In time—
I won’t remember your face,
nor its contours or expressions
Only emotions will remain
Nor will I remember the reasons,
only the pangs of a ‘how could you?’,
the tickling giggle of an ‘oh my god, remember when?’,
not your voice or tone,
nor what was even said back then
The starting credits will read:
‘Based on a true story’,
‘An adaptation of…’
And I’ll impatiently hit ‘skip intro‘—
because I always remember exactly what happened…
or so I keep telling myself.
Tag: memory
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Netfliction
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Round 1
Thirteen going on thirty,
His fluffy beard is kinda dirty
It belies that he’s a baby
But his dad won’t let him shave itSummers round the corner
with the weather getting warmer
The kitchens looking worn,
so he’s busy decoratingSanding paint and peeling paper
Playing catch-up with the neighbours,
An expert with the scraper
He leans further from his stoolFrom the lounge emerge faint noises,
It’s his parents rising voices,
Dad is getting restless
But its mum that makes the rulesSkilfully surreptitious
Hearing words that sound malicious
The mood darkens to become vicious
He’s refereed this match beforeNothing seems amiss
When he’s greeted by red mist,
Caught up amidst the fists,
As they continue to even the scoreSuppressing waves of fear
Prying fingers he holds dear
Catching an elbow to the ear
He begins to sense the toneParting the two beasts
He tries to make the peace
‘Help me hello police!?’
His mother screams down the phoneOut of the frying pan and into the fire
As if the situation wasn’t dire
Now he’s to judge who is the liar
Time is not his friendBetween a hard place and a rock
Keeping one eye on the clock
Suddenly hearing the dreaded knock
It’s time to play pretendSo his mother isn’t well
She didn’t mean to yell
That bruise is cos she fell
All in all she’s quite worn outNow you can’t deny
That dad has a black eye
But he’ll merely testify
That dad is clumsy without a doubtServing lies up on a platter
So charming with his chatter
Pretending it doesn’t matter
He has to bite his tongueGritted teeth distort his smile
The officer senses his beguile
But before she can put him to trial
Mum admits that she was wrongShe didn’t mean to call
She was confused after her fall
Of course there wasn’t a brawl
She says sorry and shrinks awayJust 15 minutes before
Dad was begging on the floor
He would never blame mum again he swore
It was groundhog DayThe officers hands were tied
She knew that mum had lied
Justice would be denied
But she had no other choiceShe consoled the boy in the hall
And though he was 6ft tall
He seemed so very small
And somehow lost his voiceHe wanted her to know
That this was all for show
And was begging her not to go
But his lips they never movedIn silence he stood and stared
At those for which he cared
Rooted as if he were snared
Waiting for the inevitable, round number two
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The little sofa
When we sat on that little sofa, forever struggling to find a comfy yet romantic position
Sometimes your head ended up in my armpit,
or my big hand would block the TV
Try as we might, we just didn’t fit on that little sofa
The sofa on which you could stretch like a cat in pure nirvana
And then along I’d come to swallow up all the space and squish your glasses, in what I thought was a loving embrace
More like a chokehold I guess
Eventually grumbling we’d give up and sit up
Then inevitably like the night before
Your head would sway and slide down my shoulder
Another movie night ending within the first 5 minutes – for you at least
Eventually comes the little snore as you’d begin to dribble
But I dare not move and ruin this moment
To see you in total restful bliss
Giving you a butterfly kiss, I’d look on and be overwhelmed by the warmth of you
Your ugly, peaceful sleeping gurn was what it was all about
On that little sofa, was once our little world
And now we sit worlds apart
Torn from that little world we made our own
To make our own way now, alone
The adventure is thrilling and yes the seas have been rough yet I always make it to the shore in the end
So it seems strange, how it’s on these sandy beaches where I find myself sinking sometimes
Reminiscing about that little sofa once more.
