Sweet sensation of sandpaper?
A vision of music?
Can we hear an apple?
Listen to the appearance of my kitchen?
Do my mind’s eye, ear,
brain, mental imagery
all fail at times?
Instances could creep up.
Can I know?
Can I see merely in this mind if
I do not see by eye?
Can my mind hear if
there is something that cannot be heard?
Fingertips could lie.
It could be in my gut,
a sensation there rather than
seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, tasting.
Do we feel aphantasia?
Can we see what we should hear?
Hear what we should see?
(22 Aug 2024)
MOURNING IN AUTUMN
Autumn’s honey leaves,
dripping from oaken limbs,
orchestrating full-foliage hymns.
My mind cleaves to the safety
of an alluring season, of
sticky sweet aplomb,
amidst the calvary of
mainstream assault -
of ears, eyes and mental imagery.
Bullets splayed in pews,
not in gorgeous hues of fall -
crimson red of Autumn-dead.
God bless the fallen,
truncated on a Sunday morn,
a timeless change,
heavenbound,
after the ringing of a hellish bell.
I wish you well and well again,
may hope abound in your mourning gown.
11/4/2017
I am scrubbing the floor at 3 am
with every swipe
I think your name
once held so dear
The floor now shiny and clean
muck and mire all washed away
dawns pale light
contrasts what swirls in the
mop bucket of my mind...
dirty thoughts
snarling biting
clinking tapping
cluttered stairs
tripping falling
edge of night
blocked out Sun
fighting light
erase unwanted
tumbled jumbled
spit stained name
corrupted in my head
ringing clanging
banging to be free
so in the silence
kill these words
before they kill me
M S 7/20/15
footnote: while it's not possible to make spit stains unless you're tobacco chewer it was only my mental imagery of how I did feel about this person.. I have since mentally set this ruined relationship aside in my head, but the pain still lives. Short of a form of brainwashing I guess there's no escape from remembering lost loves.
Who is my reader? My reader is my guest
In the secret of his corner of host
He welcomes me as an instructor or tractor
In the sector of her golden mind
She listens to me as minister or tax collector
Who is my reader? My reader is my leader
My reader is my adviser, my redeemer
Transports me from writer to author, messenger
Elevates me from speaker to preacher, immortal
Promotes me from player to director, instructor
My reader is my uncle, my reader is my anchor
In the dark street of his solitude, altitude
He accepts me as nephew or follower
In the cold corner of his addiction, condition
He sings along with me as inmate or soul-mate
Fight me with ,his muscles brown, wrestler
Read me with her avid eyes full of tears, lawyer
Who is my reader? My reader is my listener
In his mental imagery, he scans me between lines
He portrays me as storyteller or fortuneteller
Scrutinizes me between my words, inspector
Who is my reader? my reader is my provocateur
Who is my reader? My reader is my challenger
My reader is my mother,my reader , my mentor
my reader may be a writer,my reader is my printer
I could see it off in the distance
it beckoned to me, an oasis for the parched
offering honey and the sweetest wine
a promise to fill for a lifetime
the closer I get the further off it seems
a haze that dissipates in the midst
never quite able to grasp, to taste
to finally drink until I'm quenched
the vagueness, the mental imagery
disappears, eluding me
It brought such memories, memories when I was a kid
It reminded me of all the things that I did
Storytelling, it's such an ancient art on
channelizing events in which our family gives
voice, sounds of laughter, sometimes by embellishment
It exists in such class, beauty, and astonishment
It's so legendary, so antiquated, existing as long
as humankind has had a nomenclature
It can be of a mental imagery...
It tells us life as it took place!
Every single family has its legends, and a storyteller of that
It has the magic of the soul, which flows through the mind
It goes way way back 10 times a dime beyond time
Although that story may not be happening at that
point in time, just visualize, rewind time back to the mind's eye
Vindicate what remakes today as yesterday before
tomorrow of the next day...
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