Tag: poems about memory

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Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

The Poet at Midnight

Barefoot and moon-lit
she sneaks to the shed
to consider the
bucket of bones
she keeps on a shelf

picks at the
small white moments
she never thinks to bury

only to hold them again

turn them over
in her hand

press her thumb
into their curves
and brittle endings

remember sometimes
the soft flesh
that held them together once,
their silken wings of flight

oh how they soared!

When she is quiet enough
she hears them sing

whisper secrets
and stories
she saves in her pocket

shimmering

burning to be told

Photo by Jonathan Read, WildCraftsUK. ©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

Dream Collaboration


She knows, of course,
it’s why she’s allowed me here
this intimate task of parting,
of packing up your things,
why we smile easily
between hidden glances

so this is her

We’ve known each other
forever, of course,
wondered enough to troll,
but we’re like minds and hearts
as well, why else
would you have loved us both?
I don’t tell her I saw you
a shadow, a whisper
in her room,
that your smile
was in gratitude
for the kindnesses
here now, and then,
when I held tight your
sorrows and secrets.

Instead, we just laugh
at your photographs,
agree to keep the tape
in the top drawer
to put things back together
after I leave.

IMAGE by Lucas Mota. 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

The Bear Prince


Once upon a time
there was a bear
and he lived
just around the corner
from the footbridge
where the jays
still caw about a troll
and hummingbirds
wax poetic about
jewelweed
on the banks of
the stream.
It was there, one day,
a woman stood in
utter disbelief
as rain fell
on a sunny day
and the breeze
turned into music.
People around her raced by
fear in their breath
eyes full of warning,
but she, being a brave sort
(or merely hopeless)
walked up the path,
around the corner,
and asked the bear to dance.

IMAGE: Poor little bear!, John Bauer, 1912. 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

I Keep Writing Epitaphs

Last night, I snuck
across the pond
to the half-cut trees,
their slaughtered limbs
strewn across the yard
of the large new house
and listened while
spiders and ants
and caterpillars
evacuated, slowly.
I knelt below the
one last Maple
in whose branches
I once spied
turkeys sleeping
and I apologized
in whispers
that sounded like
midnight bird wings,
while my tears
collected in pools
around her sweet trunk
and we listened
as the stars departed
and the sun rose
and the marsh hawk
came to pay its respects
one last time.

Image: Google map of the pond and trees. 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

She Sees It is All Connected

Orb weaver
Webweaver
Storykeeper

wonders at the
man and woman
who move
beneath her —
the fine strings of connection
they don’t seem to notice

the man moves
and the woman follows
the woman speaks
and the man nods
somehow symbiotic

each of them
picks berries from
the autumn olive —
share the savoring —
pause and pucker
at the bittersweet

yesterday’s web
tangles in the woman’s hair
and the man assists —
white web entwined with
silver strands he hadn’t noticed
as threads of memory
spark around them

I wonder what you will look like with gray hair

but wisps of time and love
their midnight musings
only float on sunbeams now
as ephemeral as
she herself
her dance
on fine filaments
the dew, the stars,
the Universe

Photo by Rick Otten. 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.