the cracks of yesterday.
I can’t say anymore
who I am.
.
(another character perspective poem about Lydia & Dustin)
Boxed up
memories, wrapped carefully
in torn tissue paper,
worn over years.
Boxed up
histories, revisited annually-
unwrapping melancholy,
tying it on a tree.
Indeed,
there is a moment
when hushed memories sneak,
creeping behind you.
You hear the creak, and turn
to find those lost
those missed,
those grieved.
They’re whispers caught
on remembered phrases,
favourite songs;
you’re sure you hear their voices.
Indeed, there are moments
when ghosts hover;
in memories
their love remains.
