Long Long as i can remember Poems
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We have this weathered old steamer trunk…it’s been with Deborah and me
for as long as I can remember…since we became a family.
Since that moment all those years ago…for some reason we have sunk
mementos of things we want to remember into that old steamer trunk.
From today traveling backwards to our grandchildren, our children,
to the moment we became husband and wife…
It is filled with a cornucopia of memorabilia…
A loosely layered mixed-up roadmap of our life.
Over the years so many mementos and keepsakes we have laid in there to rest
that somewhere along the way that old steamer trunk became a treasure chest.
We had a few items we wanted to put in our treasure chest
this summer we picked up overseas
and when I opened it I was immediately hit with the aroma of memories.
I sat there for a while…dipping into memories…reminiscing…having fun
because it’s like after I’m hit with the aroma of Deborah’s cookies…
it’s hard to stop at one.
When it was time to leave our treasure chest of memories…I admit it was hard to stop
but I took the ones from this trip and set them gently on the top.
It’s getting harder and harder to close our treasure chest of all the memories we share
because with each new memory we add…there’s not much room in there.
But after adding the latest memories…one of the things about this treasure chest I most adore…
is, even after a lifetime of memories made together…there is always room for more.
As long as I can remember
came Christmas cards in December -
my aunts back home to thank.
With best wishes at yuletide
and always tucked away inside
a cheque from Barclays Bank.
Looking back as I live and muse
on Boxing Day I’d gamble and lose
on some pony my bet to lay.
In the birdcage or at the tote
my losing ticket stubs in my coat
but I’d be back on Cup Day.
Playing poker and alley pool
on our summer break before school
cos that’s what gamblers do.
Or with my aunt cash on my way
for a brand shiny new LP to play
off I’d go to Record Rendezvous.
And from the Sweet Briar fairy
came a birthday card in late January
just a few short weeks hence.
Which was a master stroke
for by then I was always broke
and it made all the difference.
As long as this heart of mine
hearkens a carol at Christmas time
or money to pay what I owed…
I’ll remember a season’s joy
and all the many cards as a boy
I got from Sweet Briar Road.
Written: January 2018
The old tree has long been felled,
And you need to know the ground
To find the last few signs of
Sunken family grave mounds.
The graveyard is now full
And it was thought for the best
To find some virgin ground
To lay villagers at their rest.
For as long as I can remember
This was a special place to me,
Legs sprawled along the grass
Back against the old oak tree
That had clawed its way, I thought,
To tower miles and miles high.
I could look through its branches
To see framed pieces of the sky.
This was the oak that overhung our roof,
Sighed and whispered and chatted away,
On and on since ever since I was born,
Never silent for very long, night or day
As it played and teased
And worked the breeze
In a chorus with
All the other trees;
Behind me the work noise from uncle’s forge,
Sounds that changed with the time of year,
Working blacksmith sounds
Normal and reassuring to hear.
To my left the grave of my granddad,
Dead long before his time
Killed by pneumonia
Aged just twenty nine.
Well before I was born but
I hoped he knew it was me there,
Knew I helped my dad each year
With the graveyard’s care,
Scything the grass
Carrying it away
To make little piles
To turn to hay
Which dad sold for a few coins
Not enough to pay all his work
But a little extra, a sort of
Seasonally needed perk.
We hoed and shimmed the paths
To give them a cared for aspect.
A gesture from the living
To show the dead respect.
I only remember sunshine
Those many hours I lay there,
Sunshine and birdsong
And crystal clear air.
It was my special place to sit and think
Where I was always at peace and ease,
Amongst the friendly family shades
And my beloved singing talking trees.
In the three preceding poems I penned quite recently
I wrote how I was thankful for my house, my friends…my family.
But house and friends and family are mere words that by themselves have no appeal…
What gives them their beauty…their allure, their significance…is our ability to feel.
I’m thankful for as long as I can remember…from the time I was a boy
how I could feel…happiness…pleasure…ecstasy…awe…excitement..joy.
I’m thankful for my confidence…my pride…my self esteem…
for my ability to imagine, to wish, to hope…to dream…
And though I am truly thankful for all the wonders listed above…
I believe I am most thankful for my ability to love.
Love is a magnificent creation…an incredible gift…for it has this wonderful ability
to enhance the way we feel about ourselves, our house, our friends…our family.
The fact we can feel love…in all its forms…both big and small
is, perhaps, when you stop to think about it…the greatest gift of all.
But the ability to feel…as wonderful as it can be also has a darker side…
It opens us to feelings of sorrow and misery…feeling we can’t hide.
It stands to reason…if we have the ability to feel joy…we will also feel pain…there will be tiimes we bask in the sunshine…and times we must endure the rain.
But I have found what makes the joy more joyous and the sorrow go down more easily..
is our ability to love and to feel the love of our friends and family.
So this Thanksgiving when in your house…with friends and family…convening….
rejoice and remember it’s our ability to love and be loved that gives our life its meaning.
Love can to make a house a home…
It connects us with friends and family…
it can energize…soothe…and heal
which is why this Thanksgiving…as I do every day…
I give thanks for my ability to feel.
