(just a scribble….)
.
Like a contrail from a jet
the past changes shape
shifting in the winds
of time and distance.
It expands and softens,
sometimes twisting
into grotesque serpents.
So, which is more real to us,
the sharp spear of the present
or the undulating spread
of memory?
Or can we ride them both?
.
© 2014 Betty Hayes Albright
Seasonings 
Wonderful metaphor for the past….just perfect.
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Thank you, Charlie… I was looking up at the sky one day at all the contrails and jotted that down. Not really much of a poem, just a metaphor.
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Ride ’em both – write into the next moment. 😉 Salt scares me knot.
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I’m knot afraid either, Uncle Tree. 🙂 Thank you!
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Oh this is wonderful! And yes, I believe we can ride them both–and find value, if not beauty in each.
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I think so too! Thank you, Mirada. 🙂
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Well Betty, its a wonderful “scribble” . If I could do one scribble like this I would be utterly content.
Love and hugs
xxx
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Nice of you to say, Christine… am having trouble with writer’s block though – but then what’s new? 😉
Hope all’s well where you are – and that you aren’t near any of the floods that have been on our evening news lately!
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Even your scribbles are divine and undulating – flowing from your soul. Love it, Betty. 🙂
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Thank you, Angela – it’s always so good to hear from you. 🙂 Hope all is well where you are!
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All is well, Betty, thank you :-). I’ve got a new blog (I missed my poet friends!) – just click on my name and it should take you to it if you want to have a peek. x
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Yes why not!
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Indeed! 🙂
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🙂 xx
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Wot, no future? 😛
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😀 Still waitin’ for it…!
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Hi Betty, such a lovely scribble 🙂 x
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Thank you, Ina – good to see you. And I hope to get back to your blog again soon, as I love your poetry. (Especially those about the sea – always so emotionally evocative!)
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I suppose we can ride them both — like serpents!
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Ah, like serpents – yes! Thank you, Anna. 🙂
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I think a lot about time, Betty, and
“shifting in the winds
of time and distance.”
I will admit that
“the sharp spear of the present
or the undulating spread
of memory”
seem to whorl through me like a storm sometimes, and I wonder why.
This is a poem, of course, a firefly blink in the darkest August night, but still pulsing with a life that transcends the moment into thoughts and emotions guaranteed to affect readers. What else is a poem?
Anna Mark says, “we can ride them both–like serpents!” Betty Hayes Albright, with a grandmother who lived to be 108, says,
“the past changes shape
shifting in the winds
of time and distance.
It expands and softens,
sometimes twisting
into grotesque serpents.”
I say, I have lived in the lairs of dragons and heard them communicate their deepest thoughts.”
O, you can write Betty. You really can–
even if sometimes words fall from a cloud and crawl without thought onto your paper.
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Thank you, Thomas – as always you give me much encouragement during times of writer’s block.
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