Yes, they I revere
As their image appears
And I recall as the memories flow,
For they are my present my past-
And for as long as I last-
My future -
And all that I aspire to know.
I see them still now-
And retrieve them somehow-
And never shall I ever let go.
At first I view them all barely,
As I try to meet each squarely
In times that I wish to renew,
But try as I do,
Only this recollection can I hang on to
it's the one which I elect to review.
In my memory I hear clear
(though it's been many years) ,
A free-borne, raw cry,
Yes, my Readers I'll try not to delude-
as I see this fractious brood-
In a close-up,
panned through my mind's eye.
I turn towards a report
(as they continue their hi-sport) ,
My indulgence of them oh! so condign.
I view them in silhouette,
these things I don't yet forget) ,
From a place and a moment
that's focused in time
It's my snapshot, my totem-
my road trip, my modem-
My barrage, my amber in time.
Clearly now do I see them,
And gladly receive them,
As their present turns into my "past".
I hear their giggle and laughter-
It's just what I'm after-
As I view Jill
and her 3 brothers at last.
Yes, I've caught them at play
(and so see each on this day)
On this morning it is baseball
My shot is of Jill rounding third,
by Steven's imperious word-
In a memory-clip
That I wish never to lose.
Amidst cat-calling brothers,
each kinned to each other
At me she pointedly sues,
I don't know what is sought-or even what I bought-
she repines to me:
"Goody, goody two shoes! ."
The boys now are at loose rudder-
and all in a flutter-
For this competition
has become more than a game,
Not knowing whether
to stand by their sister
(or a conscripted hapless mister) ,
Whom I believe they believe their sister
Has scurrilously defamed.
Soon above the great din
Each realizes it's no grand sin-
Each individual's intent is to win.
But not at the cost-
nor at the great loss-
Of the 'outing" of this Jill
So we stand and shamefacedly we grin-
our faces chagrined-
Not knowing to whom this game was let,
For the bell has been rung-
and like a clock that has been run
The day is near done-we're at sunset.
Oh! I still cling to those days-
Each like a favorite drunk haze-
Fluttered leaves dappling on the ground.
My memory, thank God, still fallow
-for this soil ever hallow-
And so never-I think- should these film-strips ever raze.
Rather their sonorous sounds shall track through every maze-
And like cymbals they'll always resound.
So on this day when I was overtakened-
And my memory was re-awakened-
I now giggle a guffawed- sortie,
As I see all the casting-I'll know ever lasting-
That I will closely clutch at this scene
Yes, with redolent insistence-
that's come with a penitent's persistence-
(And a lucky roll of the dice) ,
If today's memory once again gets rising
I shall pan my past horizon
To harvest this prized morning of my life.
And I will recognize my Ascension-
And hoped for Redemption-
That to me ever abounds,
With a chortle of patter
-and sybaritic laughter-
Overhearing my cousins' artless-and stentorian- sounds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem