PROMPT #211 – “AND I QUOTE” – INSTALLMENT #1
The “AND I QUOTE” prompts will take a quotation from some random person of note and be the basis for our poetry. We’ve used this idea to some great effect in the past, so if it ain’t broke…
Today’s quote:
“If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this
thing is to be remembered.” ~Edgar Allan Poe
You are asked to write about something you’ve forgotten. Write of something you wish you could forget. Or write a memory that has stayed with you for a long time that even “without a note,” you’ve remembered.
MARIE’S MEMORY (OR LACK THEREOF):
SCATTER BRAINED
It’s not so much in the forgetting,
nor even in the retrieving.
See, it’s in the connecting.
Though my brain is smallish,
that which is stored
here,
is far too often not perceiving
that which is stored
there.
The nerve!
Apparently my data is shy –
certified tongue-tied.
Unwilling to bond with
or respond to
the other facts and files
in my brain’s adjacent aisles.
They may as well be miles apart.
Oh the trials that stem
from data that scatters.
It matters.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
WALTER’S WISTFULNESS WONDERING:
ON FORGETTING TO FORGET
My memory is dotted with crisp images
that have ingrained into the depth of my soul.
I have no control over them; they lay dormant,
only to bubble to the surface when I least expect.
Trying in vain to relinquish these old feelings,
I reel with remorse, this sad course I contemplate
leaves me silent and still and alone.
And so, I am left kneeling in supplication,
a broad brush of despair paints me.
Pagliacci’s clown cries out from within, making a spectacle
of my mirth and mired muse. My resolution
refuses to take hold; these memories dominate me.
It is too late. Love languishes.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018
This was a perfect prompt to add a third verse to a hymn I’ve been working on. The first verse came to me straight from God. I mean, I was in the middle of writing something else, and the words and the melody burst out my mouth and on the page. Not to say that makes it terrific poetry, but it was an amazing experience!
Verse 1:
Oh what joy is mine, when on Jesus I recline
Trusting in His word to be my all
I on Him depend, He will always defend
Jesus is my all in all
Chorus:
Jesus, my Jesus, Jesus is my all in all
Oh Jesus, my Jesus, He will always answer when I call
Verse 2:
I’ve got mountain to climb, and valleys in between
Times the road ahead will be quite rough
But with God by my side, I shall never fear
Trusting Jesus is enough.
How can I e’er forget all his benefits
Your love has transformed all my tears
I’ve learned to let go, the more of You I know
You always have been, always will be, near
How lovely and uplifting. And how cool, that “the words and the melody burst out my mouth and on the page!” Glad Walt’s prompt “prompted” your third verse. I especially am drawn to your last two lines.
Excellent addition, Darlene. Glad to give that nudge to stir that final stanza!
I can almost hear the music behind these words. Beautifully written, and I’m sure Christ is smiling with every verse.
Love this, Darlene! Does it have a tune?
Remembering is a critical component of a vital faith… “forget not all His benefits.” A lovely hymn Darlene.
Destructive memories crawl on my skin
Creating nothing but chaos within.
Longing to forget what I have lived,
I beg and I plead, no longer believe
that forgetfulness will ever be mine.
But oh for the faith to remember and cling
to the promises of the One true King
In whose love is new life
No longer bound by the strife
of memories that torment and sting.
AMEN and AMEN. So touching, from a beautiful poetic heart so in love with her Savior, and such an inspiration to me.
Standing with you every day. ❤
Indeed inspirational and devotional all in one. Beautifully penned, Michelle.
Love the trade off. He takes our bad memories and gives us His good promises.
Michelle, regret is a constant on this side of life, but gladly He took all our sorrows and shame. They are no longer necessary companions of our regrets. This is a well penned expression of this glad truth.
My heart says amen.
Walt, your piece is emotionally powerful. Wow…
Thanks, Pard. I stumble across one from time to time.
And may I say, the pleasure of working with you again has gone off the charts. I’m finding my poetic mojo again and just like early during the 2009 PAD, you’ve pulled me out of my malaise and have me believing again. Agreeing with you again (big surprise), it matters.
Awww! ❤ And I have to say the same is true of me, with you. Thank you!!
