“There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.” (W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM)

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Co-Poets pt. 6(revisions cont.)

The last revised poem comes from Paul Enea. This is a true re-imagining of the concept set  forth by me of forgetting and remembering as happens throughout a lifetime. My original thoughts were of an old man or woman maybe going through the stages of dementia and how one remembers things from childhood or certain moments in time that brought us joy and how it makes one feel, even while sitting in some geriatric ward in a hospital, seemingly wasting away. I know happy thoughts, right? Well, poetry isn't always pretty.
Here is Paul's poem...

Now I Remember

I forgot I was finite
I forgot my father was still alive
I forgot my father is always dead
I forgot I have no child
I forgot I had a child
I forgot memories are true
I forgot lying delays nothing
I forgot everyone kills a thing
I forgot every epiphany
I forgot I love Rita
I forgot there is no Rita
I forgot the sound of pale blue
I forgot the scent of dark
I forgot to invent a new way
I forgot the word for stay
I forgot the name for hate
I forgot the friend who vanished
I forgot the friend who remained
I forgot I was nowhere
I forgot the dog who followed me home


  1. Every line of this poem resonates and could be it's own piece to follow down a rabbit hole. Great job Paul.