Memories for Sale

We have this profoundly morbid hobby
Of feeding our summer weekend blues
Attending estate sales of the poor and snobby
Who’ve departed this world as ten lines in the news.

Wading through nick-knacks, shoes, and pots,
Books, ties and linens, jewelry and chairs,
Dusty glass jars of dried up forget-me-nots,
We’re carefully stalked by the dead’s hungry heirs,

We seldom do purchase, but always go learn
From souvenir and memento- what mattered most;
Where they had been, how they spent what they’d earn,
What was the mind of the home’s former host.

Military, factory, religious, D.I.Y.,
Traveled, well-read, simple, habitual-
Who was this woman, which her things can’t imply,
Did she colour in the lines, did every hour have a ritual?

Maybe what draws us is that we will never know;
That mystery remains but an insight is gained,
We’re reminded we’re more than our goods can show
Infinitely greater, and forever unexplained.

Space Man and the Journey Home

A man who’s traversed the oceans of space,
Bravely set foot upon worlds unknown,
One moon, three moons, wonder on his face
One sun, two suns, darkness, alone,
Evening high, green sky, red sky, none,
Gravity, uncertainty, the curious overrun-
Wherever he may wander, he will likely find
Familiar sights and circumstances,
That his own world’s not far behind;
And even while discovery advances
What he’s known will always show
For home’s within him, wherever he may go.

 

 

Wanderlust

To that virtue of a Sagittarius!
That curious, insatiable thirst;
For new sights, sounds and smells
Erratic at its worst!

Send me to Angkor Wat,
Post me off to Neuschwanstein!
Drop me off, roadside at Marseilles,
I’ll saunter the time.

Find me at a Marrakesh bazaar,
Like a cat, wandering low
Spare me the skyscrapers, a hawk’s eye
And two feet can find better show.

Dreary sitting by a window,
Hearing the drum, and fantasy dance
Of experience unharvested
Of aching, rusting plans.