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Nostalgia #3
Nostalgia the guest arriving unexpected
Cowering yet pigeon chested
Memories cherished and time tested
Accruing interest over time, fighting the haze and commotion of lesser thoughts
Impressive in their claims
Famous to those that recall the tall tales of endless nights
Senseless tantalising trips down memory lane
Severing themselves from the fact, barely intact,
Bordering on lies, nostalgia serves pain dressed as pleasure
A memento mori
A tearful story
Wiping away it’s suffering
And smiling as you look into it’s eyes
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Moon dreams
You
Me
And a moonlit night
Opened my eyes and it was only the moon and I
With jasmine on the wind…
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Moments
Sometimes I can’t catch a moment and months fly by
And then like dust in the wind it gets right in my eyes announcing it’s sudden arrival
Yet those moments in which I’m lost in thought about my love
Those are the strangest sweetest pains of all
At once the sensation of having no ground strong enough to catch the sinking feelings and then it catch me all the same
Bittersweet nostalgia of all yesterday’s laughter and love swirling above my head
Though time after time I see more and more that is not fragment of memory but a fictitious few seconds of a moment that never happened
I realise now that these fleeting seconds are hope
Hope of days to come when my love and I will chase the sun and leave the lonely nights behind
Those are my most cherished moments
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In time
The following poem is a tribute to my grandmother, who I unfortunately only got to meet once in my life because she lived in Burma and it was nearly impossible at the time to visit. She passed before I could meet her again..
Eyes on the departure board
Tripping on the uneven curb
Kicked up dust ambles into amber hues of sunset
It hits me
As unexpected as the last time
Yet familiar
The same swell of feelings, teasing each other, daring each other to unleash all they remember
In that plume of dust, the curb vanishes
The phone in my hand morphs into a tattered passport
The train station dissolves in a blink and I’m now seated, looking over my shoulder at a hazy figure, gradually diminishing from view
Sweating in the heat of this rusting old car, I wipe my brow, for I must see
An acrid smell of petrol distracts for a moment; a moment too precious to lose, since the distance will only grow now
Fighting against the bumpy road, I crane my neck further still
I can see her hand gently waving, as she takes another weary step into the dust trail left behind.
The same gentle hand that was a stranger to me not long before this moment
The same hand that somehow became the safest, warmest and most giving that I can recall
Her hand
That had nothing to give me, yet gave me more than I deserved all the same
Her hand falls to her face, as her face falls into her shoulders
The weariness of age played it’s part
Yet there was more to this dejected posture and faltering of steps than my young mind would allow itself to believe
She knew this was the last goodbye
Time would not be kind enough to wait for her
For any of us
Alas I was naively convinced that time was immaterial
Just a vessel with man at the helm
A plane, through which we chose our paths.
As devoid of purpose as a road with no-one to tread it
I was mistaken
The humble warmth of her smile belonged to time, as much as it did to my own memory
My memories, belonging as much to time as to myself
For in time they will fade
The distance between the memory of her and the present will only grow now
More dust will be kicked up as time moves forward
The finer details of her face will be lost in the haze; her touch will remain but the texture of her hands will elude me
Chipped away by the chisel of time; all that will survive is her essence
The only eternal amidst the flecks of forgotten memories
Now the dust trail fades, as her silhouette is swallowed by a fast rising sun
I have to relent and turn away from this abrupt blaze of light
The sun draws closer and closer until it rushes past my face with a howl and suddenly my train arrives.
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The shoes with flashing lights
Mum please
But they’re so cool
Look they flash!
Mum, don’t be so cruelYou have thirty pounds
I saw it in that bill
When you counted out the coppers
For the lady on the tillRed lights mum, look!
Please mum don’t be tight
I won’t play footie in them
I won’t let them out of sightMum why do you look sad?
Is it because you want them too?
Cheer up mum come on
You never get me anything newI won’t ask for anything else
Even on my birthday, nothing…
Yes! Thanks mum your the best
I knew you were only playingSize 3s please
In white and blue
No-ones got these
I’m gonna look well coolHold on
Why did you put that handbag down?
You said you saved up for it
Mum, that’s why we came to townOk, how do I look?
Mum? Don’t you like them?
They’re well mint
That handbag though..
You’ve wanted that since way back whenWhen I wanted the lion king video
You put the handbag down
When my bike broke
You put the handbag down
That time I wanted Gregg’s
Again you put the handbag down
No mum,
Not this time aroundThat handbag is nicer
It brings out your eyes
I want to make you smile mum
You always say it’s ok
Though you tell me its wrong to lieI wish I was that kid again mum
I wish you never had to lie
Mum you did so much for us
Yet we never even tried.
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Forgotten
How sad the way it fades
Once cherished moments
Once inseparable
Once at oneSo it is and so it remains
An insignificance of history
A blot, barely a mark in time
Its last breath lost in the breezeYet in every breeze I recall you
In its chill I feel your embrace
Arms I cannot remember
Hands I’ve long forgotten
unsent draft messages 