Distant Memory

POETS UNITED

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2010/09/thursday-think-tank-prompt-15.html

chose the theme

DISTANT MEMORY

Memory is not a picture; it's a series of disconnected blots.

Only sometimes do we wander in a field of forget-me-nots.

We remember this one and that one, on one day or the next.

We remember in isolation, not as smoothly-flowing text.

Most of all we remember emotion; we look at a photograph,

And we remember sadness, though the image may show a laugh.

And, as the years go past us, we remember self-delusion;

We recall how our own gaiety was sometimes an illusion.

A love-affair indulged in, we recall with some distaste;

We thought it was 'the real thing' then, now 'the true thing' must be faced;

We 'fell in love' merely because a new man had been found.

Looking back, he was nothing much; just the only man around.

Friends, relations, colleagues have grown dust upon the shelf.

Whom do I really remember?

Myself.

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 Paul Klee

BY ANY OTHER NAME

I know very little of modern art;

I'd better state that at the start.

But here's a work by the great Paul Klee

That well and truly satisfies me.

The colours merge and mystify,

The shapes and placings please my eye.

It's called 'Magic Garden', well so be it.

If he says it's a garden I can see it.

If he had called it 'Secret Spell'

I could have recognised that as well.

The merging colours really count,

But the title? Not a large amount.

Abstract art has a life of its own,

The name of it need not be known.

I taught little children in my day;

They daubed in a really childlike way,

Yet, sometimes, serendipity

Would present a 'work of art' to me.

The colours chosen, juxtaposed,

The splashes, blots, the white exposed

Would form a painting warm and vital.
What need was there to find a title?

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