Coffee cups, glasses, mugs
sit everywhere
and hold
myriad of things
change, pencils, crayons, jewelry,
hooks, needles and pins
you see the things
you see the cups
how can you not see
the memories
that cling to every surface
where they came from
tastes they held
the day they were bought
hearts that chose each
with thoughts and love
treasured beyond the cost
a glance
simple touch
each in turn
brings a smile
the memories that stick
to ordinary things
always in my mind
memories
Hello
Hello
are you out there
I think
I know you are
because
I can see the little tufts
of steam
your breath makes
on my dreams
The thoughts are heavy
in the not quite dawn
they weigh
on your mind
and your soul
they tickle your brain
and scratch
little holes
in your waking
demanding to be let out
to play
if you are out there
and I know you’re out there
why don’t you come closer
come in
or I’ll come out
enjoy the coffee and play
in the piles
of memories and dreams
Little Boy Blues
Memories of
childhoods lost
hauntingly happy
brilliantly etched
forever new
snapshots stolen
from moments dear
preciously hoarded
guarded
as queen’s coffers
Walking through the memories
lives captured
fear of the forgotten world
there you are
there
and there
and in the passing
who will remember
that which
can never be erased.
Beach Glass
Remembered words bite
with the chill
of a raw May wind
off the lake
in the rain
sting
not the flesh
but the mind
and the soul
as the wash of the waves
the pull of the tides
smooth the edges
of the glass
awash on the beach
so time
and tide
have eased the pain
of the words
have smoothed away
the pain
and left behind
the soft glisten
as the sun kisses
all that remains
Core Dump
In the glow
of the monitor
in the early morning
I core dump
memories
feelings
smells
through my fingers
into digital representations
until
like the blue screen of death
they choke
the ability
of the computer
gray matter
or binary
to comprehend further
They
slowly
confuse
even the processor
and spill the confusion
over into
nothing
∏º⊗§¶………………
Footprints
Footprints followed daddy
from the barn
up the cement steps and
into the sun porch
where no sun ever crept
and always there was darkness and shadows
and a chalkboard
I could never get to
Heavy
mud and shit and hay chaff
from barn boots
they followed him
Footprints followed momma
never dirty
or wet
pick your feet straight up
and put them straight down
and you won’t get your feet wet
how does that work?
never dirty or wet
just the sound
of shoes
tramped down in the back
slip slapping
whatever fell beneath them
Footprints through my childhood
white nurse’s shoes
from the county home
barn boots empty
after the cornpicker accident
barn boots, sneakers and kids shoes
from everyone coming home
from the horses and pigs and cows
and tinkerbell
tarry footprints
mine and bugger’s
on warm summer days
cleaned with gas till they burned
and we did it again
because nothing feels as amazing as warm tar on naked feet
do you remember
all of the footprints
that have touched your mind
Footprints followed my babies
grassy socks
dirty cleats
dirty wet naked feet
boots and taxi cab shoes
and sandals full of sand
— funny how that works
they followed them
through the house
through the years
through my memories
and now
Footprints wiped
on clean white pages
wipe your memories please
so they don’t track my clean white pages
but they do
they always do
mark the passing of time
footprints
where my mind wipes the memories
to see
what “Rorschach” tests
are left behind
the memories
far more indelible than the dirt
that was left behind
imprinted always
on my soul
Memory Stains
from a distance
of years
decades
nearly half decade
I stare
down the tunnel of time
at the stains of childhood
the dirt and detritus
sweat, tears and smiles
The songs remain
to lift the heart
a snapshot in time
like dandilion fluff
stuck to grape jelly kisses
angry words
that cut way deeper
than the merely physical
they stay too
haunt the memory
had I been born in a cream can
rather than what a bird shit on the steps
I would there remain
The smell of sunshine
the taste of lies
I hold in my hand
in my mind
my heart
the memories
snapshots in time
a shoe
stone (Andy Bandyman’s Shoe)
Hand drawn birthday cards
blanket
puked on and stained
they live
in me
and they color
me
my vision
the way
I veiw
all
spilling out
from my eyes
from my pen
to the page
and bloom
in the beauty
for me to remember and treasure
Things
Things, they say
they aren’t anything
but things
And the part of me
the rational quiet part knows
that the words they say
the facts
that are facts
are true
but
in the things
in the sounds
and tastes
and textures
patterns
lie
the memories
trapped there
The walls have ears
I guess they say
but what no one seems
to grasp
understand
they have not only ears
but a voice
I can hear
everything
from when this was given
that was bought
or what was happening
The fear in me
screams
that if I part with the things
I part with the memories
and the rational logical voices
just don’t understand.
Autumn of my youth
Memories crunch
beneath my nearly naked feet
Dreams fade into the smell
of birth and death
yesterday, tomorrow, now
Aimlessly
thoughtlessly
absentmindedly
I walk
shuffle step
to hear the crunch
smell the mapply oakness
that escapes from
the roads that I didn’t take
and wish I had
And here I am
in the autumn of my youth
shuffling my feet
through
what are still my dreams
Through the songs unsung
The words stuck
racing each other
around in the addled rainbow of my brain
I lose myself
in trying in this autumn
to find myself again.
I listen to the shuffle crunch
that loses the memories
makes me wish
for the dreams that I still wish I could dream
though the light
of the harshest sun
burns away any false hope
realize that
if not today then when
but my today
is spent.
Dead End
Driving down the interstate
Busy people
In busy cars
To busy lives
Too busy to care
To stop and smell
The asphalt wet with warm spring rain
I blinked
And I was ten
Walking through waist high grass
To where
Once upon a time
The road crossed field
After field
Winding passed farms
And families
Until progress and speed
Cut through everyone’s reality
Now, where once was road
Stands fence
And fence
And weeds
And hours of mindless entertainment
Watching the classing cars
Doing 80 on 80
And standing on the wooden fence
Trying to get passing trailer trucks
To waste a little time
And air pressure
To blow the horn
At a kid
Doing nothing
With nothing to do
Clandestine Writing... 