Tag: memories

“When Ivory Kiku Bloom”

On By Mike U.In Poetry38 Comments

“When Ivory Kiku Bloom”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll remember me
as I remember you

those days so long ago
in absence of joy
fraught with fear and agony
you gazed into the abyss

what did you see in the din
and darkness of depression
what peered back at you
shattered your very soul

in this winter tempest
golden suisen
hides its glowing countenance
waiting for the storm to pass

yet its radiance lives on
deep beneath the blowing snow
its beauty obscured
dimmed for but a moment

I saw your light shining
through your blackest night
with the brilliance of the sun
rising moon’s intensity

in your sorrow you were blind
you saw neither light nor love
nor could you believe
your heart was still alive

thus you mourned a life lost
buried your own soul
oblivion’s rueful loam
brings forth its bitter harvest

in my heart there lies a tomb
wreathed in ivory kiku
every day I pause
to offer my respects

every day I mourn for
what could never be
place my heart upon the shroud
of these fading memories

it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll have found your peace
for I’ll remember you

“Still I Toil On”

On By Mike U.In Poetry50 Comments

“Still I Toil On”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

my old hoe is dull
and the weeds
resist its blade
still I toil on
iron sharpens iron
rust begets rust
the crucible of life
makes or breaks
which shall I choose
do I even have a choice

my garden’s neglect
pains my soul
its hardened soil
thirsts for more
than rain
too many weeds
too few blooms
a loathsome facsimile
of the worst of me

these hands
cracked and dirty
beset by age
and the scars
of a futile life
once strong enough
to break the earth
shatter stone
yet tender still
to caress the lotus
dry the tears
of my beloved
these calloused hands
empty now
save for the
piercing splinters
and burning blisters
of stillborn harvests
and sundered dreams

once, long ago
across the stream
my young man’s eyes
beheld the youthful willow
nubile and lithesome
her slender feet
glissading upon
the cool water
sinuous fronds
breeze-blown
her sultry-shy gaze
beckoning me
offering respite
from noonday sun
and I watched from afar
as egret and kitsune
nestled in her shadows
and I yearned for her
but my garden
needed tilling
my hoe dull even then
my back bent
from years of struggle
my heart distracted
by worries of harvests
yet to be
and in my hesitation
she turned away
and all was lost

cicadas drone
in the bamboo grove
their maddening chorus
a condemnation
their brief lives
leave little time
for memories
but plenty
for judgment
their desiccated husks
reminding me
of life’s brevity
all I’ve lost
all I needlessly
carry with me

it has been too long
since the rains fell
too long since the wind
cooled my brow
too long since
my soul slept
too long have I
gripped this
infernal device
my entire existence
rooted in this
garden of regrets
I have become
the very weed
I wish to slay

still I toil on
for there is naught left
but to toil
until my blade breaks
or the harvester’s scythe
takes me away

“A Latticework of Tears”

On By Mike U.In Poetry53 Comments

“A Latticework of Tears”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

autumn rain has come
orb weaver’s sorrowful web
a latticework of tears
a trellis of weathered memories
in this mournful
forgotten meadow
abandoned
as dusk’s demise
renders moot
vestigial joy
and hope
gives up its ghost

your dreams, you say
what of your dreams
those airy flights of fancy
those rumblings of your soul
tinged the hue of
virginal sun rays
so bright as to
blind you to
the world’s apathy
and horror
so urgent and strident
as to stay your sleep
at night
so incendiary as to
ignite worlds
birth universes

I know of dreams
I know of death, too
the slow withering
of saplings whose
brittle stems
shall never
reach maturity
whose once
verdant leaflets
become piles of
yellow dross
that fade into
oblivion

I know the soul-crushing
pressure of expectations
the futility of failure
the exhaustion of anhedonia
I know the tainted love
of depression
a foul mistress
the bleak and hollow
echoes of loneliness
the roiling pit
of dread and uncertainty
for what lies ahead

dreams memories tears
an elegiac dirge
for a life lost
a life misspent
bereft of love and lenity
the godless howl
of the past
the gaping maw
of the future
I know these things

shattered pieces
of my dreams
litter this lea’s
desiccated grasses
I must tread with caution
lest I slice myself
bloody

let the weaver’s web
display my tears
as trophies of defeat
I have bled enough
let what’s left of me
fall to the earth
as autumn rain

“For Harley” (reprise)

On By Mike U.In Poetry39 Comments

(originally posted on 10/27/2021)

“For Harley”
(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

I wonder if he ever knew his ears
Had failed him as he nosed the gravel road
Collecting scents of all that passed that way
As afternoon slipped into eventide
And xanthous-tinted rabbit brush held sway

Amid god-beams

Gilded god-beams

His pup days had long passed as elder gray
Frosted his chin and whiskers, and his gait
Had slowed as tired legs had stiffened up
And aching joints reduced him to a mere
Shadow of his bold beagle days of yore

