Moments and fragments of time, coming back to me.
Lighting up to new life within my mind, as my life dwindles.
So many moments in swift succession fly,
As though my love of life inflames as my time comes near to die.
Disjointed, fragmented time--deep within my love of life kindles.
Far too many moments to name them all.  I'll name a very few.
A few random treasures of time,
Now lost to time, that live only in my yet-bright memory.
Moments of memory; flashing in memory of me.
- - - - - - -
Eating cornflakes with my Grandma and Great Grandma,
Sitting in a chair boosted with two big pillows.
We also ate bacon and eggs.
They couldn't chew the bacon rinds, and gave them to me.
Also we ate grapefruit halves;
As a child, I called grapefruit "great-fruit."
Fruit cocktail.  I called it "fruit and cottontail."
I lived with them for two years,
While Daddy was in the Army.
- - - - - - -
Feeding the chickens raw corn.  Grandma's chickens.
About fifty hens and roosters,
All flocking outside of the coop at my call.
Tossing them food over the wire fence.
A fast fixed moment of time's transience.
Dozens of raw corn on the cob. 
They got most of them, but--
I ate a few of them clean of corn and threw the husks over.
- - - - - - -
Learning to read.  Mama held me in her lap, with the big book open.
She would trace with her finger every word as she read aloud to me;
And my gaze grasped those words, and remembered.
I'll never forget how amazed my mother was
When she found me reading aloud to myself,
Not yet even a year old.
- - - - - - -
Oh, precious times!  Long before I knew how time can turn,
And become hurtful and hateful.
Back then, when eternity was in a day and in a year,
And nothing proved more gossamer and false, than feeling fear.
- - - - - - -
Learning to love poetry and songs.  My mother sang lullabies
When I was only a few months old, resting on her breast,
Hearing her heartbeat.  Everything in the time that flies
Is just as fleet, and sometimes nearly as sweet.
Later, she sang ballads and folk songs to me,
All the way to age three.  And she read me poetry.
All kinds of poetry; and I memorized
The magic of those words that had me mesmerized.
Thank you, oh my mother, for all your wondrous gifts to me!
You taught me love and caring and love of truth and honesty.
You taught me how to read and how to write and to be grateful.
- - - - - - -
Learning to love learning.  Science.  At age four,
Reading about the planets and stars; about the extinct dinosaur;
About honey bees and all insects; most wonderful of all,
About physics: How every object had mass and density and weight,
And volume: and no two objects could at the same time
Occupy the same space.
I was quite precocious as I became a little boy. 
I could, for astronomy and physics, name all the major laws.
However, I still believed in Superman and in Santa Clause.
- - - - - - -
The first little girl I ever loved: Patricia was her name.
How can a little boy of five feel a kindling of love's flame?
I sure felt something.  I really, really liked that girl.
Now she is gone, lost in time's whirl and swirl.
- - - - - - -
Little brother Joe is born.  Mama had asked me before:
"Do you want a sister or a brother?"  I said: Brother.
He was in the crib, and here I am at three
Peering close at him; then, his little peewee rose,
And splashed my face with pee.
I remember it well--I've still got an excellent memory.
Mama sure recalled!  Mama always loved to tell that story.
- - - - - - -
First baby sister is born.  Mama had asked me the same thing:
"Do you want to have a brother or a sister?"  This time,
I said: Sister.  When I got a sister, it seemed sure I had the power
To decide.  This was Mary, my precious sister still with the world.
Still with me in the world.  When she was a little girl of six,
She loved tomatoes; but was allergic to them: her face broke out
With big red bumps; but she loved tomatoes so much,
She would not, maybe could not stop.  And so it is,
That sometimes the things we love most,
Hurt us and hit us like thrown bricks.
An early touch
On our childhood time, of the dark side of things. 
The flip-side of fate and all the blessings that life brings.
A touch of the truth of time's twisted tricks.
Mary, like me, learned to love singing and music and poetry.
My sister Mary is still my friend, and a great joy and comfort to me.
Though she lives far away from me, and only phone calls and letters
Connect our hearts and minds and memories; she is a blessing.
- - - - - - -
Next moment of memory: Second baby sister is born. 
