My Poetic Path

My journey…shared in poems, prose and photos.


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Revisiting…Fading Memories

It’s a cool, dreary Thanksgiving Day, here on Vancouver Island.

This poem and photo came to mind this afternoon, again and again.

Thinking of all those struggling with these heartbreaking issues. Sending hugs. ❤

Your efforts ARE appreciated.

I know….because my mom so poignantly told me that, when I needed to hear it most, many years ago. 

My Poetic Path

She sits in the diner, far from home.
Lunch rush over.
Blessed quiet restored.
It’s Tuesday, “her day”.
A crosstown bus ride, now a secret and special delight.
Away from the caring but claustrophobic family.
Still time to look back on happier days.
Trying to hold on to precious, fading memories.
 
The hours to savor, often still hopeful and good.
But too many others, a haze of uncertainty and doubt.
For now…
She will cautiously guard her fragile independence.
If only for a while longer.
Keeping them guessing.
Or so she hopes.
 
Where did the time go?
When did the children grow up to rise above her?
Knowing “what’s best”.
The mother becoming the child.
The child becoming the mother.
Trying to do their best..
Of that one thing, she is sure.
 
She grasps fervently and desperately to the time left.
To revel in these sacred moments alone.
Savoring her own thoughts.
Not willing to give…

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Fading Memories

fading memories
She sits in the diner, far from home.
Lunch rush over.
Blessed quiet restored.
It’s Tuesday, “her day”.
A crosstown bus ride, now a secret and special delight.
Away from the caring but claustrophobic family.
Still time to look back on happier days.
Trying to hold on to precious, fading memories.
 
The hours to savor, often still hopeful and good.
But too many others, a haze of uncertainty and doubt.
For now…
she will cautiously guard her fragile independence.
If only for a while longer.
Keeping them guessing.
Or so she hopes.
 
Where did the time go?
When did the children grow up to rise above her?
Knowing “what’s best”.
The mother becoming the child.
The child becoming the mother.
Trying to do their best.
Of that one thing, she is sure.
 
She grasps fervently and desperately to the time left.
To revel in these sacred moments alone.
Savoring her own thoughts.
Not willing to give up without a fight.
Or without a backward glance.
 
Her time alone brings other thoughts too.
The hard ones to contemplate.
Regrets for roads not taken.
Dreams not reached for.
Perhaps another knight in shining armour?
Now he will never find her.
Or can he, will he?
As she sits and waits.
 
She ponders the passing parade.
The hustle and bustle of a generation she will not embrace.
Again her mind wanders to the past.
All cannot be lost.
If she can hold on to that which she alone possesses.
For now, the diner is her refuge from that onslaught.
Time’s cruel and often insidious ways.
It marches on and waits for no one.
 
The owner looks over and smiles.
Another cup of tea, before she is on her way?
“Yes, thanks.”
After all, it’s just another Tuesday.
And tonight…
the bus will return, just a little late.
 
     
               
“Fading Memories” © 2008 Geraldine H. Hartman
***

Dedicated to all the people who are caring for elderly loved ones; tragically watching their memories fading away.

Sometimes we must face, a long, heart-breaking goodbye.

***

This is a poem that seems to have struck a chord with many people.

You can read the original post with comments here.

From the poetry collection: My Poetic Path.

***

Also, sharing one of my all-time fav Elvis songs for this week’s prompt:

Memories.

This video includes some great photos from Elvis’ life.

Submitted for the June 9th Woven Dreams prompt: Memories

Photo courtesy of: Flickr 


13 Comments

Fragments…

                                       
fragments from the past
pages left unturned
escape routes, now burned
 faded rose petals: pressed in scented paper
cards: lovingly, sometimes painfully inscribed
faraway, muted memories
fleetingly,
 revisited and reviewed
                        
 fragments, carried in a diminishing space
acknowledged less as years go by
but still, that weight
when least expected
 a flash of blinding light
emotions shattered
scattered, in the swirling dust
                                     
the dawn of mornings long past
the quiet place, where only two commune
lilac light softly beckons
too quickly shedding the night
coffee and croissants
shared secrets
that knowing smile that perhaps
knew nothing at all
                     
brief interlude
passing strangers
a space in time
filled by needs now forgotten
wants that seemed so important, then
                                                                        
fragments…best left behind
 
***
Written for the SES prompt: fragments
Photo courtesy of: Flickr


49 Comments

Fading Memories…

She sits in the diner, far from home.
Lunch rush over.
Blessed quiet restored.
It’s Tuesday, “her day”.
A crosstown bus ride, now a secret and special delight.
Away from the caring but claustrophobic family.
Still time to look back on happier days.
Trying to hold on to precious, fading memories.
 
