Memory, dream or deja vu?

Memories come in so many different shapes, sizes and flavors. I’ve had a few extra recently. I’m not sure why. Could it be that I’m growing older? Even though I’m not that old, yet. I do plan on making plenty of memories still. And it’s not the first time that my memories have come in waves. I can’t anticipate them. Anything could set them off, the smell of bread baking, the view of my home from a hillside or the sound of a bus as it brakes at a stop. In their own way, I think memories recreate a new moment. Something between a dream and deja vu.

1-w Prog_FilesSome days memories roll over me like ocean waves. These are calm moments brought on by echoes of laughter that cross my face with a smile. Minutes may pass before I come up for air and realize that I am floating.

On occasion, I’m caught in a wave’s curl. In those intense moments my muscles tighten as I fight against the pull of violent events. Aware of my surroundings, I grasp for air. Minutes may pass before I’m thrown on the safety of the shore.

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© Jan Joe and Born in the year of the dog, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jan Joe and Born in the year of the dog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Beast

Miss So and So plays, and

notes pirouette from the piano keys—

graces mary’s little lambs.  But,

ocean printrapture eludes the triangle

in a world of circles

who watch the ocean roar an opera.

 

 

From where incongruity sits, the beast growls

a spasm of bass, a float of discord.

 

Mr. high and mighty sermonizes

in high octane, delivering…

peals of solace that sway and

slip over pews, and puddle on the floor

as congregations of hymns

flock to see the breaching mass.

 

She blossoms with guilt

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Wednesday’s child observed the constellation Orion from the ship’s deck and couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of evasion. It seemed to weave and bob like ocean swells. Once, she thought she caught a Glimpse, but on closer inspection found it was a Glimmer. While listening to old sea chanteys, she wondered aloud, “How is it that ideals, while jumping through hoops, form braces of fear?”

 

 

 

© Jan Joe and Born in the year of the dog, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jan Joe and Born in the year of the dog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Lena

Lena got the scar on her forehead after a gust of wind shattered the big front window. At the time, she lived on a street that rode a coastal ridge just south of San Francisco. Most of the year, the entire region was blanketed in fog. Sometimes it flew in on howling winds that turned her umbrella inside out. Other times, the fog curled in and around the houses slow enough that Lena felt she could outrun it.
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