Archive for the Nostalgia Category
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Book Jacket Manifest

It begins with Love, something felt
A rush of warmth
Afternoon… bitumen
A classroom exercise and[!]
We’re paired to dance
[Here Comes Your Chance, Girl]
Summon the Cool, pretend to chew
Chewing gum, casual
Punctured by a giggle
Oh so nervous: a darling demonstration
Young, heart-pumping, bright eyes
Clearly-
you’ve no idea!
Our Hands linked, clumsy feet
[perfection, really]
My direct gaze
[Dare not look away!] …savouring
This boyish boy, this spunky spunk
With well-know initials
in the margins of my workbook
And blue pen on my palm
A childish act; deliberate
As if it could manifest
– shoot out from the hands into existence.
I stand straight; straight and proud
Thankful for this time, my chance
Over the other pretty girls
with braided hair and lunchbox sweets
[low ponytail, my golden apple]
The boy stands, moves,
Moves as I do [or tries to]
This dancing girl
Actioning the Feet, Playing Cool,
all while Making Note
The Mind Camera – click, click, click
and memory preserved
locked, wound-tight
for the unravelling later, when
The Writer emerges to fan the fiction
Alone in my Room
There, I summoned You
My fantastical creation
The narration of events
[not quite] rightly so
The promise of a kiss
I replay, my theatre
Lips to hand, soft, pretending
It happened [!]
With the same conviction
looking for the Clover
in a green blanket of possibilities
[one I knew didn’t exist]
[but looked for nonetheless]
So that it might grant me
Just one wish –
Might these Day Dreams
be as Night Dreams
and exist in the waking morning
the Desired Events [obsessively nurtured]
Played out beautifully, as rehearsed
Over and Over and Over
You knew, [of course you did]
[or at least, you do now]
that you shared
a name with the King
The King of Horror.
Musing-
Perhaps that influence, Now
This joy in fright
Travels down the spine
The scare – such a delight!
And skipping life’s pages
Present-
A bookshelf
and browsing book jackets
[my proud collection]
Here!:
The name reminds me
Back then,
Back when-
the girl was quick to blush
You were the first boy
…the First Crush.

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Word Porn, Scorn

While we’re on a roll
and the prose flows
I am reminded of old poems
I wrote in my teens
Awkward, not particularly good
but of course, at the time
I thought they were magnificent
and read them loudly, proudly
to anyone with an ear
But it troubles me-
I have to wonder, now
will I feel the same
about these words spilling out?
will I cringe as I read
what I presently believe
to be good?

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Everyone Owns a Scar

Sometimes, quite times
The swinging pendulum
and rivers running
Blood rushing
Under the skin, growing hard
Rough. Marked. Tough scars.
These are the life lines
We write about, talk about
Show others, one another
The life lines
Of time, ticking time
Ticking by.
A story, known only
By the bearer, the wearer
The perfect thing,
Before the first years
Perfect skin
Soft, gentle
A trip, a stumble,
A cut, a burn
We accept, unchangeable
This harsh contrast
And there comes the pain
Onto oneself, or
A gift from another
Received
Always remembered
When it marks,
Perfect skin, now only
A perfect memory
We remember the way
It used to be, before
the line was made
The swinging pendulum
And the rushing river, crossed
Sometimes, quiet times
We think of all we’ve lost.

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