The streets are not the same
but they still echo with the memory
of our steps.
I still hear your laughter
as we held hands and ran through the rain.
Ever after, I hummed Neil Sedaka on that street
and contemplated surrealism.
Decades later,
I can still hear our laughter.
The bouquet of irises
is dessicated;
brown paper shells devoid of scent,
death displayed in a vase.
The purple blooms,
dripped inky streaks down the walls
and puddles onto the floor.
The stains leave a memory of floral glory
for tomorrow.
First performance with special effects.
Dry ice rises
from cardboard smoke stacks.
Audience gasps at the realism,
then the ice descends to the stage
and the singers gasp
and choke.
Always rehearse
the special effects first!
Don’t injure the imported talent
or the gratuitous local hacks!
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I was watching Carmen from the Met on TV this weekend and was catapulted back in time to 1999 when I sang in the chorus of Carmen with the PG Symphony. Conductor Paul Andreas Mahr brought in four rising stars to join the symphony’s first opera: Mezzo Caroline Menard, Soprano Renee Salewski, Tenor Lenard Whiting, and the delightful baritone Tyler Duncan, the home-town boy, whose wide open arms gave wonderful bear hugs at every opportunity. It was a very fun production. I had to look up the imported talent to see what they’re doing now. Some exiting stuff! I hunted all over for the photos of this, but can only find the news clippings. I’ll keep looking, and update with photos when I find the right album. My special claim to fame in this production was that 3 of us had a spotlight moment in a part originally meant for kids, except it was too late in the opera, and all good children needed to be home in bed. No idea any more what I sang! 🙂
Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt in honour of the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere is a poem on a theme of rush and hurry.
(and today I was delighted to discover I am the Day 18 featured poet for yesterday’s social media poem. How lovely!)
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When it’s true
there’s all the time in the world.
Slow down.
.
They say
“Marry in haste, repent in leisure.”
.
I remember seven months
when time stood still
and you were the air I breathed.
.
In haste, married,
then filled a house with babies.
Now they’re gone, but you’re still here
Our leisurely repentance
is luxurious reward for our haste.
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Happy 30th engagement anniversary to my love. (4 months after meeting and 3 months to the wedding!)
I heard you sent it
and it makes me smile
to know my mail box
will receive a gift
from the past.
When it arrives
I will float back in time,
swim in memories for a while,
then break the surface
to be thankful
for now.
You were
exorcized
letter by letter,
word by word,
phrase by phrase,
sentence by sentence,
paragraph by paragraph,
page by page,
chapter by chapter.
Now you are
merely a spectre
who peeks around corners
whispers at my ear
hums for my remembrance.
My only benediction
on the lost boy
from long ago
is the bittersweet smile
and the faraway glimmer
in my eyes.
It was woven
like light
dappling between the leaves
of our maple tree,
your voice, soft in memory,
searching for the heart of me.
It was woven
like lithe
subtleties between the grease
of our maigre feast,
your voice, lost in murmurings
purging forth our history.
It was woven
like life
sampling between the griefs
of our marble stele
your voice, wafts in every
yearning it exhorts of me.
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I may be stretching your vocabulary with this one! Here’s some help:
maigre- religious diet without the flesh or juice of animals
stele- pillar, marker, tombstone (pron. like STEEL-y)
Of course ghosts are real
Haven’t you felt them
swirling about you
like leaves in the wind?
Memories that haunt
spinning through your head
with joys and sorrows
that have no place in
tomorrow.
Mrs. Pickle
taught me much about
acidic Southern charm.
Vitriol dripped from her tongue
like garlic scented vinegar
stirred into syrup: bitter honey.
Against her absurdity, laughter made a bulwark.
A champion rose up,
waving a sword of words that
sliced that pickle into tiny pieces.
A memory to relish.
Here
every time I pass this place
I smile, remembering you
right here
with me.
.
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(WordPress says this is my 1600th post on this blog)
Shawn L. Bird 