Category Archives: memory

What will become of us…?

What will become of us…?

They’re on the move

From the romantic hitchhike to the bus terminus

They’re on the move – dodging the traffic

to cross the busy thoroughfare

They’re on the move with rush-hour sidesteps

and train doors closing

 

Strangers in the day and the semi-night

Eye meets eye from time to time

And turning away it wonders why…

 

Some long to engage their speaking faculty

Others speak when not spoken to

It takes a lot

But some – come to that place

Where they will make their complaint

embarrassingly

 

Some see it their duty to give that word of direction

Some fight to do so with interruption and

A fuller explanation

to the lost or stranded holiday-maker

Making their holiday difficult for themselves

 

But now crowds on-hold staying at home

Only a memory – remembered

now a frantic search:

‘What will become of us?’

Jobs gone – future put on-hold

‘What will become of us’ –

as they ease down into the sofa again

Flick through the phone

Flick through the channels

Rising and falling in human mood-swings

Trying to stop time

But it won’t stand still

The inner-life withdraws

To the catacombs of self

Purpose found in identity’s home

No more activity in outward display

No more making money

Identity slipping away

I don’t remember poems

I DON’T REMEMBER POEMS

I don’t remember poems

I – of former full-script-of-lines-remembered

– type person

Standing to play my part as Lentulus

 

I don’t remember poems

I – of former full-on stamping-forward youth

Ready to take the world on

 

I don’t memorise poems –

“Who wrote that I often ask?”

Why – it was KR – me myself and I

 

Written –

it must have fallen unnoticed

Into the back of my folder

 

I don’t speak poems from memory

I have to shy away

All shy within – slipping out of sight

Into the corner – as young men or women

Recite and rant their full contribution

With no page in front of them

 

What memory have I?

Enough to invent more words

Get ‘em down on paper or screen

Speak ‘em out and forget them

But you can glean

Making them what they seem

Or what – you think they mean

 

They tell me there is a diminishing with age

However memory is some old wine

So you’re wrong – it grows in value

What value – a memory brings

 

A softly spoken man – (I’ve met one or two)

Softly spoken – they speak perpetual poetry

Having never written a poem

 

But am I too soft in valuing other things more

When freely distributing my text at the drop

of an asking voice?

Help me or help me explore…

 

The hypothesis that:

Friendship is greater than words

Even though writing them we cannot ignore

 

I don’t store –

up – poems in the recesses of the mind

I get them on the white shore –

safe from the stormy blast

Paper – that ancient reciprocal of lyric or text

Still lends it’s hand as a bank-vault-archive

Pinning these thoughts down

But don’t ask me to extemporaneously repeat them

I won’t make the effort to write them on the heart

 

So in all of this subject matter

In danger of being a major made out of a minor

I have given my explanation as to

why I stand with this page

Let’s just say ‘on page’ is what I want to do

Unimpressed? –

me too

Reminiscing in Rest

REMINISCING IN REST

In my youth I used to paint in a tension-filled expression of emotion.

The clock would ‘disappear’ into the early hours of the morning, as I couldn’t let the painting go, until the home straight was reached.

Likewise starting tasks of whatever kind and staying with them until they were completed, with no rest until finished.

So tasks may be important – but in what inner condition of heart and mind – do we carry them out?

In the Christian context – with years, comes maturity, and an entering into greater spiritual rest.

Christ offers, the child of God, rest from our turmoil.

John 14:27

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Hebrews 4:10

10 For he who has entered His rest has himself also ceased from his works as God did from His.

And so, as the material ‘clean-up – clear-out’ I have engaged in, continues – I do it at a leisurely pace, stopping to reflect as prompted by the writings of differing kinds, that I had filed away.

Writings I haven’t looked at for quite some time.

Reflecting on the past, sometimes fondly, and at other times with a sense of disappointment.

One of the things I came across was an article I wrote for the local newspaper. A report of my visit to the training centre in Germany, mentioned in my last post.

Also I came across an old ticket for a Bob Dylan/Van Morrison concert, where I had my one and only foray into photographic journalism, representing the same newspaper.

I almost got my camera confiscated, because the word from the platform was that – no photographs were to be taken.

Van Morrison allowed a ten minute ‘snap’-time, when all photographers came forward to take shots.

But Dylan (or his people), prohibited the taking of any photos.

Whilst taking a photo from a distance, even though he hadn’t appeared, I was affronted by a certain lady accusing me of being deceitful, and that I should not have taken any photos.

Suggesting that I hand over the camera. I wasn’t going to do so as it didn’t belong to me, it belonged to the photographer for whom I was the stand-in.

