Email Poem

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Poem

I took a self promised tour back in time, to many years ago
   paying attention to the words upon a page and how they flow 
an inspirational yet persuasive reprimanded guidance of grandmother 's sage,
   thru the effervescent phases of my restless, antagonistic youth,
   the tear-stained children's disappointments and regrets of newer truths;

moments in a lifetime that remain embedded forever unaltered
   where my memories grow vaguer and begin to falter -
   protected within the heart, the soul and often frayed mind
I have become grandma now, wiser, older, kind
  recovered in dreams with a fine point pen, blue ink on every line.

Once blank books, paper, yellowed and tattered with flag torn corners
  guide the hand to remember time gone by, the years of this sojourner,
barely legible writings, dates and images, old picture sketches, 
  black and white photographs marking spots in time living on the edges
  existing with poor transient visionary escapades in life's pledges,

imperfect poetry tweaked to more prose then meter or rhyme exhaust
  recalled lasting remnants of the shadows cast by a desklamp lost
  where each experience continues with a precision never to be denied;
a record of this older, wiser, aging  scribe, 
   surviving and writing, quite well and still - quite alive






for Craig Corbish's contest
The Old Scribe
using words: pen, grandmother,fryed, desklamp
6/29/2020

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