I have forgotten why the sky is blue.
Or why the night sky is not bright with an infinity of stars.
I don't know how rainbows work.
I have forgotten some things, and other things I never knew.
I have forgotten 'Friends, Romans, Gentlemen...'.
And the procedures for a landing approach.
I don't know how to play Backgammon.
I have forgotten some things, and other things I never knew.
I have forgotten the names of my beach friends.
And how to tie a bowline.
I don't know how to do Laplace Transforms.
I have forgotten some things, and other things I never knew.
I have forgotten how to develop black and white film.
And whether Matisse was a cubist or fauvist.
I don't know what makes this tick.
I have forgotten some things, and other things I never knew.
Is it actually poetry week? Or have I accidenlty started a meme?
one thing you did NOT forget is your country of origin. Only an Englishman would misremember "countrymen" as "gentlemen."
I confess that that caught my eye in a 'That doesn't look quite right' sort of way, but if I was going to start looking things up when writing about what I've forgotten, I might as well have not bothered at all, but spent half an hour in the company of the good Dr. Google.
My pride is screaming at me to change that, but I'm going to let it stand.
I was going to ask if the prose/verse was yours, but seeing the comments, you've answered that one. Thanks for that.
One question:
Did you used to Fly powered or glider ?
One Answer:
I think Matisse was a Fauvist.
I had several answers, but I have forgotten the other things, and some things I, too, never knew ;-)
Glider, Luke. I was fortunate enough to do a short course to lap-of-airfield solo paid for by the RAF when I was an Air Cadet.
I think, 857 poems on, that if anyone started the poetry meme, it was meme.
Ba-doom-cha
Nice poem Stuart. On a similar theme is one called Forgetfulness written by an American poet, Billy Collins...
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
That's something pretty special, birdman, thanks.