Dementia
One day
photos won't be enough
to trigger a mem'ry
a moment
a feeling;
One day,
the stories photos tell,
will be unremembered
forgotten
gone, effaced;
One day,
photos won't be enough
to confirm we have loved
that we laughed
and we lived.
One day,
before the photos fade
the edges turn yellow
and curl
and crack,
our eyes,
our minds, will dim and wane
we will wander the halls
of remembrance
blindly.
One day,
you won't recognize me
in a photo or here,
at your side,
holding hands;
One day,
before the world goes black
and death takes our last breath
photos won't
be enough.
p a r t i s a n
I make myself coffee at half past three in the afternoon, and pour in sugar and pieces of melted chocolate, stirred in with a knife. It’s the choice, I think, the freedom to do things because you’re the only one narrating.
My afternoons often contain some longing for morning. I let myself confuse the two, like the steam is smoke in my eye.
The choice is this, that at half past three, I have the whole day ahead of me, and in my head the hours stretch out so I can appreciate the already gone. I double booked myself all week and I will wind up pulling out on people I imagine I could love, if given half the chance. But can we love freely if we fall in love with sunrises and it’s already the afternoon?
Last night I did for free what I’d love to do forever, and imagined myself again a part of some collective with a vision. I have some ideas, you know, and sometimes I miss the village and knowing where the best water taps are.
Maybe it’s because I’ve spent the last decade always in love with one thing or another, and now it’s gone and I sleep soundly, thickly. I wake bleary, like sleep is something I can just fall into. I lick the bottom of my coffee cup and feel like the whole of something worth my own protection. And just like that, there’s a lifetime ahead.
I think I’ll always love mornings more when they bleed a little into my afternoon.
photos were never enough
pale pasty polaroids of you on the ceiling never enough
you can’t dive deep dirty into the glossy glassy screen of an iphone
any more then you can tongue lash a smoking selfie satisfied
sniff the fresh loved fragrance of that crotch wet and wild
text a hand penned poem
they can AI a letter perfect version of you
turn you into a VR hologasmic extravaganza
clone for me a fabulous fully functioning sex robot
podcast you just breathing next to me for an eternity
but those too will be just other things
never enough
In sharp focus
One day, photos won't be enough,
When you don't recognise the people in them
And they don't remember you were there
Because all the focus was on capturing the memory
And not actually living it
One day, photos won't be enough
That joyful wedding day snap
Won't soothe the sting of your indifference
Or bring back love that's faded
Because we stopped trying
One day, photos won't be enough
When the earth is burning
And ecosystems are in collapse
And our existence is on the edge of extinction
Those holiday albums won't save us
The slash
I watch as the model struts naked in the living room
Her head held high; body shown in full bloom
I won't be enough
Is what I think and how I feel
Photos wont be enough, I'm mad at him and that's real
Why does he need to flaunt everyone else around?
I don't understand why temptation brings him down
I don't believe it when you say that you don't want to do things with them
I don't believe it when you say, that you don't want to be more then friends-
So now I sit and wonder
What you think while cameras flash
Photos just wont be enough
All of them I want to slash
I've loved you since May.
It's almost been a year,
and you've been gone a long while.
But I've never stopped,
just repressed the feeling
to avoid wallowing in the pain.
And would never tell you this,
but I look through old pictures
just to see your face again,
hoping you might show up in my dreams
like you used to.
I can say with confidence,
that photos will never be enough.
They just make the longing more intense.
You're the only person who's ever made me feel like this,
like I'm drowning in love,
and I may never make it back to the surface.
My heart reaches out for you,
tries to beat its way out of my chest,
just to get your attention,
and have you close to me again.
And as I go to sleep tonight,
I'll look through the pictures again,
and tell myself how pathetic I am for it,
because in my heart,
I know.
I know that photos will never be enough.
Love you, Dad
Yesterday or so it seems,
we were bursting at the seams.
My laughter on the edge of a snort,
Your rolling bass a deep retort.
Turns out, 70 candles on the cake was bad,
Hey, house is still standing, Happy Birthday Dad!
Today, I saw that photograph,
and I heard your awesome laugh.
Rumbling from your generous heart,
it's always infectious from the start.
Turns out, you can still make me smile,
Even though you've been gone, quite a while.
Tomorrow, or one day soon I fear,
I'll listen for your laughter, but it won't be there.
That first silence will be tough,
one day, photos won't be enough.
Turns out, though that memory is nice,
I'll have to live with losing you twice.
One day, photos won’t be enough
One day, photos won’t be enough
to penetrate the fog inside my head
to recall the memories they embed
to stir again the emotions that I had
to remember the girl who stole my heart
the one I longed for when we were apart
to remember her beautiful face
glowing like the moon full of grace
eyes twinkling like stars in outer space
to remember those happy days
when life was a dream
like a bowl of peaches and cream
to remember the love we shared
to remember the places we dared to see
leaving our imprint in history
to remember the things we did
when the fire was still alive, and
to remember those I leave behind.