Travels, Once

Memories that are a
Mess in my
Mind – they –
They flash and burst
Across the inner eye
Of my mind, and
I see them…
I see them?

***

Ishmael pumping gas
With the car still
Running, running like
The morning beauty of Lauterbrunnen
Cascading, girt in mists,
In the background
Of the day. Or

Subjected to the awful beauty
Of a morning walk
In Aix: the light
Falling at such angles
That houses are painfully
Precise – standing out like
A blasted thump in
A symphony of strings. Or

It is the smell of chestnuts
On a Christmas day.
It is a route through an
Ancient town. Road stones
Worn down by centuries of
Tired feet.

It is wine.
It is waste. It

Above all is the bright
Light of a Swiss
Dawn – the warmth of
A blanket in the cool
Mountain air. It

Is a memory?

6 thoughts on “Travels, Once

  1. whimsygizmo September 27, 2015 / 8:09 pm

    I love this, especially:
    “Cascading, girt in mists,
    In the background
    Of the day.”

    So beautiful.

    Like

  2. Sherry Blue Sky September 27, 2015 / 10:06 pm

    Such beautiful and evocative imagery in this poem. It was a delight to read! I especially loved the old road stones worn down by tired feet.

    Like

  3. Sanaa Rizvi September 28, 2015 / 4:56 pm

    Agreed with Bjorn.. the question at the end of the poem leaves one wondering.. begging for more 🙂

    Like

  4. Snakypoet (Rosemary Nissen-Wade) September 29, 2015 / 9:22 pm

    Gorgeous! It has that fragmentary character of memory, plus the haunting nature of it. You make me feel that it is I who am remembering, or half-remembering….

    Like

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