When You’re Four
You’re told
not to run
|
but the shadow
of the moon
can chase you
up the stairs
to where your mamma
is standing
with open arms
so you hide
your wet eyes
in drying apron folds
letting her gentle hand
warm your back
and shush your cries
till she can make
the moon go back
into the sky
and your bites
into warm cookies
leave the only moon
your mamma sees
as she lets your giggles
run down the stairs.
Oh, Patricia … one of the most beautifully poetic and heartwarming poems I believe I’ve ever read. Wow …
Now, that’s a memory! A great children’s piece, but also one with which we can all relate. Nicely done, Patricia!
Wonderful word picture of childhood.
Patricia, love the “stanza-ing” in this, the story of this sweet moment.
’till she can make
the moon go back
into the sky
and your bites
into warm cookies’
I love the format of this poem, and particularly the lines quoted above.
Relief in Grief
Empty pain surroundin’ an achin’ heart
Prayin’ on a chance, we could all restart
Lessons you taught me, on purpose and love
Trust in a Father of heaven above
Seein’ the good of all contemplations
Makin’ the best of all situations
So tell me now why I’m feelin’ so worn
Why my hearts so restless, tired and torn
Relief that you’ll never suffer again
But grief that our kinship came to this end
Our memories can never escape me
Even though I try they tend to shape me
I hear your voice and see you in my dreams
Laugh aloud at our crazy braided schemes
Just when I think I’ve forgotten the pain
Heaven reminds me with the fallin’ rain
Please tell me now why I’m feelin’ so worn
Why my hearts so restless, tired and torn
Relief that you’ll never suffer again
But grief that our kinship came to this end
I wish I could tell you just one more time
I pray for and love you all of the time
A day will come when it all will come true
This old heart will stop and stop missin’ you
Until that time, I’ll just do what I do
Lookin’ for an angel, resemblin’ you
Lord tell me now why I’m feeling so worn
Why my hearts so restless, tired and torn
Relief that you’ll never suffer again
But grief that our kinship came to this end
https://rustymidnightramblins.wordpress.com/2018/08/19/relief-in-grief/
So lovely and emotive. But this is adorable, in my way of thinking:
“Until that time, I’ll just do what I do
Lookin’ for an angel, resemblin’ you”
There’s so much to this poem. Very nice.
So many layers to this piece, David! A poetic prayer to touch ones soul. Thanks for this!
David, a sad hopefulness roll through each stanza here. You’ve carried us on this story of loss so well.
Beautiful, heartfelt poem, David.
I would write of things forgotten if only I could remember them.
#seventeenineighteen
HA! Right? Great 17!
Remember what?
Oh the scarcity of recall. Love it Earl.
Got that right!
The Art of Forgetting
They say a man’s brain resets each night and starts afresh in the morning
We go to sleep and in the deep all is wiped away without warning
I find it absurd that such a thing is in the realm of possibility
At the same time I find it strange that I can’t recall most of yesterday
Is it possible they could be right?
I do tend to forget that which is not important
Or that which is, at the time, not pertinent
I safely tuck away much of the pain of the past
For dwelling on it gets me nowhere fast
But resetting and forgetting is not my thing
I would say neglecting has a better ring
‘Cause when I least expect it, it rears its head
That thing I thought
That I forgot
Comes raging back instead
I can so relate, Earl. But on top of that, I forget things that even ARE important to me. I’d say it is age, but it has been happening since I was young.
Excellent piece, here.
It’s strange the things we remember and the ones we don;t. Enjoyable poem.
I find myself more than “forgetful” lately. The fog gets so thick sometimes. But as far as resetting each morning, I hope they’re right. I hate waking up feeling less bright. A very revealing piece Earl.
IAs need is the mother of invention, priority is the father of remembering. Well done Earl.
Maybe You Should Call Me
I put your name on that list
That list of people in my head
That list I didn’t write on paper
Because I didn’t want to misplace that list
Or clutter my desk with that list
Or lose that list among the pictures
Hanging on the fridge
I put your name on that mental list
Of people I should call, text, e-mail –
Or maybe even write to (gasp!)
I put your name on the top of that list,
That infinite list, growing ever longer
Curling around in my little gray cells
Ending up filed away under ‘Good Intentions’
“Curling around in my little gray cells
Ending up filed away under ‘Good Intentions’”
I can relate WAY too well. 😦
😄
So true..Better to write it down these days.
Oh I know this piece as well! I make lists and forget where I put the list. I have to make a list of the list I make and where they’re kept! Good one, Candy!
