Here is one of them. Not sure what made me write it--perhaps an old man sitting on a park bench or memories of my father?
I hope you'll enjoy it!
The Old Man and his Memories
He always walks the same
street
stops at the same coffee shop
sits at his favorite table
looking lonely and somewhat
bored
Today is different; today his
eyes
accentuated by the blue hat
are deep and longing
he scans the sky
as if he heard the spirits of
lost friends
converse with one another
somewhere above the evening
clouds
He’s holding a long-stemmed
rose
a perfect bud of red with
white tips
who knows which young girl
took pity on an old man
quite decently dressed
alone and possibly ill
the blotchy skin
one edge of his mouth
drooping
and the hands unsteady
signs of a past stroke
Perhaps he’s thinking of that
night
he walked along the beach
of the flecks of gold on the
horizon
of his wife, long dead,
who used to love sunsets
of his married daughter who
lives in France
and the grandchild, a girl
with long dark hair,
who sends him letters in
French
he barely understands but
delights in anyway
I don’t have it bad
he probably thinks
a place to live
a few friends
you can’t ask too much at my
age
an occasional phone call from
overseas
the usual invitation to come
and visit
We’ll take you to Paris
didn’t you always want to go there?
No, not anymore, not without
his wife
it would be too sad to always
be reminded
how much she would have
enjoyed it
more than he who’d really
rather stay home
but he would have gone to
please her
but now there is no reason anymore
His daughter and the family come
to visit
once in a while for a few weeks
the young girls passing by
the coffee shop
remind him of her; she used
to have long hair
braided the French way
Tonight, perhaps, he’ll sort
out
the old photos in the
cardboard boxes
and stick them into albums
which he had been planning to
do for a long time
only to abandon the task
feeling the life flow out of
him and settle
in memories of past
adventures
past loves
Sometimes, before falling
asleep,
voices from within the
bedroom walls
convince him that someone is
still alive there
He’s smiling now
a slightly crooked smile
one corner of his mouth
pointing upwards
the other one hanging down.
Revisiting old bits of writing is always a good idea. I´m glad to see you are doing another poetry anthology. I love The Old Man and His Memories poem. Well done and so poignant.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Darlene, for dropping by. So glad you enjoyed it!
DeleteI enjoyed reading this! Hugs ♥
ReplyDeletesummerdaisycottage.blogspot.com
Thank you, Summer, and thanks for dropping by!
Delete