So representing the newspaper for the first time, and unable to take photos?

Strange.

I have the ticket memento, but won’t tell you how long ago it was 😎.

Next I came across old email addresses of old friends or acquaintances – and wondered ‘where are they now?”

Looking back – I reflect.

Looking forward – I anticipate.

Here is marching orders from Paul the Apostle:

Philippians 3:12-14

12 Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. 13 Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, 14 I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Spring clean continues…

SPRING CLEAN

In the midst of this spring clean session, I’m engaged in, regarding all things written. Notebooks, polly-pocketed sermons, old CD’s, books, old letter copies – trying hard to be radical in dumping and shredding.

I couldn’t help smiling at the idea, the analogy, of the drowning man. They tell me everything of our past life flashes before us.

Well many things that I have come across have had that movie re-run effect.

Old birthday cards kept. Old schedules for evangelistic trips. Old Cd’s given free with bought newspapers – later bought in charity shops. Old manual from a training school in Germany, where I met my Dutch wife to be. Old instructions to go with old mobile phones, cameras etc. Dvd’s of converted videos of my children when young.

And so on and so on.

It’s an affliction I reckon I have inherited from my parents.

Hoarder extraordinaire.

So I continue to clear – but this is only in my house. What about my art studio/shed? I wouldn’t know where to begin.

I can honestly say I have never set my heart on owning a lot of stuff.

And there is nothing of great financial worth in my possessions.

But thank God I have treasure in heaven. In fact I have been blessed with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ.

He paid the price to supply free of charge all He has for mankind. To the whosoever will – He gives eternal life. And it starts now.

Flesh and blood will not inherit His kingdom – and there will be no hoarding problems.

Matthew 6/19

19 “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; 20 but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.

Ephesians 1:3

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ,

1 Corinthians 15:50

[ Our Final Victory ] Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; nor does corruption inherit incorruption.

My Mother

MY MOTHER

Over and above and beyond

Anything I have ever seen

 

I hear her again saying:

About – above – according to

Below – beneath – betwixt

My dear mother of

19th April 1919

 

She stood in-between tall and small

She rested and dozed and smiled

And admitted

I’m falling asleep

 

Gasping for breath

Her breathing routine

Deep breathes to inhaler press

Gaining her equilibrium

 

Hanging clothes on the clothes line

Mangled-through with dexterity

Dinner for the man

On the table

Gulped down by same

 

Everton mints on a Saturday night

As they took in – on the black and white

 

Another shirt ironed

On the treadmill of being a wife

 

My mother

A gentle spirit all my life

Impressionably irretrievably indelibly…

IMPRESSIONABLY

IRRETRIEVABLY INDELIBLY

Those were the days of my youth

You can’t change it

Turn yourself inside-out

And you can’t change it

The years have fallen like a pack of cards

And will not be put back in place

We have shuffled through time

And we find – ourselves

Emotionally –  irretrievably

Visiting our past

And gluing these memories

To six vinyl records, one old kaftan,

a bunch of magazines, a hippie hat

And a partridge in a pear tree

Long-grass ‘hippied’-through

With laughter

As the persistence of memory

In flights of fancy returns us to longing

And embracing of new faces

Time is the enemy that stops us

changing places with our by-gone’s

We can’t change this clock

The time in this watch is set

To go-off some place else

Other than fair memory-gatherings

Of moments of youth

Couched now in emotion’s hand

All generations have been similarly effected

And similarly are unable to retrieve

The experiences of the upside of life

It was all possible in those days

When music played its anthem to

Our manifesto of taste

And we – all-heads-together agreed

Speaking and talking the same language

This persistent movement of time

Will not allow us to return

Our wonderful days are gone

Our bodies creak with age

Our minds revisit but cannot visit

The days are gone

‘Things ain’t what they used to be’

But impact has been made

Indelible is the feelings returned to – 

These are the springs of youth

That linger in old age

The highlights of the journey

The best sought moments

Are the best thought moments

This is so strong – tight rope walking

Between hope and melancholy

Still we cannot reach the past

We cannot go back

Though back we would go

In a minute

If only we could

Our life consists of this

But shining brightest and

Strongest of life’s sum

Is what got – into us

First time round

When our teenage minds

Opened like flowers

to the possibilities of a new world

Always sought – but always gone

In a moment

Grasped – but slipping away

I can only tell you of what I have found

With feet firmly on the ground

Affections set on things above

Full provision for the journey is made

The past and the future

No longer memories to make

In the future eternal now