High, dry memory throws up:
a tying of knots in a tent in a house
(which reminds me of music in grade 3
and Mrs Whatsherface with the immovable hair).
Moments of wander (or is it wonder?)
sprinkle my memory like some hopeful
seeds scattered in the zephyrs of tomorrow.
“These moment will haunt you later in life!”
a voice whispered then, which only reached me now.
(I really do not know if I’ll ever feel this moment again).
But blackjacks appear out of nowhere
(yes, that’s what we called them!
they stuck to our socks and pants
like memories we don’t want)
and suddenly I’m back:
waiting for my Dad to drive away,
with a heavy feeling inside my tummy I didn’t understand
(until I studied Psychology much later on).
Or that time, etched in black trauma,
of being betrayed for believing someone’s pain
or trying my best but not succeeding.
Gentle, gentle, over the top, boys, mighty Gentleman!
You know not what lies ahead.
My soul is dressed in black today
as I attended another one
and my anxiety is back
(I can feel its kneeding in my chest)
and I’m blinking to keep away tears.
It’s a dusky dawn of drain,
my thoughts of care just a stain.
I walk around mute
but it’s loud inside my mind
with thoughts of this and that
how maybe I said something wrong
or didn’t do enough
(despite knowing I did more).
But I lower another one
into the cold, hard soil of memory:
Rest in peace, what never was.
Rest in peace.
Looking at a rainbow
their backs are to the sun,
and this is how it is:
departing wasn’t fun.
He to the far cold east
and she to the glum west.
Separate paths for separate souls:
relationships pose the hardest test.
She felt something weighing her down
so she searched her heart’s pocket
And there she felt something gold:
while he, afar, cried holding half a locket.
So who doesn’t have time now?
Amid the pandemic.
Alongside the hours:
bodies moving slowly
in small spaces
going in circles
like second hands
on a weathered clock
hanging on wallpapered concrete.
“When I have time,
we can make plans.”
“Hello, can I help you?”
“Hi, yes. I’m looking for…”
Measured in loneliness.
Seven autumns have passed
much like dreams forgotten
Renewal: cyclical hope of change
illuminated by colourful explosions,
a simple wish from crying eyes.
“Please, hear me.”
Sometimes it arrives
like an unexpected flowering
in the middle of a dry winter.
A chance encounter, but brief.
Yet beautiful enough to sustain hope.
Click on the link below to access a PDF version of notes, questions and a memo for completing the square on quadratic equations:
Completing the square – Notes and questions
It’s the opposite of loneliness
but you can still feel alone in it
where wispy word won’t cut it
clear, no. It just won’t do.
Sometimes it just isn’t enough
and the cravings for something else overpowers
And nobody knows what that something is,
Is this the place affection comes to die?
Will it lie here, lapping the tears away,
while the void expands
like those black holes?
Anti-matter matters much.
What to do with an empty bed,
and a full heart that feels hollow?
What to do?