By then, I was ten,
And too old to think I could decide what sex the baby would be.
So it was a surprise to all and to me.
Jan.  I remember her tiny little feet, with pink booties on.
Lying on my mother's lap, cradled there with love.
How my mother cherished her; just the way she had cherished me.
As she had cherished each of us in turn,
As we came into this strange and familiar, caring and callous world.
- - - - - - -
On an adventure, exploring the woods.  With my friend Merle.
I'm seven; he's eight.  We'll get in trouble getting home late.
But we found a growth of Musky Dimes; big round berries
With sweet juice red as blood.  And persimmons.
But these persimmons were green.
They make your mouth shrink up with their weird astringency.
- - - - - - -
Climbing the apple tree.  The big, gnarled branches.  In our yard.
Oh, I was a little spider monkey, when I was eight!
Who could think that life could become painful, let alone so hard.
But mercifully, children seldom see the bad that can become fate.
- - - - - - -
Second girl I liked.  Myra Joyce.  Ah, she was sweet and choice.
A lovely girl of nine.  I was ten. 
She actually agreed to be my girlfriend.
Daughter of the landlady.  We were good friends.
I often wonder where she is now, what paths she took
In time's unfolding tendrils and twisting bends?
- - - - - - -
First day of High School.  I felt so cool.  To be a big boy now,
In High School!  The girl I liked most was Susan Slate.
She wore high stockings past her knees; varied and colorful.
Her legs were shapely.  I could see them from where I sat,
My desk where I wrote so many papers and read so much.
I loved learning, and I loved sweet feminine voices,
Sweet sight of girls and their precious scent.  And touch.
- - - - - - -
First day of college.  Before I knew it, I was in the Honor Society.
So much new learning!  Vistas of wonderful knowledge. 
I fell in love with a girl named Jaimie Schwartz. 
I showed her my poetry.  She loved it; she compared me to Gibran.
(She even sometimes called me her Prophet Poet.)
Then I began to write love poems to her and for her.
It was a great gift then, her love, brought to me by my poetry.
Now she is lost to me,
Washed away with all the fall of days, the sands of time that ran.
- - - - - - -
Velma became my wife.  I thought we would stay together for life.
Before we married, the envelopes of her letters would say:
HOLLAND: Hope Our Love Lives And Never Dies.
"True love never dies," a million songs play.
If so, then maybe she still somewhat loves me--my former wife,
Wherever she may be--as I still love her today.
- - - - - - -
Sandra Black.  She won me over with enticements and seduction.
I loved the five years I was with her.  She had a little boy, David,
I helped to raise.  Sandra played piano while we all sang songs.
Then, when she became a Fundamentalist, she no longer kissed,
But left me.  She is one of those my heart has deeply missed.
- - - - - - -
Great flaming love.  Patricia. 
Not the same Patricia as when I was a child.
This Patricia is also called Marilyn. 
I found her to be a lady full of piety and the sweetest sin.
A woman of caring compassion for people and animals,
Who could so often and so easily go crazy wild.
What went wrong?  Too many things to name.
I still love her with sweet memories of a dear old flame.
- - - - - - -
Last love.  Or, I'll say: Probably my last love. 
Elena.  I was so happy with her!
She made my heart feel so loved and glad.
But then my symptoms got too many and too bad.
I had to tell her that I have cancer.
Things were never quite the same afterward.
At first, she seemed unfazed: then, a few days later, she said
She couldn't handle being with a man with so many health issues.
I still see her once in a while. 
Sometimes she gives me hugs and kisses,
And I smile.  But now she won't give me everything.
Still, from her I have precious moments of memory,
Among so many good and bad, which my rich memories bring.
- - - - - - -
Fourth birthday party.  Four little candles with flickering fire.
A white-icing cake sprinkled with shredded coconut.
I felt special.  I felt loved.  I lost my present, and got in trouble.
But the only present that matters--now I know--is time.

==============================
Written by Michael LP, aka PoetWithCancer
aka (thanks to my dear friend, Luna Marie) Mr. Poet
Written on Monday, December 19, 2011  5:32 PM PST
54 degrees F.    Humidity: 43%     Forecast: fair
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael LP.  All rights reserved
(Copyrighted for my estate)