I Think I Will, Eventually, Forget

I think about what will happen to my paternal grandparents’ house when they die. I always hated that house, not them, not the experiences that I had in it. Just, the house ITSELF. I hated that no matter how many people you filled it with it always seemed empty, no matter when you went into it it existed on another plane of time and space. Lonely. How it always had a crushing quiet, the quiet of an awkward silence, when you heard that a family member has just died, except it is always, always like that.

My maternal grandparents house was similar, but less so, mostly because the only place that was eerie was the basement (I avoided it like the plague). This house felt more familiar, in a subconscious sense. My Mother’s family was larger than my Father’s, and well, it still is, despite how many that have died, and have made that once familiar house more hollow than before. It was also once filled with family members in picture frames that had died, that I had never met, that even my Mom had never met. When my grandmother died the house began on its downward progression to this hollowness, in fact, that was actually the beginning AND the end, because when my grandfather died, his soul had already left him when the love of his life did, six years before.

When I was working the other day, I had a sudden flash – of lightning bugs and of the humid New England evenings that had seemed to never have an end, in my maternal grandparents’ fenced-in back yard… it was the first time I had thought about these memories, that place, since my grandfather passed away, and it came to me, in a sudden realization, that these nights would never happen again, these dark sunsets playing capture the flag with siblings and with cousins (in the end someone would inevitably get hurt), capturing lightning bugs en masse (because dear God they were everywhere) would exist only in my memory; I could relive them as many times as I wanted to, until I replayed them so much they eventually faded and became forgotten, like the jaded photos of family members on walls, like my Dad’s cassette tapes that he claimed to wear out, like the rotting books and dusty vinyls my grandparents gave me, all of those, existing in my memory or not, with someone watching them or not, would fade, would rust, would tire of being the objects they were, becoming nothing, so that no one would even remember them for what they were.


What’s Coming

In lieu of the new year, I’d like to set in place a few things that readers can expect sometime within the next twelve months.

As my poetry skills have improved over the years, I am also still trying out different styles of poetry. You will see more structure to poems, whether it be syllabic, metrical, or other. You will also see more writing practices, which this blog has been absent of in recent months. Lastly, I will be working on a poetry collection that should be read as a whole, perhaps for thematic or narrative purposes.

You will most likely see the same sporadic posting of photography that has become the usual from me. So stay on the look out if you enjoy that content.

Some superficial updates: posts will continue to be brought to you every three days, but will be posted in the morning rather than at night. This may be subject to change, depending on whether the time change is beneficial or not.

I have also made a Poem Types page for use when narrowing down and searching for different poetical structures I have used in the past.

Another thing you can check out if you are interested is my update to my Tips For Poems post, which basically details what you should remember when writing poetry according to what I have learned in my experience.

Also don’t forget that you can find Port Foilo over on Tumblr, Twitter, and FictionPress (where you can find short stories and hopefully the potential poetry collection).

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my upcoming poetry!

The Garden

I sat on the bench
and looked at the woman across the fountain.
She looked like she was tired,
scrolling on her phone.
I turned towards the exotic plant next to me.
I’ve never seen it before,
but after all,
I’ve never even seen this place before.
I wondered who the people were
that the fountain was made out of.
I wondered if any one wondered.