Thanks, Walt!
Love this Candy. The clever repitition of “list” relates the panicky feeling of trying so frantically to remember.
Thanks much!
This is why I have things written on Post-Its all over the house. Love those last two lines, Candy!
Thanks, Sara!
Mnemonics
In eighth grade, my reading teacher,
making a point about our memories,
drew the number 8 diagonally
in the top right-hand corner
of the chalkboard. He said,
“You’ll always remember this.”
At the end of the year,
he did it again.
I had forgotten.
But the second time stuck.
It’s been over forty years
and I still remember it.
Now I can’t even remember
what I put in the microwave
a few minutes ago.
And yet again, I can relate. Nice work, Connie!
I can remember what I put in the microwave. It’s remembering to remove the aluminum foil that becomes my downfall! Nice one, Connie!
Connie, loved this. Little tricks help my memory.
There are things from grade school that I remember, but last week is a blur. I think whatever we learned at a young age, was able to stick around longer. Good poem.
My mother’s best friend as she aged worked especially hard on forgetting the difficult and painful parts of her life. Still, when we’d talk sometimes, she would weep soundlessly. What caused it? “I don’t recall,” she’d say, “some silliness.” I’m guessing she did recall and it wasn’t silly at all. I have some of those recollections myself these days. This is a sonnet for Carrie.
Recollection
Something inside me knew what I’d forgot.
Something lay hidden under sheets of loss.
Something so necessary to the plot
of my life that I feel my signals cross.
Sometimes his eyes appear unbidden blue.
Sometimes a smile, a laugh, a hand, a touch.
Sometimes I’m busy doing things I do,
and I am flattened that I’ve lost so much.
Some things I’ve learned have helped me to erase
entireties of memories, youth’s hope,
but sometimes in my dreams I see his face
and wake unlearned of how I am to cope.
Sometimes something inside me shows the way
I must forget to live another day.
Jane, this is such a gorgeous, powerful piece. Exquisite use of my favorite form. You did her justice, I’d say.
Poignant poem, Jane! Great form and rhyme. The repetition carries this. Exceptional!
What I touching piece, Jane. Recollections sometimes fall into our moments and our days when we least expect them. This was well done.
This is excellent, Jane.
Lovely.
Witness, Survivor
When September 11th is mentioned,
whether in conversation or in
a segment of news, I see them.
Those buildings. Flames shoot
out at impact of plane crash.
My building first. Watch it
vanish, crumble into dusty
debris. Every man and woman
on this bus watches in horror,
mouths agape. Second building
falls, people jump from windows.
Sand stark as a desert floor. Only
the beginning of nightmares
to come. I wish I could forget;
I know I never will.
Oh, dear Sara! I can’t even imagine. I see in your poem an awe of sad wonder, yet a bit of a necessary distance. Truly, I can’t imagine. 😦
Thanks, Marie. Yes, there is a bit of distance.
As you must, to survive. 😦
We should all never forget, Sara. But your perspective holds much gravity and splays the pain of that day. It appears that remembering and forgetting carries the same pain. Thank you for both.
Wow – Speechless – Every time I come across photos, video of the day, even old movies where the Towers are still standing – takes me directly back to that morning. Can’t imagine experiencing it first hand.
Good point about remembering and forgetting. Thanks, Walt.
Sara, that’s a heavy memory to carry. Walt’s right. Forgetting and remembering are equally painful and cumbersome.
Yes, I find that to be true for me.
Sara, I did not know you were there to witness that terrible sight. You have shared so well in this piece how tragedy sears us, brands the soul and mind.
Yes, by the grace of my Bassett hound, I was late for work in Building 1. Thanks, Damon.
Thanks so much to you all. I truly appreciate it.
It is flash fiction instead of poetry, but just written and seemed to fit the prompt.
Awakened Words – An Agreement
Commented on site. Goodness, Mark … has me in tears …
Mark, your like wasn’t working. It is, now.
So glad you are with us, here!
Marie Elena
Will be heading over to read shortly, Mark. Glad to have you in the fold. And we’re not that rigid that we’d turn away something that has Marie in tears. Your flash fiction is always welcome here as well as your poetry.
An exceptional piece Mark. It’s everything everyone has been saying!
My goodness Mark. What an intimate view of love and remembrance, and the scourge of this life thieving disease we all abhor. But what grace your piece relates in the love response of this spouse to a loss like this. Beautiful.
