forgetfulness | The Bard on the Hill

Posts Tagged ‘forgetfulness’

The Muse Confused by Dennis Lange

Posted in About Poetry, My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, Dennis Lange, flee, forgetfulness, hide, old timer's, paper ink, poems, poetry, reluctant groom, rhyme, rhythm, The Muse Confused, traditional verse, vapor vanish, wordpress blog on November 11, 2015| 4 Comments »

It’s bad enough, that to another room,
I’ll walk with purpose and a steady stride,
And thought will flee like a reluctant groom
Into an unknown distant land and hide.

But I’ve a fear that I will sometime think
Of what, to me, is the most perfect line,
And ere, on paper, it’s put down in ink,
Like vapor, it will vanish from my mind.

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Last Hired; First Fired by Dennis Lange

Posted in My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, delete, Dennis Lange, forgetfulness, insert, keyboard, Last Hired First Fired, memory, mind, old age" >, poems, poetry, thoughts desert. alzheimer's, wordpress blog on October 9, 2015| Leave a Comment »

An older mind is like the keyboard key
That I’ve oft touched just accidentally,
The one that’s at the upper right – insert.
The new appears; the old thoughts then desert.

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Alzheimer’s by Dennis Lange

Posted in My Poems, Villanelle, tagged Alzheimer's, bard on the hill, birds have flown south for the winter, copies, Dennis Lange, disease, do not remember, forgetfulness, heart torn out of the tale, loved ones, memory loss, no ink in the printer, poems, poetry, rhyme, rhythm, sprinter, villanelle on June 18, 2015| 2 Comments »

No ink is now left in the printer.
Old copies are gone; new ones fail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

The loved ones are new as they enter;
Each day that they visit’s a veil.
No ink is now left in the printer.

The new leaves their minds like a sprinter;
The old is locked up in a jail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

The life that remains is a splinter
Though body be hearty and hale.
No ink is now left in the printer.

The spring was not owner, but renter.
Both summer and fall have set sail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

What’s there is a shell with no center;
The heart’s been torn out of the tale.
No ink is now left in the printer.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

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