Can you recall this poem's text, its rhythms, themes, and rhymes,
Or will they leave you quite perplexed and vexed in future times,
Such that you struggle with each word, each phrase within each line,
Though by this challenge, new thoughts stirred, by puzzles such as mine?
I've written poems by the score, yet can't recite them all,
Perhaps I'll write a thousand more before my final fall.
I can't recall I've written this. Is this my first time now?
While some say ignorance is bliss, I can't agree somehow.
A pensioner recalls a lot, yet yesterday's a blur,
Like pages missing from a plot that I meant to occur.
Time goes so fast, each day flies by, like dreams that come and go,
So what's the point in asking why when some things we can't know?
Sufficient, then, the memories that often come to mind
Of pleasant times of joy or peace that let us each unwind,
Yet videos and photos prove reminders now and then,
Such that blocked thoughts begin to move with tales of way-back-when.
So use those precious images, protect them one-by-one,
And cherish them as your bridges to memories of fun.
Life passes like a flying kite, or like a shooting star,
Be thankful when each day and night, you know just who you are.
One day, I saw my father lose his way when we walked home,
Within his world, without the clues, went onward still to roam.
I made him stop, turned him about, then called the doctor round,
The fault, of course, beyond all doubt, yet cured once quickly found.
The longer I can stay just me, the longer I feel glad,
Regardless of that memory, what happened to my Dad.
Denis Martindale. March 2021.
Friday, March 26, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: memory,reflections