Poetry Blogs (Memory)

The mornings we spent laughing
with eggs and bacon
and cups of sweet tea
because we didn’t really
like coffee yet
and with flour on our faces
because we were making pancakes
and you decided to start a fight

These are some
of the warmest places
in my heart

It´s so sad
I can´t remember
what kind of tea you liked

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Nothing is more permanent than memory

Cast-iron files of pain locked in your head

The mind gets drawn back to errors and loss

Magnetised by things you should have said

Torturer is chief is villainous hindsight

Squatting by the guillotine with a smirk

Chewing over all those might-have-beens

In lost chances where grief and loss lurk

Even in dreams we face the angry ...

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In the ruins

Of my temple

My fireplace

Once in control

Reminiscing

My warmest kiss

In the arms of

My arsonist

To face new growth

Beyond pardon

The path across

Burning demons

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My Mother’s Kitchen

I’m in my mother’s kitchen

It’s a Monday afternoon

The oven’s heated up the air

The buns will be out soon

Everywhere there’s an aroma

Of cinnamon and spice

An apple pie sits on the table

I’m waiting for a slice

A black-leaded coal fire

Does it’s best to dominate

The heat and the smells

That the baking permeates

An old fridge hums...

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I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair. *
She’s so sweet and loving.

I’m good looking for a man of my age,
with handsome gray hair – what there is of it – 
that girls like to pat like they pat a pet dog.
I can’t wag my tail like a dog, 
but I can flash a sweet smile.

My wrinkles portray character 
and the wisdom that comes with age.
Skin cancers between wrinkles 
betray my time ...

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Darkest days

Be my brightest night

When I felt that sun glow touch

Emanate from your soft smile

Coldest wind be the

Torture of my skin

While your love seals me in

The violet of the dawning sky

The scarlet of the new sunrise

Is all I feel when you’re nearby…

Wait no…

This is but a memory…

Grab my heart and never let go

Do you remember that ...

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