When he was young

When we were young

His eyes—those burnished chestnut orbs that danced
And glimmered in the magic-hour rays
Of summer eves—belied his years and shone
With feisty fiery passion and the ken
Of canny canine stratagems and grim

Intensity

Vehemently

As for his tail, there wasn’t much to say
Other than it epitomized the joy
Of reckless youth, that whip-snapping white-tipped
Apostrophe above his bobbing haunch
Forever oscillating to and fro

It wagged a lot

His ears were shot

I’d stand behind him, holler out his name
And he, oblivious to all, would move
Nary a muscle nor would bat an eye
But go about his business in his world
Of silent summer farm days as the birds

Sang quietly

Spoke thoughtfully

A touch upon his back would do the trick
And he’d glance o’er at me and grin as if
To say, “Oh, there you are! Now where’s my treat?”
And having been trained well by him I’d reach
Into my pocket for a doggo snack

And he would beam

His eyes would gleam

But mostly I recall our evening walks
As day-haze settled, rabbit brush aglow
And Harley, nose to road, would pad along
Intent on scrying hidden critter trails
In search of that elusive siren song

That rabbit scent

And there he went

A brown and white torpedo like a blur
Of milk and cookies, ears jet-streamed behind
His head, and beagle-baying, “Here I go!”
And through the sage and cheat grass he would fly
His white-tipped tail zig-zagging through the maze

Of summer days

Our summer days

And I would stand and watch this ritual
This vital, sacred rite that kindled life
And filled souls overflowing as my friend
Chased rabbits in the fading of the day
Braying echoing ‘cross halcyon fields

Amid god-beams

Gilded god-beams

“Grandfather” (reprise)

On By Mike U.In Poetry44 Comments

(originally posted 9/25/2021)

“Grandfather” (Part 1)
© 2012 by Michael L. Utley

The twitching thing that lay upon the bed
Was not my grandfather. It wore his face
And smelled of him, old coffee and a trace
Of cigarettes. Its eyes were rimmed with red
And rheumy and they twinkled in its head
Like distant dying stars. And in that place
Deep down inside where man and mind embrace
My grandfather had lost his mind and fled.

Where did he go, that man I once had known?
What horrors did he see, what eldritch lies
Ensnared him in the darkness and the din
Of lunacy? And was he all alone?
He was; I saw it in his weeping eyes
And in the tremble of his wretched grin.

…..

“Friction” (Part 2)
© 2012 by Michael L. Utley

The friction between
Two blades of grass
In a breeze
Is enough to
Shatter continents
The old man said
Look there—
And he blew his
Old man’s breath across the
Dead-yellow backyard lawn
Africa—gone!
Australia—kaput!
Antarctica—it were nice knowin ye!
And his bib-overalled belly
Shook with seismic tremors
Of raspy cigarette-scented
Laughter
And his age-dimmed eyes
Almost sparkled in their
Crevasse of wrinkles

And I grabbed his sandpaper hand
And choked back tears
The flavor of oceans
And I held my breath
Too afraid to breathe

…..

“Five Seconds” (Part 3)
© 2012 by Michael L. Utley

The old man speaks to me
Across the decades
Soundless words
Forever trapped in
Ninety frames of
Grainy Super-8

He walks away
Then turns at my
Teenaged beckoning
Hey, Grampa!
The shutter whirs
Like hummingbirds
Stealing a flower’s soul
Stealing my grandfather’s soul
The arcane machinations
Bending time and space
He is here in my machine
He is here

His Viking grin
His weathered overalls
His sweat-stained cap
His cologne of coffee and cigarettes
He stops
He speaks

I can’t hear his voice

Five seconds
He is alive
Rewind
Five seconds
He is alive
Rewind

I can’t hear his voice

He speaks to me across the decades
The silent film
Damning him
Damning me
I read his lips his eyes his smile
I will die soon
He seems to say
The strokes will be
Only the beginning
He seems to say
Everything will change
He seems to say
Everything but these
Five seconds I have with you
And you with me
And I am saying
Anything you wish
Anything you need me to say
Anytime you see me here

He turns
He smiles
He speaks
He walks away

Rewind

“I’ve Come at Last to Anhedonia”

On By Mike U.In Poetry40 Comments

“I’ve Come at Last to Anhedonia”
(c) 2023 by Michael L. Utley

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that bleak and melancholy land
beyond the god-forsaken desert sand
far ‘cross the sea of memories
where sunlight fades and none has e’er returned

the forests filled with stunted things
that in the shadows furtive lurk
rise forth from mires amid the murk
of blackened loam and caustic springs

and yellowed grasses’ brittle bones
that slough and sigh in bitter breeze
a desiccated meadow’s wheeze
a mournful death-rattle intones

