Method To This Madness

Once the year concludes
I will be as different as jellybeans
from jellyfish.

I am happy when a day ends.
I will never relive it.
Not even in summer reruns.

I swept up all the wasted time,
but there was not enough
to create even a single dust bunny.

My mind let out a ball of string
so I could follow my thoughts
through its decision-making process.

My mind dropped the ball of string
in the middle of a dark forest
where wisps of fog impersonated ghosts.

Now I have misplaced my glasses.
How will I follow my breadcrumbs?
No. Wait. I have a string to rewrap into a ball.

What if the dark forest is where
memories go to be forgotten
or eaten by bark beetles and termites?

I guess forgetting myself
is the first step in changing who I am
and wiping the slate clean

in order to write a new story line
where the numbers add up
and I clearly remember what I experienced.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Bearing

I think about leaving.
as I sit against a witness tree.
It is all about staying.
It is all about this beloved earth.

I sing time into a fog.
I feel memory unwrap from my being.
As I waft away from gravity
I know memory is the tether that holds me here.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

All The Same Size

I lived in a line.
It was sequential.
There were no do-overs.
I tried a do-under, but that didn’t work either.
Tradition made the line a little less visible.
Singing turned the line into a landscape.

Memory made copies
of small line segments.

I could sort them last in first out.
I could sort them first in first out.
I could create a totally random access.
Like a deck of cards, I threw them
and picked them up one by one.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Freshness Date

I was thirteen.
I was fourteen, fifteen and other numbers as well.

I wanted to live them out of sequence.
An unwritten rule prevented that.

Every human face I have ever known
wears several ages simultaneously.

I am sure you have noted this phenomenon
and wished your eyes sparkled like when you were ten.

Some dates within the calendar of my years
are larger than other dates and my mind returns to them regularly.

I have laid in bed thinking about some of those
mostly because those dates demanded it.

Last night I reviewed sitting low among the rocks
high up above the clouds on the Spanish Peaks

and calming the dogs as a thunderstorm arced lightning
across the tops of the clouds a hundred feet below us.

That was thirty years ago, but the ozone
smells as fresh as if the percussions rumbled through me now.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

Sequential By Date

I hope you thought
my hesitation at greeting you
with your name
was me simply
searching through
files and files of memory images
to locate one
with your face
that still had the caption
printed just below
the color field
in the white border.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

postscript

I am one of those people who will remember your face for just about forever, but has trouble attaching names to the faces. It is not a problem with people I see regularly, but with the folks I run into infrequently.

I would like to say it is an age issue, but I have had this problem for as long as I can remember.