My sister is a fussbudget
I am shocked.
Why do you call her that? I ask.
She worries about everything.
She is fussy about everything.
Like what? I asked.
She fusses over recipes, they have to be put in an order.
What kind of order?
She has them color coded and alphabetized.
Which one?
Both.
She fusses over a piece of lint on your shirt.
She can talk about it for weeks.
There was a piece of white lint on Leland’s shirt.
How can anyone talk about that for weeks?
I don’t know, she replied. Do I look like a fussbudget?
He had a disorderly mind.
She had an ordered one.
She had cerebral files,
binders,
alphabetized answers
for every occasion.
He would come to her
with questions
like - what-do-you-call-it
and who’s-his-face
and whatever was the name of
some thingamajig or other.
She would calmly dig into her mental
folders, data banks and dossiers
and supply him the correct
precise response or comment.
He would hurry away
holding her answer tightly \
in his loose
fumbling, bungling
and forgetful mind.
Then she would happily turn
to her main purpose in life
which was torturing little animals
and laughing maniacally as she
listened to their screams.
Content I was to be a frog,
Devouring dusty dragonflies,
Exposing eyeballs by a log,
Floating 'neath sublime summer skies.
Now I'm a Prince alphabetized.
Memories carried through life,
Are kept safely in our minds.
The little section of our brain,
Called Memories For All Times.
Memories tucked safely away,
Full of wonderful times we've had.
Categorized and alphabetized,
So we can recall them -- at any time.
The sensor on this Memory Bank,
When alerted has instant recall.
The miniature librarian kept on-hand,
Is waiting for your call.
The moment the alarm sounds,
That a special memory is needed,
The emotional team jumps on board,
In search of the memory for this deed.
The team starts running around,
Causing a headache indeed,
While clambering about like a scout,
Searching for the key, no doubt.
The team inquires, is she happy or sad,
Mad or contrite, is she flipping off walls,
Or only stomping the floors.
I think I got it-- she's lost her love.
Should we send in the clowns,
Or recall some happier times.
Let's send in wonderful memories,
Of happier days in time.
She'll be back to herself again,
Making new happy memories,
To lock up tight in that memory bank,
Called Memories For All Times.
©2014 by Lee Christine Brownlee
Memories for All Times
Memories carried through life,
Are kept safely in our minds.
The little section of our brain,
Called Memories For All Times.
Memories tucked safely away,
Full of wonderful times we've had.
Categorized and alphabetized,
So we can recall them -- at any time.
The sensor on this Memory Bank,
When alerted has instant recall.
The miniature librarian kept on-hand,
Is waiting for your call.
The moment the alarm sounds,
That a special memory is needed,
The emotional team jumps onboard,
In search of the memory for this deed.
The team starts running around,
Causing a headache indeed,
While clambering about like a scout,
Searching for the key, no doubt.
The team inquires, is she happy or sad,
Mad or contrite, is she flipping off walls,
Or only stomping the floors.
I think I got it-- she's lost her love.
Should we send in the clowns,
Or recall some happier times.
Let's send in wonderful memories,
Of happier days in time.
She'll be back to herself again,
Making new happy memories,
To lock up tight in that memory bank,
Called Memories For All Times.
©2014 by Lee Christine Brownlee
Each moment of Now dissolving
Into the murkiness of yesterday eyes
Perched upon the epochs pinnacle
Vision thickening passes times shadow
Beckoning out in desperate timbre
“Hold!! You forgot me…”
Eyes lamented in sorrowed rapture
Alphabetized memories recalled
So alive themselves I hear their pulsing
Rhythmic upon calloused palms I hold
Almost warming within hollowed pupils
“I am still the same man…”
Nemesis steals closer bawling my name
Ravaging my essence of early life’s vigor
Weighting my shoulders with Atlas’ burden
Slashing my face with a gray bloodied dagger
The looking glass reflecting all that I am…
“What have you done to me…?”
Hushing winds…
Time laughs onward
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