Unable to post on your site. This is an absolutely stunning piece of writing and life.
Left a comment on your blog, Mark.
Here’s a re-run – posted almost a year ago but fittin’ I think.
Memories and Fence Lines
By David De Jong
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Old memories like fence lines part the field
Tendin’ and mendin’, attemptin’ to yield
Some sort of order and an open view
But after all the fixin’ some slip through
Always checkin’ the strands to see they’re tight
Lest somethin’ wanders away in the night
The older the wire, the less it holds
Tattered webs that break, before they can fold
Old corner post still holdin’ its domain
Half buried in sediment flushed by rain
Overgrown by persistent brome and weeds
Hidin’ barbs, and splinters, forgotten seeds
Once trimmed and taught, posts in a stately row
Garnerin’ looks from last year’s ol’ scare crow
Perfectin’ his stare while feelin’ his oats
Dazed by a reflection of eight old goats
Not sure what was in mind while lookin’ back
Some of the strands are gone and won’t come back
Some stock broke free and wanders, aimlessly
While some tends to linger, auspiciously
Like a trusted horse on a narrow road
Let lose the reins and let him take the load
Instinct will carry you back when you need
Let you see across, give the fence a read
Count your blessin’s if your wire still holds
And keeps your memories between the folds
Original photo and posting here 🙂
https://rustymidnightramblins.wordpress.com/2017/11/07/memories-and-fence-lines/
David, this is great, love this imagery that pulls the reader into the rambling reminiscence.
Love the poem, and oh my goodness that photo! 😀
You do weave a bit of poetic magic, Sir! The imagery is stunning.
Thanks all – the photo is one of my favorites. Snapped by my sister-in-law visiting their son. They walked up to the fence and all the critters came to look. She has a knack for good pictures.
POST MORTEM
You weren’t fixing on leaving,
you had other plans.
But, God laughed
and you were gone. A memory
written ad nauseum,
causing hearts to ache
at each re-telling. Eyes
swelling with tears
laced with fears of folks forgetting.
It’s hitting home the more
distance passes and a trace of your face
flashes in my mind from time-to-time.
You are nine years in passing
and I keep amassing poems
well long after you’re gone.
And I find my life moves on.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018
So true about the distance embedded in time, Walt. A dimension we fight to avoid in our efforts to remember. This was well done, well said.
Sometimes I am amazed to find that life goes on. Lovely, heartfelt poem, Walt.
Thanks Damon, Sara. Life goes on even if only to share this space and poetic words with all of you.
Your poetic words are balm to our souls.
Ditto – Amen – to all of the above.
There was a time when I wasn’t sure that I’d smile again, much less laugh, but time has altered all those memories into joy of knowing him and loving him, and being his daughter. It’s been ten years; it’s a long haul.
We find our strengths in what they have left to our disposal. We make our peace and keep them ensconced in our hearts. My Dad will be gone 12 years this Christmas; Mom 32. Their memories are now pure joy! I’m glad you’re finding solace, Marilyn.
Hugs…
Apologies
He marks the square
on the calendar,
and writes the time and place,
hangs it on the fridge by magnet,
right before his face,
where every day he passes by,
a thousand times and more,
then wakes one day,
and dresses, readies,
walks out, locks the door,
drives miles, and smiles and
says, “I’m here,”, so proud
that he’s on time.
He’s told, “No, not today,
next week. “
With pleasantry sublime,
he offers an apology,
tho really none is needed,
except perhaps a ‘Sorry… ’
to his calendar unheeded.
© Damon Dean, 2018
Oh, to have that grace. a thousand times and more! beautifully forgetful
Been there , done that. Made me laugh out loud – fun read
Damon, I may very well become this character–well on my way. I love the light-heartedness and charm of this situation and the gentleman who lives it. Nice work, my friend.
Right there with you, Jane. 😉
Well written, Damon!
Yes, Damon. What the ladies said! You do splay a bit of whimsy here. You don’t know how much joy you and all of these other amazing poets have brought to M.E. and me by infusing your lives back into this garden. You are all genuinely brilliant.
M.E. couldn’t agree more, Walt. 😉
Damon, this poem’s cadence, rhyme, and lighthearted way of expressing and viewing this situation totally warms my heart. You sure do know how to draw us in.
