This is a poem I wrote about the moments each of us have in our lives and how we go gathering ‘moss.’
‘Moss’ being a metaphor for memories. A lot of our memories are kept in our drawers – photographs,
travel diaries and our minds. I have weaved some humor in the lines I hope you enjoy it.
As you go gaining moss,
It is found in the draw by Lynda Gray
A draw full of ribbons
and paper clips
couldn’t be seen
in a reflection of Monet’s painting
at the Paris museum.
Leonardo da Vinci
at the National Gallery
drew his ‘cartoon’
with no Charles Shulz’s characters
or Calvin and Hobbes anywhere to be seen.
Reading ‘Emma’ in Bath
at the Roman Baths Museum
felt slightly predictable
the literacy of youth
would spell it thx 4 taking me.
‘Mona’ at the Louvre just wouldn’t stop
staring at me, so I made my owl stare at her
all night from all angles of the room.
It was time for ‘David’
at the Galleria dell’Accademia
to put some clothes on
But I guess the Romans love to pray and play.
As the splotches and splutters
of Jackson Pollock’s ‘Autumn Rhythm’
are filling most of humanities’ days.