The Memory Pool (In A Pinch)

[captainrad88]

We are young lovers,
wise-beyond-our-years,
dreadfully inexperienced,
burped forth
from
the moulds
of old souls,
we without a house,
tho we share quite a home,
you 'n' me
and a cherry blossom tree.

We're in a band called
'The Hardened Romantix',
and we gig at all the dives,
and all the kids dig our jives,
and sometimes,
on stage,
we catch the other's gaze
and we smile
like the cat that caught the canary,
like the tooth who left with the fairy.
We're gonna hit the elusive 'big time',
and last its test,
like rock & roll juggernauts,
rhythm and soul astronauts;
we will be [around] for years to come.

Sometimes I
melt in your hand,
like chocolate,
as you smooth my rough edges,
and influence
my poet's voice,
'til he is drunk on your teachings;
and as I stumble
over sleep's edge
I hope we wake early enough
to see the sun at its brightest,
to see that happiness happens.

Our house is full
of the pool of memory,
and its waters are sweet,
and taste of strawberry milk--
or whatever flavour you decide
is your fav' of the day.
And when I see them
I must pinch myself,
because we,
the sleepyhead, hearts-of-lead,
made it.
We made it in a pinch.

Thick with memory
intwined,
like life somehow attained meaning,
as though things that were bothersome
faded
like old chalk lines
on pavement;
and I breathe memory,
and I touch you
to build new ones
(and because I want to),
and pinch myself,
me, the grumpy card-playing walrus,
the always-gonna-be-alone French mime,
and any other character I may've played
over the years,
when the hurricane of sad
followed me from town to town.

There's our wall
lined with photographs,
encrusted with memory,
like thorned vines
snaking,
overlapping bramble,
burying the ordinary,
and painting it pastel,
because that's what I said I wanted
back when we were dating.

The photos are like a vortex
that pull me through time,
you, with your outfits of the centuries,
with your brown hair..
blonde hair..
black hair..
me with long hair, short hair,
suits, ties, shorts, jeans,
our love at parties,
our love on holiday,
our love mobile
at any destination we brought it to.

And I'm smiling the jester's smile
because these photographic fossils
accumulated--
they celebrate
more than I can remember,
all of those nights we spent,
and of those places we went,
and they are our lineage,
our bloodflow,
and they remind us
that the life we've lived,
..and often enjoyed,
..and sometimes ploughed through,
..but always learnt from,
is rich
and full,
like in all the famous proverbs,
and all the sunshine postcards.

Memory is our hardhat
from depression's
storm cloud and reigns,
its my every songbird
and every lyrical refrain,
my every chisel in the toolbox.
And I pray to write poetry
with a disconnected mind,
because our memories
become smokey
inside father time;
I love you so much
it makes me sick,

it even makes me god-damn-rhyme.
_________________
The life that you have narrated.

http://www.myspace.com/captainrad88

[captainrad88]

Um, *bump*

I just remembered this poem, totally forgot it existed, and selfishly really wanted someone else to read it. It came from such an earnest, cutesy-wootsy happy place, that I just really wanted to share the good vibes.
_________________
The life that you have narrated.

http://www.myspace.com/captainrad88

[dekecds]

Cap'n I will say it again "I always like your work". This time there are some comments. The general message, or story if you will, seems like you and I like it a lot. There's a big buuuuut here. I think you mixed in some old fashioned concepts here (which is good), but, the execution (via language) didn't work to your advantage. So, for the record: Content = 10 , Conveyence = 7 , Execution = 4 (sorry). Overall I still like it though, and it does pull on my heart strings.
_________________
- Hug a dingo today