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Memory Lane...

Foul wind, takes me back
Mind never dusted
Cobwebs collected
Memories busted

Scenes twisted askew
I just can't think
I don't comprehend
Muddy waters, I drink

Yesterday's gone
Where I don't know
Down the road, I fear
Oh, where did you go?

Memories of sunsets
Nights of black sky
Lucy and diamonds
Breathtaking sighs

Whispers of love
Hide in my ear
Who is that voice?
Can't remember, I fear

Mind's eye has gone blind
I'm trapped in a cage
No place for me here
I lash out in rage

Cool hands hold my head
Wipe the sweat from my brow
Singing me love songs
Much calmer now

I still tremble and shake
A little bit weak
I now have direction
To the memories I seek

You are the one
I remember it now!
To have and to hold
I remember those vows

You never falter
Take care of my needs
I've left you alone
And now your heart bleeds

Cry me no rivers
I've gone on my way
But...We'll meet again
I just couldn't stay

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 


Well done.


I was on fire with this one and just roared right through it. ~ Gee

Come to Chat on the Darkside
every other Saturday night 8pm to ?
Bring your dark and delicious work
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author comment

Geez, one of your better poems, but most definitely sad. I have no suggestions to offer. Even proofread it I see. Not a mistake could I find.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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that it could have been sadder, it was written right after I read the latest about my mother-in-law on face book. She has Alzheimer's and in a nursing home. She doesn't remember her children who visit most weekends. She was a very intelligent woman who loved making ceramics [of which we have many]. We used to go to New Hampshire to visit every summer for a week on vacation. She was a gracious hostess and we loved being there. I have very good memories of those days. Playing Yatzee and Scrabble during the long, lazy nights of summer. Those days are gone and with it the woman we knew. We don't get to visit much now, because our car isn't the best and we don't like to travel that far in it. We did get there last year and she didn't remember my wife or me. Sad, to say the least. Thank you for the kind words about this work that I blasted out in about an hour. It just came out, without much hesitation. I guess that sometimes all the work is done, in just getting it out.
I have a regular fare that has a husband that has Alzheimer's and she takes care of him at home. She says that most days, he is angry and she sings to him some of the old songs that they used to listen to and he calms down and sometimes remembers that she is his wife and he says I love you too. I put the two of these stories together and came up with this. ~ Gee

Come to Chat on the Darkside
every other Saturday night 8pm to ?
Bring your dark and delicious work
to show.

author comment

why? because its unique from the other
this is a walk
a definition in this poem story
that rolls in its word transitions
and explains without explaining
and gives reason
to something
that cannot be
the mystery of

was working on apt
the bitter half
(I m the B half)
cause I dont know
muh daddi
was on my ass to get
this done..
working on apt and
singing Hank Willians
"I can settle down..and
be doing just fine..
until I hear those freights
rolling down the line.."
back before the world
got leaner meaner and
crazier..people could
hop an old frieght
find an old job
and many still can
and many still cant

what is it one looks
the Want
almost as good as
the Why

that hunger
that scratches
into action the lope

I settle
far from easy
its an uneasiness

like those old games
you tilted from the gumball
or wherever...had the bbs
in em..who needed cell
phone games then
gravity boring car rides

the chrome bb through the
maze..the bearing through
the tilt and turn walls
to the drop

Im fifty three...
I am still alive
my job Is to be me


I guess everyone gets something different from a story. I'm glad that you got something from it. I wanted to express the feeling of an Alzheimer's victim, and I think I succeeded. ~ Gee

Come to Chat on the Darkside
every other Saturday night 8pm to ?
Bring your dark and delicious work
to show.

author comment
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