Sarah Hand Poet Free verse

The Tune

Leaves are falling once more. 
Remembrance is trickling and passing across
a respectful but not inevitable thresh-hold.
Not today please, I’m not ready so soon. 

I can hear the sounds of my memory song
although the words have faded. 
Time clocks up the price
and the cost – like memories, become dearer.

Others impose their versions
And twist and reshape the truths
Until the recollections are infested. 
I’m still panning and filtering through the precious dust.

If I’m being too self-assured, believing
That the flavours were once truly complimentary,
It’s only because I can’t taste them anymore.
Incandescence and essences drain away like rain. 

What was the light like?
Imagination and reminders play tricks.
These are distant, sacred things that deserve respect. 
Hidden from view, the roots are rusting.

Breezy, lapping drowsy reoccurring  
pains and pleasures that fray and trace and
entertain me with pretentious style.
Like storing breath in invisible vessels.

Can you remember the last snow?
When have we ever really found time?
Locked in little corpuscular prisms,
Soundless pumping, slipping away like lost stitches.

Some sort of emotional rescue from imagination,
A colossal void filled to overflow.
Racing thoughts competing in patterns
And linking in reverse

Shining little mirages
So arresting in front of my eyes,
Coaxing me to play inside.
Another reunion with my beloved father

Come back and delight me again.
Awaken me with secret nudges.  
Covertly I’ll feed from the contentment
While we hum along to the tune.

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James Inman October 16, 2016 at 10:11 AM A wonderful tribute to your father Sarah. Memories a curious things that are never stagnant. They change with our perceptions of how others remember. and ebb and flow as we examine our relationships with the those we remember.

Freddie Robinson Jr. October 7, 2016 at 3:02 AM A gorgeous, simply gorgeous poem, Sarah. You wrote this w/an inspired hand. Beautiful poetry. The key, I've found to having truthful memories, is to rehearse the things that loved one did, which brought so much joy to you, while they are still living. It will be forever ingrained in your mind, no more false memories that fade w/time. And what was that tune y'all were listening to. Just curious. Love your work as always, my dear. Love and more love to you and yours. Sarah Hand October 7, 2016 at 5:11 AM Hay Freddie thanks for your very kind words, it's great to hear that my poetry is ok! The tune is many things; it is the flotsam and jetsam of my father's life in my memory, it's the song created as I carry him with me through my life, silently experiencing everything I do, for him. It's the tune you hum that makes you happy, that always returns when you need to hear it in your mind. So much more than a tune xx

Robert Warlov October 2, 2016 at 9:01 AM The objects of our love seem to be outside ourselves ( extra-corporeal? ), but they are what truly shape us. We Can't lose them. His voice is intricately intertwined in your song.