if i could bring the moments back

if I could bring the moments back,
the pictures frozen there in time,
we would be laughing in the snow
that now falls only in my mind.

for you were lovelier than all
this cold and wintered heart has known;
and i can see, unfaltering,
the love and grace that lately shone

from out of your once smiling face.
enthusiasm pure and clear
in moments that i treasure now
that you have gone
and i’m still here

This is a prompted post.


“No one remembers the former generations, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them.”

Part 1

Cruel laughter rings
Around a five-year-old boy

Look at the little baby!
He carries a teddy bear!

And tears appear in the eyes
Of the young, confused boy

And the toy bear

Part 2

She was a lithesome seventeeen
Wanting to leave girlhood behind;
He was so handsome, quiet, forceful
He filled her soul, her heart, her mind

Giving herself to adult pleasure
Finding too late the price of lust;
Violence breaking out in ruin
Having a baby, broken trust

Young single mom setting up a nursery
Worn teddy bear for the baby’s bed;
The only gift that his father left him
So many things must stay

Part 3

His mother died when he was only six
He had no father that he’d ever known
He set off with his grandmother to live
Some other place, with everything unknown

His only friend, a tattered sewn-up toy
The house smelled funny, all his tears were spent;
He hugged his only friend up to face
Just trying to recall
His mother’s scent



The sun is setting, I must wait
For somebody to rescue me;
My memories, both slight and great
Won’t do, in any small degree

The service of empowering me.
The courage that I sorely need
Is distant as the Summer sea;
And I’m unsure how to proceed —

But yet: entombed and vacillant
It is, at last, the common fate:
We live as in an avalanche
We wait alone


A Sonnet on Wealth

The cost of living shackled…

In truth, this kind of prompt’s wasted on me
For I have all I want, substantially
I can go where I will most of my days
But get quite little from prideful displays

Of pomp or wealth. These things bring comforts, true:
But also bear a price as all things do,
The cost of living shackled to one’s gold
To rise and fall as it does, and grow old

In knowing every place you go’s for show.
The vanity of life that all can know
If ever money takes at last its pawn
A soul that’s wasted, then forever gone

And so if all resource to use was mine
I hope that I’d leave most of it behind

= = = =

(Note – I realize this is cheating and doesn’t answer the prompt. I also realize it makes me sound nobler than I really am. Take my word for it — I’m not.)

These Secret Dreams

To give me all I want.

For years these secret dreams my very waking soul would haunt:
To make me into someone, and to give me all I want

But in my dreams, as I’d approach my conquering of all,
I’d walk out for my great debut into an empty hall

The life I wanted then: of glory, riches, fame and lust —
Would prove to be mere vanity; just empty air and dust

I wanted then whatever things to me life could commend:
Not knowing without purpose, I’d get nothing in the end

For life’s more simple – and complex – then I back then suspected:
For purpose, to be meaningful
Must be


(inspired by this interesting idea.)

Aunt Diane

Whenever family heartbreak came
The problems big or small;
We all would call my Aunt Diane
Who could sort out them all

She didn’t know of hatred and
Advice she gave but spare;
But all of us would go to her
And she was always there

I reached an age, however
Where I would stand on my own
And though my troubles came in waves
I never used the phone

To call my Aunt Diane because
I was my own damn man;
As years turned into bitterness
And new heartaches began

Just yesterday, I got the call
That she had passed away
I saw her this last weekend
On my daughter’s wedding day

My Aunt Diane I somehow thought
Would always just be there
Because, in pride, I wouldn’t call
She’ll never know
I cared


The Introversive Way

A brief primer on introverts, for you extroverts out there.

The extrovert, whose daily life
Seems naught but dull routine
Will seek adventure when they can
Amidst a crowded scene

For people give them energy
That work just drains away:
And so they need excitement
When they get a holiday

But me, I am an introvert
And people make me tired;
It’s not that I don’t like them
It is just the way I’m wired

So when I get a holiday
From busy working life
I will go someplace peaceful
By myself, or with my wife

For yes — I do like travelling
But don’t like hue-and-cry:
I like to sit and watch the world
Just watch it
Going by


(Inspired by this prompt.)