FOOTPRINTS ON MY HEART

(I wrote this, 21 Aug 2011, thinking how the treasures of my memories anchor me in the present, while at times impeding my Day's Journey. Living in the shadows of my past, haunting Dreams of Love, family, home, and passion, flee, leaving only their FOOTPRINTS ON MY HEART.)

*** FOOTPRINTS ON MY HEART ***

Thoughts adrift on Evening's Chill,
Senses teased by memories old.

Each breath increases awareness of environs,
Suggestive of a different path,
Echoes of Future's beckon.

Yet bonds of yesterday hold ransom,
Hampering fleeing memories.

Pains and fears awash the mind,
Whispers of the past surface,
Beneath the shifting sands of Time's Journey.

Abiding sadness permeates Day's Path,
Regrets a constant companion
[dht-2011]

[PHOTO SOURCE: Cousin L. J. Scott, edited]

After the Storm – Come the Tears

(I wrote this, 10 Aug 2011, thinking of the many losses in our life—Loss of youth, health, money, safety, privilege, prestige, respect, honors, LOVE, spouses, children, and family -- as a special tribute to those in my circle who feel their loss so keenly.)


*** AFTER THE STORM – COME THE TEARS ***

The poetical world is as a lyrical preface to Life's SCRIPT,
where light illuminates the STAGE,
with a jewel-like iridescence,
flickering over the richly embroidered PLAY.

A sadness imbues the atmosphere
with a sense of time and space,
whispering of generations past and lost
and PREVIEWS of generations to come.

The PLAY rages in a tempest at Life's Zenith,
as the Storms of Life forge a Path,
leaving behind loss of Love and Hearth in their wake.

As of a sudden, the Storm passes
and the Tears fall as gentle rain upon the SET.
After the Storm – come the tears.

[dht-2011]

[PHOTO SOURCE: GOOGLE online images]

WHERE ONLY SHADOWS DANCE

(I wrote this, 13 Jul 2011, in a gray frame of mind, all too frequently occurring.  The "good times" in my life so far removed and their memory fading, seemed to go by too quickly.  Only now as I re-play those favorites,  do I feel I was not prepared to savor the precious few bright and clear moments. With misty eyes and wet checks, I try to recall happier times, despairing at the barriers that the 'bad times" cloud with melancholy.  SPECIAL NOTE --  My own writing offerings, I call " The Unrhyme Prose Poem Style". It is often serious, whimsical, thoughtful, fanciful, full of shadows and light, and of course Nature (birdies, flowers, and such). 

"Which of us, in his ambitious moments, has not dreamed of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical, without rhyme and without rhythm, supple enough and rugged enough to adapt itself to the lyrical impulses of the soul, the undulations of the psyche, the prickings of consciousness?”
[~ Little Poems in Prose, Charles Baudelaire])


The days at times are shrouded 
in unremitting shades of gray.

Dark shadows obscure
the corners of my life.

MELANCHOLY is as a shroud
that allows only gray scales of color –
NEVER the rainbow
rues of LOVE, JOY, HOPE, BELONGING...

The edges of memories blur –
their shape and texture mute –
with a blink of the mind's eye –
they recede.

How strange it seems
they happened Just As Quick
in their Time.

Now replaying those moments
over-and-over,
thoughts drift through Barriers
 NOT even Time's Gate Keeper can Deny.

The vast darkness
 so dense at times, 
the light cannot invade the Expanse
WHERE ONLY SHADOWS DANCE!

[~dht-2011]


[PHOTO SOURCE:  GOOGLE online images]