What I remember,
When I remember,
Becomes intensely urgent.
It might be a love or a song
Or the scent of sweat on a shirt
Or a light
Or a mist welling up from the frozen lake.
It’s reality I think, this feeling,
But it’s not real reality.
It’s reality awash in past emotion.
And it makes me immobile.
And I sit still and stand it,
Sit still and fight it.
Sit still and then accept
That it once was.
And then it passes
And I can breathe and move again.
May 27, 2015
Beautiful poem.
April 13, 2015
An evocative and sensitive piece, the poem goes to the heart of memories and the land of emotions to which we travel on their willing, thorny shoulders. I once more hear you speking as I read. Thank you for sharing your talent of holding up a magnifying glass to the spirit.
April 11, 2015
Marvelously beautiful, it flows with assured guidance from a deeply talented and sensitive artist.
April 11, 2015
Good gosh, thank you. Hannah
April 11, 2015
I’m finally dipping my toes again into the wellspring of life and your lovely poem helps a lot. Thank you.
April 11, 2015
Glad to have you back.
April 11, 2015
Very nice, Anne. It touches my own memories. Thank you.
April 11, 2015
I guess it’s universal. Only the young escape but that’s because they haven’t had enough time on earth yet.
Hannah
April 11, 2015
Well done!
The temporal catastrophe, according to Old Tom, might be even more pervasive:
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
April 11, 2015
“Burnt Norton by TS Eliot. How dare I think along the same lines? But we aren’t alone, Tom and I. Many others have worried this subject. Thanks for the great reference. I had to look it up but that’s good for me.
Hannah