Come back to your ‘self’...

After all your wanderings with

Memories that rummage through
old words for comfort,
that gaze at forgotten pictures
for traces of frail links

Hope that shops for trinkets
or leaps to hold the moon

Despair that shovels up
old hurts and failures,
that lives among sighing shadows
that thin away only to re-form

Dreams that droop and drop dead
or trickle away and dry up,
that perforate over time
or become brittle

After all your wanderings with
these

Come back to your ‘self’,
the still centre,
the only true refuge
from all restive driftings.

'The problem with ... '

The problem with unpleasant memories
is that they never set you free

The bad ones like leeches
suck the life juices out of the self’s innermost reaches

They prance around with hideous masks
Who let them in, only a fool asks

The problem with bad memories
is that

if they come in hordes,
into your peace they make grave inroads

if you are in their thrall
you cannot hear the present moment’s clarion call

they stick to you like soaking wet clothes
and that for sure ill bodes

if they get a foot in the door
your present lies squashed on the floor

if you submit to their sway
be warned, you will have hell to pay.

if you tell them timidly to scoot
you will see how brazenly they hoot

In surly seas you welter
your life scurries helter-skelter

The problem with unpleasant memories
is that they never let you be