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that lightless and forbidden place
beyond the hopes and dreams and saving grace
of human ken and mortal men
where moonlight fails and none has e’er returned

the stony fields and fetid fens
and moors forever draped in gloom
the whispers of impending doom
that echo in forgotten glens

the stars too faint to pierce the night
the cloying and unsettled haze
of apathetical malaise
that dulls even the purest light

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that languid and indiff’rent spot
beyond the realm of clarity of thought
where logic lies and purpose dies
where heart-light ebbs and none has e’er returned

the monuments to moments past
have crumbled ‘neath the weight of years
eroded by a lifetime’s tears
no joy in life is meant to last

it’s here I’ve found a resting place
a place to numb my pains and fears
eternal nights, eternal years
eternal sorrow I embrace

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that silent clearing in the trees
with bittersweet nostalgia on the breeze
where I will fade like mem’ries made
so long ago, and I shall ne’er return

“Doubt”

On By Mike U.In Poetry27 Comments

“Doubt”

(c) 2023 by Michael L. Utley

an abandoned field
an overcast sky
a cedar post
a river stone
a random trajectory
something will shatter
in a moment
when sorrow
and regret
merge
forcefully

so many thrown stones
litter the ground
around the post
missed opportunities
bad timing
a reprieve from
consequences
too brutal
to imagine
should wood
and stone
connect

but this time

is different

my aim is true
and through
tear-blurred eyes
I find clarity at last
as the stone
strikes the post
dead-center
and there is
no longer
any doubt

“This World is Yours”

On By Mike U.In Poetry69 Comments

“This World is Yours”
(c) 2023 by Michael L. Utley

you thought you could
save the world
wee lad
you couldn’t even
save yourself

those bleak nighthawk skies
where dead stars fall
like blood-bloated flies
and fey winds howl
in deafened ears
a behemoth’s fetid exhalation
violent and ignorant
and inexorable

breathe
breathe it all in
the sweat-soaked fear
the bitter tang of futility
fill your lungs
wee lad
this world is yours
as far as tear-blurred
eyes can see

pry up decrepit floorboards
in the dim derelict
cellar of childhood
see the blind white-bellied
squirming things
trundle dumbly, aimlessly
in sepulchral voids
gelatinous excreta
glistening in darkness
a treasure trove
of memories
a box of hell
a gift that keeps on giving
handle these with care
wee lad
lest they consume your soul

you battled the familiar demon
on twilight moors of yore
he wore your scar for years
you’ll wear his for eternity
wee lad
your popsicle stick sword
your pie tin shield
your best intentions
your noble cause
did you really think
you had a chance in hell
of slaying the beast?
what’s a little blood
between father and son?

the elixir of time is a lie
there is no balm for
a childhood stripped
from its moorings
with such casual cruelty

see the sullen sun
heliograph dully
on the lake of fate
see the dun birds
peregrinate incuriously above
see the reflection on the water
the wee old man
with hollow eyes
and broken soul
see the pulsing stormcloud
brooding, ever-present
on the horizon

the myth of idyllic youth
the hue of quicksilver
and autumn wheat
the clever, cloying scent
of false hope
the raucous, pealing thunder
of sundered souls
the thresher’s flail looms
and you fall before it as chaff
blown from this world
on eldritch zephyrs

within the forest of years
the darkling path
opens before you
and closes behind
in peristaltic spasms
as the trees swallow you
in green silence
this quiet place
devoid of time
a resting place
a tomb of giants
a dying place
for those so inclined
no memories allowed here
nor light nor love nor healing
only darkness
and the furtive murmur
of moon-shadows

you were a boy once
for seven years
now your ethereal form
drifts among
strange nameless constellations
across forgotten eons
you won’t find yourself here
wee lad
that kid is long gone
but you must find something
before all is lost

“A Few Haiku (50)”

On By Mike U.In Poetry50 Comments

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#295)

in konara copse
ferns beckon
with come-hither fingers

…..

(#296)

white chrysanthemum
she sleeps in the cool embrace
of oak shadows

…..

(#297)

in the garden
corn silk and laughter
my mother’s memories

…..

(#298)

her impression left
on hand-made rice cakes
and my heart

…..

(#299)

I’ll cross the footbridge
soon enough but for now
let me enjoy the stream

…..

(#300)

live long enough
even the mountain will betray you
the forked path

“A Few Haiku (46)”

On By Mike U.In Poetry77 Comments

(c) 2022 by Michael L. Utley

(#271)

blurred images and
a smudge of words on a page
is this all I am

…..

(#272)

puddle of cold wax
where my candle burned out
waiting for the light

…..

(#273)

thirty-six hours
between my tears and your death
a lifetime since then

…..

(#274)

fallow fields, dry ponds
fences in disrepair
long-dead memories

…..

(#275)

hope stretched thin and taut
across brittle bones of time
a dry husk of life

…..

(#276)

sorrow’s bedrock or
hope’s aquifer; either way
naught left but to dig