Weathering the Years

Looking through some old words for something to post, and reading this one triggered some new ones

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The weather won’t let me forget you
the seasons bring reminders
the quality of light
or a perfume on the air
trigger memories of times gone by
and I am almost back there

©ceenoa

 

The weather in 2019

The weather won’t let me forget you
but climate change is real
and time erodes the quality
of captured moments
the weather won’t let me forget you
but you are becoming less clear

©ceenoa

The Lid

I gathered them up and put them,
Copper and Silver Lidded Resin Bowl (7)in a place they could be hid,
and just to make sure they couldn’t escape.
I covered them with a lid.

They are my sweetest treasures,
invisible to your eyes,
yet when I look upon them,
their richness makes me smile.

No thief in the night can steal them,
from the place that they are hid,
and when I am feeling broken,
I gently lift off the lid.

© ceenoa

I had a dream – again. (Repost: A Dream and a Wish)

It happened again last night, it must be this time of year,
that prompts a rummage through my unconscious,
and in amongst the rubble, finding a flicker of a thought,
pounces, and drags it forth,
to present, like a cats favour lying at my door,

sadly unwelcome but understood.

© ceenoa

The original post below, which prompted the one above, is from 24 December 2014, and can be found here.

I had a dream of you last night,
I heard your voice, I saw your face,
and it woke again the yearning,
from it’s quietly slumbering place.

That desperate sense of needing,
which years have mercifully worn away,
the savage grief dispersed,
through life’s anaesthetising day.

And even though they carry sorrow,
I long to dream of you again,
to feel that fierce connection,
as you quietly say my name.

© ceenoa

“On This Day” Repost – Christmas in Tasmania

It’s that time of year – the week before Christmas.  Are you feeling it yet?  Facebook reminded me how I felt back in 2014, when I wrote this post.

Raspberries and Strawberries,
picked fresh from the bush,
the smell of fresh cut hay,
on a summers evening hush.

A thunderstorm with lightning,
flashing in the dark,
the mouth-watering aroma,
wafting from bbq’s in the park.

All of this says Christmas,
in the place that I call home,
my island state of Oz land,
what means Christmas where you’re from?

© ceenoa

14 years

dad in hammock

When Autumn blows,
when Winter snows,
when Summer slows,
when Spring plants grow,
I remember you.

You were my seasons,
and I was content,
to let you be my reason,
for taking the next breath.

Years have turned,
some dreams have burned,
and I have learned,
some memories do not return.

Each tiny part that disappears,
diminishes throughout the years,
the picture that I hold so dear,
and fills me with a desperate fear.

Will one day come,
under this sun,
when all that was our total sum,
dwindles down to none?

© ceenoa

each one a thin slice of life

If I could stack up my memories
each one a thin slice of life
would they add up to much
or simply be such
as a bland playing card of no worth

my treasures are mine for no reason
a laugh, a tear or a sigh
their value is in how I made them
and their price
only measured by me

a memory is only a window
on a sliver of time that has passed
but as life’s river flows on
to still hear it’s song
some shutters must be closed in haste

I know that they wait in the gloaming
jewelled lights covered in dust
some day a hand will brush gently
heart open, soul smiling
and let them shine once again.

© ceenoa