The hours to savor, often still hopeful and good.
But too many others, a haze of uncertainty and doubt.
For now…
She will cautiously guard her fragile independence.
If only for a while longer.
Keeping them guessing.
Or so she hopes.
 
Where did the time go?
When did the children grow up to rise above her?
Knowing “what’s best”.
The mother becoming the child.
The child becoming the mother.
Trying to do their best..
Of that one thing, she is sure.
 
She grasps fervently and desperately to the time left.
To revel in these sacred moments alone.
Savoring her own thoughts.
Not willing to give up without a fight.
Or without a backward glance.
 
Her time alone brings other thoughts too.
The hard ones to contemplate.
Regrets for roads not taken.
Dreams not reached for.
Perhaps another knight in shining armour.
Now he will never find her.
Or can he, will he?
As she sits and waits.
 
She ponders the passing parade.
The hustle and bustle of a generation she will not embrace.
Again her mind wanders to the past.
All cannot be lost.
If she can hold on to that which she alone possesses.
For now, the diner is her refuge from that onslaught.
Time’s cruel and often insidious ways.
It marches on and waits for no one.
 
The owner looks over and smiles.
Another cup of tea, before she is on her way?
“Yes, thanks.”
After all, it’s just another Tuesday.
And tonight…
The bus will return, just a little late.
 
“Fading Memories” © 2008 Geraldine H. Hartman
                    
***

I would like to dedicate this poem to all the people who are caring for elderly loved ones; tragically watching their memories fading away.

Sometimes we must face…a long, heart-breaking goodbye.

Submitted for the OSI January 18th prompt: Fading Memories

Photo courtesy of: Flickr 


28 Comments

The Melody of Life

                                
Mother’s: sigh.
Baby’s: cry.
Hushed by a gentle,
Lullaby.
 
Starlit, summer nights.
Giggles and childhood fun.
Round the campfire.
The old tunes draw everyone.
 
Teen’s rebellion; IPODs blare.
Feet flying fast. 
As passions flare.
In perfect rhythm, to the latest:
 Metal Stallion?
 
Sweet scents of lilac spring.
As young lover’s dance.
Hearts in time to;
tender notes of romance.
 
Mid-life’s song.
The beat goes on….
Hips a swayin’
While the golden groove keeps playing.
 
Old folk’s bliss.
Holding hands; they reminisce.
Bittersweet memories of their Autumn’s,
First Kiss.
 
The melody of life goes on…
Song to song.
As the years roll along.
Sealing memories in their own special way.
Pressed between pages that will never fade.
 
*
 
“The Melody of Life” © 2008 Geraldine H. Hartman
Photo: Courtesy of Flickr
Written for the OSI prompt for June 22, 2008: Melody


16 Comments

A Day at the Park

I don’t allow myself (sigh…) too many days to just relax, regroup and reflect. The most recent exception to this “rule” happened a couple of weeks ago when I spent the day at our local park by the lake.

Here are some of my photos and thoughts throughout that special day which was the first anniversary of my mom’s passing:

The paths wind in and out of the various areas of the park. Plenty of places to stop and rest awhile (which I did) enjoying a cup of coffee and the stillness and serenity, early in the morning.

 

Only a few people out and about that day. The beach was quiet with the water still much too cold for a dip. Lovely views to enjoy though!

Another view of the lake to savor and to ponder.

Finding my perfect “spot” to sit and reflect. Later, I worked on a charity crochet project, as the sun beamed down gently to keep me warm.

A ” fan” of bushes decorated the shoreline as I enjoyed the bliss of no watch to watch, no schedule to think about.

The day was mine.

This lovely, solitary daffodil bloom beckoned me to capture it’s beauty. I felt the presence of my mom close by and throughout the day. The daffodil was one of her favorite flowers. This one was for her.

The benches adorned with tributes to loved ones passed on. This one in particular captured my attention. A loving daughter or son remembers their beloved father. Passed on much too soon but obviously, not forgotten.

It was a magical, special day. I spent most of the time, happily alone with my thoughts. Writing, crocheting, reflecting and relaxing.

My one conversation was with a young mother, strolling along with her baby daughter. She stopped to chat and I was glad to share some time with them. I hope that I chose the right words to say to her. She seemed to need encouragement in her new (overwhelming at times) role as a mother. She also went on to share how precious her own mother was to her and to sympathise with my loss and sadness, as tears filled my eyes.

This young mother spoke to me with words that brought my own mom even closer to me that day: “ I will never be the same person again. I will worry about her forever.” I think she’s going to do just fine, in her new role as a mom.

 I hope to enjoy another day in the park, just for me (and guilt-free) very soon.

And to my mom, Helen:

” You are always in my thoughts and in my heart. I love you.” G