If You Forget Me

If you forget me, the Universe will come to a close. It is not possible that you would forget me.
Through three lifetimes (and those only  the ones we got in touch with) you did not forget me.
When you had Alzheimer’s, you still remembered me –  though sometimes you got a bit muddled.
You knew always there was a Rosemary you loved. You knew this woman with you as your dear wife.
Occasionally you didn’t connect them exactly, but either way you loved me and never forgot me.
You are busy now, up there with the angels, enjoying the work you do for the good, I know.
But you don’t forget me, you are just on the end of a thought; when I think you, you are there.
And you look in without being summoned, often. I see your face, hear your voice, feel your touch.
It could never be that you would forget me. But if, impossibly, you did forget me –
I would haunt you in reverse, from earth, chase after you into the stars, through all Heaven,
shake you by your incorporeal shoulders with my dense, warm, fierce hands

Missing the Boat

It was only a momentary, passing flicker of regret
for an absence from a place I might have.…
After all, if I had not … or if I …
It’s just – I imagined a glimpse of golden apples,
hints of sunlight on sparkling water. For a moment.


She rose in the night her fairytale was broken she thought she would sit up and sing ... she thought the wind would take her voice and throw it out over the ocean
but the pearlescent light of pre-dawn mocked her, neither one thing nor the other – just like me, she thought and dwindled far away from the everything that had been
but her story has not yet reached an ending and until she decides, chooses an action a direction, she must remain listless, ghost-pale
hovering on the outskirts of day wondering at the restraints which stop her utterance and fade the sight from her eyes as we, too, stop watching.

Sharing at Poets United's Poetry Pantry #428

After 10 Years

'I'm 78,' Itold him. (I was, then.) He was amazed. Nevertheless
he said, of some hinted, unspecified woes: 'I'll tell you later. Plenty of time.'
Just how much time do you imagine I've got? I questioned silently.
Off he went again, always the traveller. Time runs on. The silence lengthens.

Accessing the Eternal

(Found poems, from online sharing in a Landmark Education 'Wisdom Course')
Looking at the first camellia of the season is heart-stoppingly beautiful, magnificent every time.
There is just silence. Nothing can describe it. It's the most perfect thing in the universe.
When I hear the high note in Nessun Dorma the world stops the universe opens.


until I was I didn't have (one on one)
never had a tribe or posse because I was half
wasn't always so much as the fact
I liked the deep lots lovely solitude
I am still in many ways it surprises me

Erasure poem – from a piece of my own writing: a prose draft on the theme of 'community'.

Where my spirit is

More 'found' micropoetry 
(found in emails received)

grandson’s confirmation – he’ll wear a white robe and stole with symbols HE chose

autumn leaves and deer, a mountainside in a forest – restful, once I get there

a glorious, sunny day … we expect gigantic waves, logs tossed about

I found a place to share in rituals, light a candle and meditate – my poem is where my spirit is

I've closed my wings for the time being – getting ready to fly

Linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #427