This Old Scribe

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