“A Poem About Someone Or Other”
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Trying to remember
but forgetting what
I am trying to remember
as I struggle with the words
as well as with the memories.
Trying to remember
a name, a face,
anything of her,
without remembering what,
or who she was.
And after all of this,
all of this stupid thinking,
I go and forget to take my pills
to stop a restless night
that is full of memories
I badly so want to forget.
—
Jacques du Lumerie.
I wrote that years ago and didn’t dream I will come that way in reality. Forgetting things, important things, like where I have put the next piece of prose for this site, and which of your sites I have visited.
Still, I forget the bad things as well as the good, the faces of hate as well as the faces of love, the names of nightmares as well as the names of day-dreams.
But it is funny how fact can catch up with fiction.
But I MUST cheer you all up, so here is one of my silly “Texts”!
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Text Back-Garden.
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Everytime a bird sings in my hatefuck back garden, a cat comes along and kills it. My garden is three-foot-six-inches (exact measuring thanks to Corporal Proudfoot (retr’d) of Bong-Bong Towers, Man-boy Walk, Rangoon, Thailand.) high with dead birds. I shovel them up everytime I hang my twin daughters out to dry, but they all fall down again.
At the bottom of the pile of dead birds, the stench must be *****; yet cats live under this pile, some eating the dead birds, I know, but many more cats eat live birds than eat dead ones.
Sticking my twin daughters into a matchbox, I called in the rodent inspector, Roland Rattie, (Leo), he went into the middle of the pile, gave a nightmatish scream, and was never seen again. Nor were the two policemen, (both Virgo, serves them right then!) who had searched for the body in the ice-cream.
I don’t know what else to do, I did get a dog once to kill the cats, but I only found that I had a garden full of dead cats.
What with dead cats in the front garden, and dead birds in the back, no one comes to see me anymore. I can’t blame them, not with a dead horse in the bath!
Lord Pineapple.
Comments (18)
Thank you so much for your words.
“When you’re surrounded by sharks, there are always dolphins to protect you.” My mum said that to me. It helps to have dolphins when there are sharks around.
You are a dolphin.
Thank you.
Terry, I loved this poem. The use of anadiplosis so very much emphasizes the emotion of exasperation that this poem is full of. Very nice.
BTW I don’t get the dead birds, cats, dogs, horse thing … I assume it’s just “English” humor
.
Well, I am an animal lover but, I am not a vegetarian and have been known more than twice to utter the words, looks like breakfast to me. I wait for the time for a fresh deer kill and know I will feel sorry for it but intend to carry it home and prepare it for my freezer with his help of course. We did a little hunting years back and it isn’t our favorite sport but, spinach isn’t our favorite meal either unless seasoned with some nice sausages.
There was an old woman who swallowed a fly, I don’t know why, she swallowed the fly, I guess she’ll die.
The minute I read the last part about a yard full of cats instead of birds, I thought that damn story.
By language I mean a relating of oneself to oneself and everything else, milord.
What is one without that very mortal flight from death? A ghost. Ghosts are durango cool.
I responded to your comment on my page if you’d like to check that out later.
Thanks
Oh – oh…You’re first poem sure reminds me of one I penned quite some time back…perhaps I’ll post it if I can find it…. Yeah – all that about forgetting faces…I know, I know, I know……
Be careful for what you ask, because you just may get it !! Mad Dogs and Englishmen…. I can dig it.
lol i liked that
both sad and happy 
Sometimes forgetting can be a great blessing. A dead horse in the bath? .. I’ve no comment on that. (We Americans call that “taking the 5th”. Refusing to answer on the grounds that it may tend to inciminate me.)
That would be “incriminate” .. not inciminate which was not a freudian slip implying “inseminate”.
Man, it really gets crazy when you can’t remember whether you’re trying to remember, or trying to forget, and you forget what it is you’re trying to remember, and you remember only what you’re trying to forget.
Have you forgotten, or did you ever know, that I commented at the site of Wee_Duncan_Douglas? You say I don’t visit often. But I do. I think I do. But I forget, sometimes.
Tee hee..The first one I can relate to so much! GOOD ONE! There are SO many times I can remember ..sitting up late at night to think of a face..or a name…and then days later it coming to me..and I’m then on the floor beating my head against the boards because I was such a dork for missing it in the first place…Especially when that person comes up to you and starts a conversation..and then it’s ..oh my …SO UNCOMFORTABLE>…because your not sure who they are…*laugh*…peace….*hugs* Sheri
This is all quite interestingly odd. I read that American firehouses put in circular stairways because the horses figured out how to climb the regular stairs. I guess that’s how we keep ‘em out of the bath.
Terry….I loved the first poem, but the second one didn’t really cherry me up….lol. It was the makings of a horror movie……you always strike me odd. But I still luv ya….Christy
The first poem was so sad, but the second poem was…interesting..tehehe…although I hope you didn’t hang your twin daughters out by their necks~
So you have more than one pseudonym?
Just a random comment…great poems i like anything creative….later