Should I get lost, point me in the direction of a poem.

Sentimental Journey

December 1st, 2012 | Posted by bbleen in Family | Fantasy | Joy | Love | Reflections - (Comments Off on Sentimental Journey)

Home again… arising early

I wander through my parents’ house

in search of memories.

In the pantry are the small clear glasses

hand-painted with tulips.

Instinctively I lift one to my lips,

almost tasting the Seven-up my grandfather

used to pour, remembering how the fizz

tickled my nose, grandpa’s laughter.

I imagine him standing there wearing

his felt hat and checkered flannel shirt,

puffing on his long stemmed pipe.

But too soon, the image fades, as set in the past

as the tulips are in their glass prisons.

From a dusty shelf in the den I retrieve

the old Currier and Ives, copyrighted 1952.

Through its pages I’d traveled America,

journeying by steamboat down the

Mississippi, flat boating the Ohio River,

riding the rail to California.  Always

enjoying my imaginative adventures,

always thirsting for more.

Wistfully I close the book, leaving its

people and places, now slightly faded,

to a future wanderer.

Photographs crowd the living room,

each one caressing a memory-my birth,

birthdays, school days, first date…

every event cascading for eternity in

wood and glass.

The floorboard creaks as my mother

enters the kitchen.  I hasten to greet her

blinking back the tears. Our eyes meet

and we smile, scattering the memories

amongst a million dreams, the air

shimmering with the essence of their

beauty as they surrender, each one

to its designated place.

Just Beyond the Softest Sound

October 30th, 2011 | Posted by bbleen in Fantasy | Imagination - (1 Comments)

The roses on my table appear to be singing,

so sure of themselves and their beauty.

Both proud and arrogant they break into song

the minute they are alone,

when they think no one hears.

I can tell by their pursed mouths,

I have caught them in action,

they have been silenced in midair

by my scrutinizing eyes.

With red mouths agape they stealthily suck in air,

in lieu of the next chorus,

their petals wrapped tight to hide trilling tongues.

They cannot fool me.

From a vase on my table the roses are singing,

stars in a theatre of dishes, pots and pans.

I haven’t heard them yet for they are secretive and sly.

Yet somehow I know this theory to be true.

While I am away or while I am sleeping

I know they are singing,

shedding their petals

like a burlesque singer sheds her clothes.

They repeat their song,

day after day,

night after night.

And they will go down singing,

dropping from exhaustion as the water runs dry,

till the last one withers and dies.

My Dentist

October 29th, 2011 | Posted by bbleen in Fantasy | Imagination - (1 Comments)

My dentist knows my mouth intimately.

And, like any man who recognizes a lover

across a crowded room, merely by her stance

or the way she tosses her hair, my dentist

recognizes me by the composite fillings,

the caps on my teeth.

Reclined under the veil of Novocain,

I listen to his and a dental assistant’s

chatter as he wields his drill, meticulous and

finely tuned, with gloved hands explores

every nook and cranny of my gaped mouth.

Reclined there I wonder if it’s true what they say,

that a dentist’s first impression is based on your

smile, the degree of whiteness, how big the gap

is between your teeth.

At the end of his day does he take our teeth home

with him, each extraction and filling a story to be

tossed over salad as he dines with his family,

an example to his children as the reason as to why

they should always brush their teeth?

Does he dream our teeth at night?

The decayed ones surfacing in nightmares to

mock him, in which he runs aimlessly through

forests, fog, or the dead of night, searching in vain

for a dental tool that will extinguish them?

While the healthy teeth shimmer in pleasant dreams,

lined up in rows like sailors standing at attention in

their dress whites, each saluting as he pauses before

them, the words excellent, brilliant, beautiful,

rolling off his tongue.