FORGOTTEN, AGAIN
Vacant stairs,
standing in silence.
Memories
come and go.
Her vacant stares, telling. He’s
forgotten. Again.
Oh wow! Paula, you’ve captured my favorite type of poetry: saying much with few. POWERFUL piece, here. And your “vacant stairs” and “vacant stares”? BRILLIANT.
Thank you, Marie. ❤
He always forgets, but I’m sure his heart remains in the right place. Agree with Marie, you are the master at Shadorma. And your heart and smiles are welcome anywhere. You know that!
Ah…but does HE forget? Or is he forgotten? I’m glad you read it that way…as it tells me that it could be read more than one way…which was my intent when using “he’s” (he has vs he is). I tried to pack as much word play in those 26 syllables as possible.
🙂
Mission Accomplished. You have it and have never lost it. Just let it lay dormant for far too long!
(And believe me when I say, He never truly forgets!)
Paula, your way of infusing this character’s sadness in two simple two word phrases is… master poetry.
Hear, hear!
I’m glad I didn’t forget to come read the prompt, and to post a small offering…because I’ve read some fantastic poetry offered to this prompt. Some words shared we should long remember. I must return to the call of the grant application and the many words I still need to etch into gigabyte memory…so I don’t have time to comment on each poem, though I wish I could. ❤ and 🙂 to all!
Hmm…that entry has misplaced my hearts and smiles for some reason, but I think you’ll see they belong in the last sentence!
It keeps doing that to mine, too. weird. Best wishes for your grant app!
Thanks — and kudos for the FANTASTIC poem you offered as a sample! I loved the word play.
Aww, thanks! ❤
Pingback: MEMORY FADES, LOVE REMAINS – THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART
MEMORY FADES, LOVE REMAINS
He senses he knew her way back when,
but he is not quite sure. Quite forgetful is he,
she is a beauty he had once known. He loves
her, he thinks. But he’s not quite sure. He
seems to show a spark of familiarity. He begins
to connect and then rapidly fades. He hates to
let it show. He loves, then he begins to forget.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018
When he loves, he begins to forget.
~ taken from “A Man In His Life” by Yehuda Amichai
Goodness how lovely and passionate …
MEMORIES IN FLAVOR AND AROMA
In my office I am aware,
there are cookies being baked down there.
I can not see them, but I’m sure
and thoughts of Momma still endure.
I remember Momma’s kitchen
and come November she’d be itchin’
to cream the butter, clean the pans,
and sprinkle flour on her hands,
everything in preparation
for our Christmas celebration.
And baking for what seemed like days
to place her cookies on display.
But, there’s cookies being baked down there,
and their aroma takes me back, I swear.
The missus works from Momma’s book
and that’s the way she likes to cook.
Cut-out cookies – frosted, sprinkled,
made by hands both soft and wrinkled,
Nanaimo bars and ginger bread,
the smell of those goes to my head.
Thumb-print cookies (filled with jelly)
are just the tonic for my belly!
They’re so like Momma’s, I can tell,
by the scrumptious way they smell!
These Christmas cookies are a treat, and
the proof of them is in the eatin’.
I just can’t wait to sneak a few,
and savor every bite and chew.
I call the missus “Momma” now,
and she surely has her way and how.
She takes me back in memory’s pause,
because I am (her) Santa Claus.
So darling, and I can nearly smell the cookies!
Something’s Brewing
© 2008 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas
Following the trail into the dark cavern
of the Unknown, the intrepid
traveler wiggles through the barriers
of time and space
entering the hermitage
The traveler becomes one
with the stillness,
lingering enneadic months
until
the flush of reality
sweeps her into the light
Forgetting all –
she begins again
There you are! I thought you forgot about us! 😉 I’m all about becoming one with the stillness as long as it isn’t long lasting! A wonderful Contribution, Linda.
Oh my goodness yes. Wonderful contribution, indeed.
I’m late to the game again … I had to wait for this one to work itself out in my head first.
A Wander
The idea that I might wander lonely,
be seduced by a ramble,
not in a breathless city, but
to traverse the nature of poetry.
To forget that I am.
That I am.
Well worth the wait, Misky. Wow …
😁
There’s no “late” to this game either, Marilyn. And it’s alway worth the wait as Marie has said! Well worked out in your head and on our page! Walt
Thanks, Walt. ☺️