meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

      Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2019 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   309745 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry

   


Read Poetry
Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Devious

Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home



Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

Words

Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

If I Could Be The Sky...

It Feels Better To Be Unfinished (Wish-Unspoken, But With My Eyes)

More Poetry >>

 
Features

  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook

 
   

In The  Distant Fog Of  Dreams


*memory can have its tricks
tie it to music and it becomes amplified......



the song brought me
back to a small town
peopled with familiar faces

I found there
those breathing and alive, no longer dead
trees, streets, houses, neighborhoods...
all of their intimate details sharply outlined
animated and illuminated by a bold sun
nothing like the one I'd seen before

it left me haunted wanting more

this song altered everything in its path
like the wide sweep of a magician's arm
the music's swath was the end of a magic trick
I closed my eyes tightly as I listened quick
and saw with pleasure the final big prestige

the music did its trick with ease

spreading like melting butter before me
my little golden town
warmed in the sparkling sun
everyone alive and shining
no problems apparent to me or to anyone
the air magically kissed with a sort of excitement
a fragrant electricity
I felt the sting of the sweetest pang of sensitivity
welling out from the center of me

when, abruptly the song ended
as the black needle caught in the groove
the growling horizon darkened
while billowing clouds overtook the mood
the little town rolled in its carpets
a strong wind swept through
I saw the earth shudder and move
and the streets pulled themselves in too
soon my little town emptied itself of
everyone and everything

no more trees or streets, no houses or neighborhoods

the magic simply ceased
there wasn't even an echo
not even a place for an echoing wood
to remind me of what had been what had stood
the memory now only exists for me
in the distant fog of a dream

only when I hear a certain song
do I think I might remember
and then I somehow I manage
to forget it all again
and every year a little more goes away.



Copyright August 31 2016 written at 7:53am PST.
ALL LEGAL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED TO THIS WORK,
THIS SITE TITLE BY THIS AUTHOR
Meloo/Melissa A. Howells Straight from Her Tilt-a-World.





Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem

Comments

 Email Address

 

Vote for this poem