For as long as I can remember
Me madda was de head voodoo club member
She taught me how to make love potion
To mess with der woman emotion
So me meet dis lovely girl
Seeing ‘er, give me a mighty trill
Me make a love potion I confess
From a piece of ‘er nighty dress
Mix it wit da loose hairs I find spare
From me teet and ‘er underwear
Put a drop a me sista’s joojoo
Me perform de dance from de club voodoo
Throw in me madda’s secret potion
And give me girl as a hand and face lotion
For a year everyting sweet
Me girl an animal love treat
Until one day I notice de hair
Growing on her hands and ‘er face
De one me puck from me teet and her underwear
She look like she not from de human race
‘er back bend, knuckles drag upun de floor
Der woman get a whole lot a chunky
She want me twenty five times a day, me sore
Each day me see her she look more like a monkey
O’ Madda your potion no work, why you lie?
Your son he been abused, he sore and he cry
Dis woman ruin your son life
He wake up to find she is his wife…
I want that skin to skin
Hands wrapped around him
Under his shirt
Hug love making
Tongue and lips verb vibrating
I want someone who I can stare into their eyes
Get lost, become entranced by
emotions someone feels for me
Continuously jolting my heart
With our exchange of electricity
I want to be electrified by your touch
I want sparks
I need flames this I know as much
I'm tired of being cold with only words to keep me company and console
I dream of
Warm reassuring hands on my shoulders when I am anxious and overwhelmed
Or little
Thoughtful gestures of acknowledgment
Of the love between two souls
Hopeless romantic
This is something I don't often tell
I look solid.
Strong enough, alone. Solid, a boys girl
this much I've grown to know
I appear to be able to light my own fires to keep myself warm
Pat myself on my back
And just keep moving forward
And you all say
She always finds a way
Yeah, because no one does that for you
This I learned the hard way over time
I just can't get it right
I stopped searching for someone else's light
But nothing came
Nothing but cold nights
And that kind of diminished my light
Searching or waiting for love,
I never could keep
So, I have been just focusing on me
They said that might help
But I've been focusing on myself
For as long as I can remember and hell
Prince charming could just have well ridden right past me and off this delusional hill, and I was probably so busy focused on focusing on myself
Oh well
I'm tired of waiting for someone to break this lonely spell
I want to melt into someone's arms
Not shrink inside myself
I am all I have
This is a lonely thought as well
I feel like I dubbed myself
The knight and shining armor of my own hell
Chasing after a magical creature to kiss and break this spell
Water describes a stranger while blood describes a family member
This statement has been around for as long as i can remember
When it comes to different situations why is this statement used
When the truth is when you're in need of help your family has refused
Family isn't the the blood it used to be because its been watered down
Its selfishness, lies and money bringing all families to the ground
There's constant argument and not getting along with one another
There's fighting over the inheritance of their almost dead mother
There's competing between siblings on who's better than who
What happen to sticking close together the way your mother has taught you
A proverb says friends are sticking closer than a brother
So really there is no such thing as blood being thicker than water.
I had bought my first pair of glasses
I stood at Egertorget
I could see the castle clearly
I could see the train station clearly
I couldn’t see clearly before
I had followed her to the train station
I had given her a ring; a ring to bond us
I had given her a key; the key to my apartment
I had given her a letter; «turn around”
I knew she had made up her mind
That this was goodbye
I didn’t like it
Indeed not
I would miss her
Really
I went lonely; home
Grateful
I passed Egertorget
I looked towards the train station
The night train I had seen; leaving
Red lantern fading
I looked at the Freia clock; been there as long as I can remember
We had looked at rings; in the goldsmith’s windows
I looked at the entrance to the metro; we had walked those steps
I looked at the people; around me
A street singer; surrounded
A grey-haired man selling roses
People moving; signs of love; kisses
I could suddenly see clearly
Other people’s happiness meant something to me
I hope she is happy
I hope she is loved
As long as I can remember,
I have felt my mind was fundamentally different.
Unreachable.
It mirrors the terrifying abstraction of deep space -
an expanse defined by infinity.
The human brain is hardwired for boundaries;
we demand a genesis and an apocalypse,
a defined start and an ultimate end.
We instinctively recoil from the truth that something can simply exist
without precedent or terminus.
That nothing preceded the cosmic void, and nothing will succeed it.
To contemplate an existence without borders
is to stare into an abyss that refuses to be known.
My mind operates in that same silent,
unreachable forever.
I never let you go, I never even tried, I looked at you once and the whole world died.
Confided in what we call our own, yet you were the only person I had ever called home.
You were put under my story, the ink never wrote your name,
but I know anything different would never be the same.
A lover to choose, yet there’s always something to lose, I love you, still.
Perhaps it’s not the first day we met, but every time your eyes gaze mine, it’s like we have just met for the first time.
That same rush, that same skipped beat, that same fading frown, in a moment of fleet,
the movement of the heart, the hidden smiles, the distant spark, it’s all been you.
For as long as I can remember, from the unplanned meets, all the way to last November.
It’s always you, forever, I still say that even if it is prohibited we be together,
though I may need you like the moon needs the sun, I always seem to forget that you have already chose someone.