Tag: memoir poems

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Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

Spacetime

See here, this sweep of time
that swings in swift strokes
from what was to what is
what was to what is
overlap so seamlessly
sometimes
I see it all
simultaneous
joy leaves and smiles fade,
trees fell from storms,
and silly giggles
echo off the shadows
of a ghost
who seems taller now
than the tree itself
as I skirt the shore
skips stones
in a high swell
so intent
to take what was
leave what is
what was to what is
what was to what is
what was to what is

©2024, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift. .

Categories
Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

Trapped (Dream 012524)

I was trapped in a house of the past
where staircases appeared
twisting to nowhere
and rooms were puzzle games,

where I walked through
old conversations
and emerged in the present,
my foreign reflection
in a hall of faceless mirrors,

the scenes of people
I used to know
still in their old spaces
were so real I could touch
the pencil he held in his hand
at the desk he used to write from

but only she
only she
was my only constant

broadcasting into rooms
to show me the way
with an urgent regard
so as not to get trapped there

hurried me to dress
and gather my things
as if the house were on fire

as if my insistence to stay
would alter a future
I still have no heart to imagine.

Photo by Pawek on Pexels. Poem ©2024, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift. .

Categories
Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

They Called it a Microburst, But I Know Better

Across town, the sky was falling.
While I settled in
for the long, windy night,
he laid beneath fallen trees —
a trauma compounded.

Everywhere, things were breaking —
foundations and forests —
and I wonder sometimes
if that was the moment
we broke as well.

The moment
all the cracks and shakes
finally       finally
split us apart.

These days,
in the forest where we
first and often met,
I can see our ruins —
mark the day of our beginning,
the warped rings of memory.
and in the wreckage of canopy,
our final silent fall.

Photo & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift. .

Categories
Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

Sunday Drive

I try to tell from the walk,
the shadow, the stature,
the bow in the legs

is it him?

wonder what we would say
after all this time

I should hate him,
put the painful slides
at the front of the reel

instead I pull out the happy ones,
shine a light on what surfaces
of those feelings long ago,
of all that seemed possible

and even though I know better
now
I slow down

stare and stare and stare

consider the recognition
mine     and his
a weird and inappropriate reunion
in a parking lot at Christmas,
Solstice Bells on the CD in my car
and he smiles
like he still owns me
joyful and cruel
all at once

so I speed up
before our paths even cross.


Photo & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift. .

Categories
Books Creativity Memoir Poetry

3 – The Wrong Impression

The Wrong Impression

He ran, he told me,
through the corridors of Heathrow
the framed Monet under a free arm,
it, his grand gesture
to the unrequiting, me

Monet’s water lilies
The Water Lily Pond
(to be precise)
its soft curved bridge
symbolic, perhaps,
of his efforts to cross over
from friends
to something more colorful,
shall we say?

For the untrained eye
it gave the impression of love,
but look closely to see
a thousand random dots,
their missed connections
a terminal romance.

Poem ©2021, Jen Payne. #NaPoWriMo. National Poetry Month. Image: The Water Lily Pond, Claude Monet. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Categories
Books Creativity Memoir Poetry

2 – I prayed he left more than a spoon

I prayed he left more than a spoon

As the sun rose, he whispered,
I’ll come back if I’ve left anything
then packed and went
as quickly as he did that first time
some ten years before.
It was a fishing trip then —
a last chance visit with family
before graduation and grad school —
this time a funeral, his uncle.
No lingering, not like other years,
when we dozed dream-wrapped
late into the morning……..loved.
But with New Jersey such a long ride
from our reverie,
he left before we had a chance to…
……..a chance to say anything more than

Same time next year?
Should I bake a cake?
I’ll come back if I’ve left anything.

I prayed he left more than a spoon,
held my breath in pregnant pause for weeks
until it was clear there was nothing
to come back to……..not even the spoon
which still makes its way into coffee,
stirs up the memory of that morning
and what might have been……..afterall
had he left anything more.

For Cliff. Poem ©2021, Jen Payne. #NaPoWriMo. National Poetry Month, with a sweet nod to Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn. Image: Lorette with Cup of Coffee, Henri Matisse. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.