SuziCate's Musings

Posts tagged ‘memory’

Almost Lost


I used to know the warmth

of your touch and the fire

burning beneath your eyes.

Thoughts turn cold as time travels

like a train without destination.

You drift from my memory

like sand through my fingers

as I gather you in a bucket

to carry within my soul.

A Trace

Montebello wildflowers 072


Whiskers in the wind,

A slight tickle on the skin,

A lasting memory


A single snapshot


in a moment of space;

zoom in, shoot.

Which angle will you frame?

Will you manipulate the image?

Will you crop or cut and paste?

Oh, the choices of post processing…

Memory is a funny thing.

Here’s what you see,

but what is really there?

Doing It Over

One step at a time

I follow yesterday’s stairs

Still I wind up here

Making Memories

Marked by lines of time,

we leave shadows of our lives

long after we leave


A cruel world it is

to be thrown beneath the ground,

forgotten by time.

A name on a slab,

Does anyone remember

Mamie lived here, too?

Portrait Of Grandmothers Past

This is my first attempt at a sestina poem. With the subject I chose, I found it very difficult to accomplish the inclusion of each of these words in a designated order in each stanza. Maybe next time, I should chose a simple subject.

Big Mama was independent, her spirit soared like the wood stove smoke
All she had, whether sewn or grown, was hers with the work of her own hands
I remember her sitting on the porch fanning herself and swatting flies
She’d wipe her sweat with a wash rag and wring out the water
The faux pearl flowered pin bobbed upon her ample, drooping chest
while her words of “Wild Irish Rose” in my heart still echoes

Granny Sally rocked into the dark to the beat of Whippoorwill echoes
She weaved her words of family lore between rings of tobacco smoke
She always had children at her ankles and one sleeping against her chest
soothing their skinned knees and aching hearts with her leathered hands
and washing away the soil and pain of each day with soap and water
looking at birds in the sky, she never knew it would become a place man flies

Granny Annie would head out with her horse in which ever way the crow flies
through the mountains and over the creeks she followed her peoples echoes
delivering babies and setting bones in return of a chicken or a cup of cold water
She was quick and stubborn, known to storm off in a temper of rising smoke
but she had a gift, she carried miracles within the bones of her aging hands
In a land of poverty, she was rich as she courted courage within her chest

Lizzie entered marriage full of a young bride’s love without a hope chest
and young she stayed, never knowing the quick movement in which time flies
Through her many descendants, her melody of selfless, ageless love still echoes
as one can still witness the love in her life and the work of her youthful hands
She held her husband and children close as death blew her dreams up in smoke
Her memory was as necessary to each of them as daily intake of food and water

There was the other Grandmother Annie who carried the invisible jug of water
from collected tears of losing so many she loved, the pain held within her chest,
pain raging and unpredictable as wildfire that left her standing in a cloud of smoke
One never complains when the busy needs of life and children around her flies
Through every tribulation she persevered; her strength through the years echoes
Life gave her lemons and she made sweet lemon aid with those loving hands

Ada smiled as she tended her beloved marigolds with patient, gentle hands
She dug up the dirt, spread out her seeds, fertilized, and sprinkled the water
The golden petals of beauty warmed her heart just as a ray of sunshine echoes
she prided the orange, yellow, and crimson hues, nearly bursting her swelling chest
she cut the family’s hair, wiping the day on her apron realizing how each day flies
though she loved deeply, she merely existed beneath those mountains of smoke

With no great accomplishments I realize I am all mirrors and smoke when I scrutinize the work of my own hands
Each one has gone on and my own time flies, so I look for pieces of them in me as I reflect upon the trickling water
I ponder the family history with the rise and fall of my chest, and my life stretches before me; it beats and echoes


Sestina Formula

Often dealing with memory

Six stanzas of six lines each, completed with a seventh stanza that has three lines

Six line stanza is called a sestet

The three  line is called an envoy or tercet

Lines can be any length, with no rhyme involved

The form is that the final word of each line is repeated throughout the poem in a specific pattern

Formula of ending line word

Stanza 1: ABCDEF

Stanza 2:  FAEBDC

Stanza 3:  CFDABE

Stanza 4:  ECFBAD

Stanza 5:  DEACFB

Stanza 6:  BDFECA

Stanza 7:  ABCDEF  (this last stanza is only three lines instead of six; each line has two end words per line. The first word is in the middle and the second is the final word of the line.  While any order of end words is acceptable in the final tercet, this is the traditional order.

The Haunting Of Memory

I stumbled on the path

Where heart and soul converge

On this mountain I have climbed

In search of your fragrance

That lingers yet in the marrow of memory

I did not find you here

Nor in the valley below

I called out your name,

Left my breath in the wind,

Hoping you’d inhale me again


The stone I skipped across water’s edge

Spelled the letters of your name

Yet I did not see your face

Smiling back at me

I only tasted the salt

Of your life in the tears

I still shed for you


Though I felt your thunder

Roll off my back

When the world turned the other way

Still I look for you and

I see your face in the clouds

On this crystal clear day

I scream out one last time

Praying the dew of my lips

Will moisten your mornings once again


*****Inspiration is a funny thing…this poem was inspired by listening to this song.

 One Shot Wednesday

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