Sammi’s Weekender #226 (yard)

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My Fantasy

Like old, faded white, torn, photographs
faces with names I forget, family
I never met. Dead people still
physically and mentally part me.
Memories. Pulpy puzzles without pieces.

Forgotten years of backyard child’s play
where I fell for the girl next door,
Tootie, older than I at three or five,
my first fetish. Desires I never
understood or confessed till now.

Grass, dirt, fences, porches,
clothes drying, neighbors.
My first snowman.
I remember her name,
how I felt, nothing else.
No Tootie photo.


Look both ways.
The past equals no future.
Mind the gaps and fill them with memories of whom.


 

Sammi’s Weekender #219 (vivid)

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Vivid Memories

That first romantic kiss.
Nights in the wilderness
sitting by a warm campfire.
A mother’s smile, a daughter’s laugh,
the soft whispering voice of a lover.
Our child’s birth, your son’s success.
The smell of a grandmother’s hug.
That first buzz, never found again.
The gift of a young pet. The sadness
and loneliness of a beloved’s death.

Muffled lonely sounds
on cold snowy nights. My first bike.
A thing well done. Disappointment
overcome and rewarded. A road
less travelled. A baby’s accidental
soft touch. Moments in a lifetime.


Look both ways,
to the future for the young,
to the past for the old.
Mind the gaps but live in today with hope and happiness.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #175 (megalith)

 


Megalithic monuments to our past.
Cold stone can’t heal broken hearts,
replace shattered dreams, give life
to memories of the dead.

When will truth
replace our human greed, when
will we ever learn? We see and hear
what we want
with blind eyes and deaf ears.

Why even ask?


Look both ways for life.
Mind gaps in memories, lest we lose what we have.

The Vietnam Veterans Memorial with the Washington Monument Washington, D.C.

Sammi’s Weekender #156: home


It’s more than just a place
more than just some people,
more than loving others,
or being loved by them.

It’s more than all my memories,
more than sights or sounds,
more than tastes or smells,
more than what I’ve found.

Is home more than where my heart is?
Or where I hang my hat?
Is that where home is really at?

Is it true, as they say,
it’s not where I should stay,
never shall I pass that way again?

Maybe so, maybe not,
maybe home’s a feeling,
I felt somehow once before,
something just like that.

Like when I thought I knew the score.
Home, the best place
I’ve ever been before.


Look both ways if home is where ya stays.
Mind the gaps in floors for traps, never can we go back.

Sammi’s Weekender #151: Keepsake


It says,
“Sambo.Richards, Duck Pond, PA”
(northeast of Scranton)
on a keepsake;
a dog tag probably,
all the d’s are backwards.
It was my mother’s,
and I have others. Some
were my grandfather’s
who was quite the handyman.
I never knew Sambo,
nor my grandfather.
But I knew Mom.


Looking both ways,
keepsakes are memories,
sometimes not our own.
Mind the gaps. History is there.