Saturday, May 19, 2012

Memory's Bend

Shall I describe the way we met?
Would you then make with me a bet,
That if it turns out as you thought it did,
And not as I thought, as I think now to bid,
That seven of ten is not the number given
To we who are incapable of a nice sleep in?
I know it's an odd question, but perhaps
Soon, very soon, you will see. The maps
Of understanding are fickle, and sometimes fake,
Made by those who understand not the take
Of the designer to made them, the maps you see.
Just as some take the sky to be another great sea.

So now, I'll describe it, how we first met,
Upon a great cliff, mountains! At sunset!
It was raining, just a smidge, a drizzle,
That fell down in the heat and went sizzle.
Yet the sky was red, and the hue was great!
It made me feel just right, next to my mate.

Now to speak quite plainly, I don't mean,
Those of you who are reading this, who glean,
The mate for life, that second part, the pair!
I am not speaking to one of such affair.
Rather I speak of a woman, a friend, a dame,
Who always reminded me of why a refrain
Was a good idea, a sound thing, a sight
That would always give mankind delight.
Now back to the telling of my tale,
I'll not in the telling of it fail!

There you sat, brown hair, grey eyes,
Mixed with golden hue; I despise
The fact that they are mixed, and not whole,
But then I'm often one who lacks control
And can't be determined by fate alone:
Always I role up the hill a weighty stone.
But you also had dimples, and a smile
That kept me smiling for quite a while.
Such a friend as this I said to myself
Is far better to have than a Santa Elf!
And pointing out to the sea, or the shore,
I beckoned you on to new sights, always more
Did I seek to learn from your knowledgeable head;
So that in your place, or in mine, we might be in stead. 

For knowledge I'll have you know, those who read,
Is a thing that makes up a person, oh yes, it does, indeed!
And it's such that if you all have the same one
Strapped to your head, such as a lovely gun,
You'd have the same function, in a sense, just a sense,
The sense that delivers another from recompense.
Anyhow, back to the memory that I bet
Was what it is inside of mon tete!

You told me of many stories, not one
Of which caused me to go without fun:
I told you of adventures and tales,
Of flying elephants, lions, and whales!
You of course gasped and clapped out loud,
While I nodded, politely, for I was too proud.
But in my heart I knew that I'd found
A woman, a kindred spirit, that was sound.

Now by a sound I'll tell you this much,
That sound is similar to a gentle touch.
You see the touch of the ear is like that of the hand,
It merely takes you to another special land.
And by it's melodious, wafting, gracious breeze,
It can lift one up, like wings, or down to their knees!
Back to the story, I'm sorry, it's tedious I know,
To deliver these explanations, like winter snow.

Now the weather turned foul, for a moment or two,
And we ran from that place in a hulabaloo!
Yet even as we ran, laughing all the way
About how much fun we'd had this day,
The sun set within that very moment, and lo!
It made a crown for the sea, and a stool for Joe.

Now Joe, he's the name we gave to the sky,
For he's quite the hard worker, and very spry.
He filters about with a misty like presence,
And doesn't often talk with us mild peasants.
 I'm sorry, again, With these explanation!
I'm sure you don't like these adjurations.

But no more, could I say for you told me, quite plain,
That my accounting was foolish, and clearly quite vain.
For it spoke of the glory of our meeting, not else.
Forgot the sorrow, the suffering, the tender bells.
For the description of your face was to fond,
It made of you a great sea! But you were a pond...
Your eyes you said were merely plain grey,
Not at all mixed with brown, a mere pall clay!
Your smile was forced, not at all on cue,
And often it was meant to keep you from being blue.
But that's not all, you revealed to me
That you were Santa's Elf. I am sorry.
Yet you acknowledge my point that we wanted more,
To know, to understand each other, yet we abhorred
What we discovered: for we could not change it.
And upon that information we did often sit.
So that all thought of being in the place of each
Was turned to loathing sorrow that we did preach.

Now preaching, I'll have you readers know,
Is something of the sort read by the beau
Who pursues a girl with sonnets or something,
And comes back without even touching
On the point, never making it clear
That it was the girl he loved; how queer.
Yet back to the point, I'm sorry, I've gone
Off again while you wonder what I'm on!

Of the scene you said it was merely a house,
A porch where we sat, we espied a mouse.
There was no sun, it was a cloudless grey,
Much like your eyes on a sunless May.
There was no cliff, but a five foot drop
From the edge of your rail, a very small hop.
The rain was a storm, that cleared later on,
But still the sun did not shine on the swan
That sang a shrill song as it passed away
Into the gathering night, end of the day.
When it came to leaving, we didn't laugh,
That sadly as you remember was the aftermath.
You didn't know what to think of me,
And I didn't know what to think of the sea.

Now when you scratch your heads at that line,
Understand, everything is as it is, and is fine.
I was focused on knowledge, not on her.
Perhaps I've left her in the cold, a winter blur?
But back to the story! I'll anoint your minds
With what happened next, no more pig rinds!

But even though I remember how it went,
I can't help but feel that my thoughts were heaven sent.
Mind were more majestic, yours more practical,
One fed realities senses, the other fed the soul.
Mix them both together, I'm sure you'll agree,
That from them we may still grow a great tree.
A kindred spirit I still have found in you,
And I hope that through me you are no longer blue.
My only hope was to remember a thought
That would not cause you to have been caught
In a raging sea of emotions and grief;
I sought to give you some simple relief.
I love you, you see? A friend are you to me.
Not a mate for life, but a mate, a dear friend!
That is what it held for me, memory's bend.

                     Memory's Bend, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

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