THE RISING (photomorph) & MASH-UP MEMORY (non-dream free verse poem) by Roswila

MASH-UP MEMORY

something about the sight of this sort of cultivated
and empty open park space tugs insistently at an
ancient memory: like an aroma, yet unlike one, for
if it were an aroma, what it’s associated with would
surface like a fish on a hook and be readily landed;
no matter the scene be as tumbled and challenging
to my balance as white rapids on a mountainside
stream, the memory would be caught by the familiar
scent and be mine to do with as I please (or do not
please, depending on the memory); but here it is
again, that sparsely landscaped scene (this time,
on a T.V. news segment), with a large white, boxy
(and ugly) maybe three-story business building,
and lots of wide concrete sidewalks leading up to
and around it, with benches as sparse as the eastern
winter trees and where, pray tell is the parking lot?
there must be (have been) one; then I see one lone
man in what I assume is a business suit walking
through what must be a chilly morning toward
this unnerving building that fills me with anxiety,
heightened by my aloneness … yes, I must admit
to more of an association to this scene than I’ve
copped to so far here: to the couple of years before
Mama’s death when I was between eight and ten
years old, and my favorite place to wander were the
former 1939 world’s fair grounds not very far from
where we lived; a few left-over buildings on the wide
open, mostly grassy park were put to good use (one as
a public ice- and roller-skating rink), the flat grounds
offering up lakeside willows I loved to climb, and
thrusting a small theatre into the sky that I enjoyed
looking at from a distance for its old-time English
architecture but oddly never visited, neither with
nor without my family (especially strange, given
my family’s historical and ongoing involvement
in the theatre); but for the life (and memory) of
me I can’t recall there ever being this white boxy
building that haunts me, not quite rising on these
inefficient present day visual hooks, netting me
nothing new, like a mash up of a threatening
horror and a gift I can’t unwrap


[non-dream free verse poem written 12-17-19. Even odder with reference to the English-style theater: I can vaguely recall a dream from my long-ago youth in which a girlfriend (an actual one from those years in which I had the dream) and I visited it. But only to walk along a red brick walkway outside it, as it was closed, and check it out in a little more detail (which I no longer recall). Interesting I’m focusing on that part of the poem. Makes sense, given what I’m beginning to think lies beneath this memory for me that I can’t quite get at. Yeah, abuse of some sort I’ve forgotten that lies back there in the ruins of what I do recall. She’s not ever been forthcoming about her own past; I’ve only gleaned what I have via my intuition and empathic responses to her. So, in a way, we were (are) sisters under the skin. Photomorph “The Rising” (7-28-09 4466v2h) by Roswila]

PLEASE NOTE: in most browsers you can click on the above image for a larger version. Also, the photo accompanying a post is not necessarily meant to illustrate it, but to reflect some small, even slant or contrasting aspect of the verse, similar to Japanese haiga (illustrated haiku).

There are many other sorts of posts on this blog. I indicate which are about or influenced by dreams. Some non dream focused posts are book reviews, "regular" poems (some by other writers), scifaiku, writing exercises, Tarot haiku, photos, haiga, and so on. However, most of those are in much older posts. There's a listing by month going back to early 2006, at the end of the sidebar.

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until next time, keep dreaming,





[a/k/a Patricia Kelly]
**** If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”). Roswila's other blog (dedicated to her photos only, i.e. no poetry or other writing; daily post); TRYING TO HOLD A BOX OF LIGHT.