Borne back ceaselessly into the past

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newyear2013Yesterday tugs at me
like undertow.

Beach bums say
(from birds’ first cries at break of day
to sweet whispers of sunsets and red sails)
that I better watch out
or I’ll be fetched far from the happy shore
along with childhoods, daisies, favorite books,
meaningful looks, old fishermen’s shoes and folktales,
and hauled downward below the continental shelf
where everything that ever happened
is stored for safekeeping
in Davy Jones’ locker.

Titanic is there,
with  Lusitania, Edmund Fitzgerald, Empress of Ireland,
assorted sea monsters, sirens and songs, silenced now,
except in dream remnants flying like prayer flags
while their dreamers ceaselessly seek their future.
Yesterday caresses my feet like undertow
and the lifeguards say
I better watch out
or I’ll be ripped from an uncertain littoral
strewn with shells where long-gone creatures once lived
downward below the surface of known thought
where everything that ever happened
is locked away with ghost stories.

Yesterday whispers to me
like undertow
and the philosophers say
that I better watch out
or I’ll be come and gone with fleeting gestalts,
sunny afternoon dust motes, twilight inklings,
eye-blink gods and lives without faults
left out of history’s footnotes
that are kissed and missed forever
by all that has been borne
into the sleep of the deep.

Ceaselessly,
beach bums, life guards and philosophers
warn me with each red sky of morning
and every menacing grey twilight of gales
that yesterday is made of mirrors and smoke,
merely a mirage of dreams and lights across the bay.
Nonetheless, tomorrow or sooner than tomorrow,
I will ignore those fading cries of reason
because I’m watching less out than in,
aging upon the new season like spirits in oak.

Tomorrow, then, when yesterday calls me
with the words of wondrous once-upon-a-times,
turtle doves and lonely lost loves,
she will promise me many worlds, quantum leaps,
vision quests, and cave shadows in perfect pantomimes,
and like all I lack,
I’ll be borne back.

copyright (c) 2013 by Malcolm R. Campbell

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9 responses

  1. Pingback: Heartwarming stories for the holidays, round five | melinda clayton

  2. Beautiful. And, yes, haunting is a good word for it.
    It’s always good to remember, tho, that without yesterday, today wouldn’t be today.

  3. WordPress won’t let me reply: Beautiful, Malcolm. Absolutely beautiful.

      Marilyn Celeste Morris, Author, Editor, Speaker WEBSITE: http://authormarilyncelestemorris.blogspot.com/ BLOG: MyWriter’sViewpoint.blogspot.com/ Lupus Blog: TheLadyWithLupus.blogspot.com/ “You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” — Ray Bradbury

       

     

    >________________________________ > From: Malcolm’s Round Table >To: marilyncmorris@sbcglobal.net >Sent: Sunday, December 29, 2013 3:40 PM >Subject: [New post] Borne back ceaselessly into the past > > > > WordPress.com >Malcolm R. Campbell posted: “Yesterday tugs at me like undertow. Beach bums say (from birds’ first cries at break of day to sweet whispers of sunsets and red sails) that I better watch out or I’ll be fetched far from the happy shore along with childhoods, daisies, favorite b” >