Tag: travel

Poetry

I Came Upon …From Simply Put,  a collection of poems

Arlene

I CAME UPON THIS DOOR© -arlene s bice

When roaming a medieval town

I came upon this door

by accident, I thought                                                      

tucked into

a hidden lane

a short distance away

it summoned me

come closer, enter after knocking

I remembered it, but how?

I have never been here before

The lamp bid me as welcome

as a candle in a window

it felt familiar

as I paused

letting my senses

respond

to warn or

to comfort, I did not know

But I felt I had been here before

a long, long time ago

The knocker beckoned

my hand to grasp 

let it fall

send echoes

down the hall

of stone

cold

secretive, empty

with stories to tell of times

amidst this forgotten pall

As memories came to mind

visions of men, women

revealed to me

I wondered

what string or crumbs

brought me here

to revive

those stories of long ago

of folks, kindred who must not be left, thoughtlessly, behind   

Memoir, Poetry, reflection

Maps, a poem from Simply Put, a collection

Arlene
Image by ???? Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay 

MAPS AS PROOF-arlene s bice©

Every now and then

I’ll sit on the floor after dragging down

the pile of maps folded on my bookshelf.

These are the rainy-afternoons-do-you-remember-when-maps.

I don’t buy souvenirs

but I save my maps, some worn others not

emoting moments, some seeking a thing not found

others of finding surprises-quite-unexpected-but-joyfully-held.

Maps are my proof.

I’ve stepped out of the mold, leaving behind

my mother’s daughter; creating my own  true self

becoming a-woman-who-loves-and-saves-her-maps.

And I’ll continue

to travel on roads new to me, soaking in

the atmosphere of another’s world, seeing it differently

then I will be making a deposit-in-the-bank-of-memories-for-a-rainy-day.

general, Poetry, writing

Son Kenny’s Poetry of Love 1982

Arlene

DSCF3202

Since it is near the end of the year 2013, a good time for browsing through files, going over the past, readying for the future, I came across this item in my folder.

In 2005: I found this poem while cleaning out the attic for the big move to the South. This is how son Kenneth Bice Morrison wrote and set the poem six months before he passed away in an auto accident. Hopefully the young woman he wrote it for happens to read it.

Jan ‘82

I remember
the ferria in Seville
and Rota
and in some town tween there
and a bull fight in Sanlucar.
going for a ride in a rent-a-car.

I remember
way too much drinking
far to few
moments spent with you.

I remember
picking flowers
partying at late hours
your fear of height in a tall church tower.

I remember
falling
madly
hopelessly
in love.

Memories
of the way it used 2 B
brings a fear rushing over me

Wraps around my heart
A crazy love

I live imprisoned by a forsaken love
It does NOT have to be this way. . .