I remember walks,
cool autumn evening,
no words spoken
none needed
only an occasional glance
in crisp night air
to find in each other
a soul
intertwined
and giving
in love.
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Monthly Archives: October 2020
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That Artsy Call
Posted at 8:18 am , on October 31, 2020
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Cobblestone Concerns
Posted at 10:17 pm , on October 29, 2020
I remember it was Christmas
in another country
walking together
toward the Nuremberg festival.
I kept looking at stones
thinking it must matter
they have to have a reason
being placed in perfect rows.
to her it seemed another day
for me it was history
I thought of the footsteps
turn into jogs to fast runs.
A country trying hard to survive
the war of our ancestors
and we plod on cobblestone
thinking only material games
I remember it was Christmas
only too many years away
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Savage Dreams
Posted at 12:36 am , on October 29, 2020
It’s a cry
you sigh
alone with a memory
I want to deny.
I lost you,
her, she, when, then,
now!
©️ Scott F Savage 10/2020
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For This Wonder
Posted at 11:04 pm , on October 27, 2020
I would give a day
if in return
you may look my way
wonder
about the treelines
carrying winter’s rain
that glorious morning
we all rode together
tears streaming
wanted to say good-bye
to whom I might
hope we see again
each of us
each together
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Mirror, My Eyes
Posted at 1:33 am , on October 25, 2020
For might I look upon you
to see the same as in my gaze.
There is a world inside we do
covet have secret wanton ways.
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What might we ask of simple glance
to give feature to that held outside
yet always will arise that only chance
to know, to feel, to breathe inside.
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When might an ache seeking softer tone
give her great pleasure to then in glass
see similar, find light, an internal known
serene identity, sing aloud, (leaves of grass).
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The wisdom of one poet knew his own eye
Her reflection sweet speak I in starry nigh.
© Scott F Savage 10/2020
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“The Notebook’ – removed
Posted at 10:42 pm , on October 23, 2020
did we
imagine
a quiet memory
when years
allow our hearts
a pine
a soft design
when the immediacy
of her eyes
will be in mine
while those around
just see an old man gazing
into an evening sun
no one might
know the story still fresh
in an aging mind
hers
rain-soaked love
did exist in the pages
‘the Notebook’
© Scott F Savage 10/2020
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I Need To Hear Your Voice
Posted at 9:55 pm , on October 22, 2020
I don’t know how,
just peace of mind,
an ability to feel
when everything around me
right now seems surreal.
Words as easily made to speak
upon the fear of our own
vulnerable selves,
and yet,
what about that guilt we leave behind,
how cruel are we
put ourselves before
everyone else
those that believe
and the others
like me,
feel lost in a sea of despair.
The greatest fear of its being real
leaves a silence no one will ever feel.
© Scott F Savage 10/2020
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Musings
Posted at 7:52 pm , on October 21, 2020
©️ Scott F Savage 10/2020
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Measuring Eyes
Posted at 12:52 pm , on October 19, 2020
A long while back
a picture
real faces
stoic expression
instruction
that photographer that day
told no one to smile
not an ask
stylistic demand.
I remember
being happy
around those I loved
and yet
years later I look at my eyes
pursed lips too
leaves me wonder
if an onlooker
might see through such a still life
statue of remorse
lost in abandon.
Sweet will eyes tell story
last a lifetime alone.
©️ Scott F Savage 10/2020
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For This Would
Posted at 10:27 pm , on October 17, 2020
Cause so much pain
yet the remorse no longer exists,
instead it becomes a plan,
a way to carry out some
leftover bedlam.
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One has to realize
no longer could a sunset
be appreciated by naked eyes,
a walk upon autumn lain leaves,
would seem unnatural.
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For these are the things
we will wish were not easily
left behind
though how could they not,
if stopping to breathe no longer …
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We can feel moments of fear
a confusion
a desperation
a certain irony
that wills our lives against the others.
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There are those we will fight
for a lifetime
that credibility
the natural course of time,
left alone reveal own sad device.
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Think of the hours spent,
the time ahead,
obligations, expectations, hopes and dreams,
and they’re not all your own,
they are those who count upon you
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to lead our lives along some path,
a travel in excitement, entertainment,
voices to be heard,
a purpose to learn the rhythm
of how the blues to sing our songs.
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If for the moment
found hanging from a doorway
would be the finality of speculation
what would matter then,
later after fresh paint and new hinges.
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This is a certain sorrow,
enough to frighten a victim
from pursuing a good night’s sleep,
for to wake in this same world again,
oh so tiresome is this rinse and repeat.
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If somehow the sky might open swallow me whole
than know would I my peace no longer need control.
©Scott F Savage 10/2020
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