Poem 485

Visual glimpses the mind stores away, markers without context, the frustrating sensation of remembering you’ve got to remember something but not being able to recall what it was … writing poetry daily I would try to open my mind to whatever came and a lot of that arose from within, memory images, snapshots that provided a starting point … here I’m writing about that self-reflexive process of trying to make sense of a thought an idea a dream a memory …

( I like the crusty rag on the beach, the wave’s grinding gizzard, the swallowed/swallowed imitating the repetition of waves, and the way the last line suddenly introduces another cast member that you retrospectively paint into the picture … )

Afternoon On The Beach

I thought
                   I'll remember this

lying on my back in the stones
flinging stones down the dirty shelf
of beach
                  wind like two fingers
picking up a crusty rag
the smell of things not quite preserved
in the salt
                     there was a tyre
sunk deep
in the grinding gizzard
of the wave
a wad of gristle that would not go down
though the sea swallowed
swallowed

I wondered if I could touch it
and run before the wave
caught me
                       my stones
flew at the tyre
rising over
dropping in front
beside
or behind without a mark
in the concussion of foam
the sharp thump of a hoof
like a stroppy ewe

I've proved it
see
I remember

only
the reason escapes me
a good
or a bad day
this memory so neatly wrapped up
is a coin without value
neither heads
nor tails but perfectly neutral
balanced on its rim

why mark a day so carefully
and forget the reason

do you remember

were we fighting?