Tag Archives: memories

SAVANNAH by Jeffrey Littrell

I am imprisoned by that moment in time,
trying to move forward against phantom restraints,
clinging tightly to her memory
as if it were a rosary

the stained glass window
contained an aperture
that let just the right amount of sunshine
fall upon the narthex

outside, a renegade yellow balloon
drifted above the Southern Live Oaks
as the Spanish moss
hung wet with dew

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OCTOBER SKY by Jeffrey Littrell

constellations blink
and sparkle like pink champagne
do you see them, too ?


A VIVID AUTUMN by Jeffrey Littrell

 

the sting of the brisk Bloomington air

chases me across Kirkland

past girlish laughter

fueled by lunchtime daiquiris

 

bliss flowing like warm, soothing lava

in contrast to the chill

 

I try to remember

when the sanguine vitality of youth

coursed through me

and she was my inamorata

 

when we held hands in Dunn Meadow

and watched the music changing color

 

now, I’m just an itinerant lover

a vigilant, misplaced friend

vituperative and jaded

with a frail, calloused heart

 

the trees of Brown County

are a vibrant red and gold

recalling to me when the arduous crawl of age

had yet to slow my walk

 

when the sands of time seemed infinite

and life, a beautiful reckless wonder


FATE’S LILTING LAUGHTER by Jeffrey Littrell

 

I cannot abide the solitude

turned angry and embittered

by fate’s lilting laughter

 

the silence, deafening

the darkness, luminescent and purple

the torment, etched inside me in indelible ink

 

amid clinking glassware

and the soft-jazz pulse of a martini bar

people chatter and mingle

 

yet there is a clouded vacancy

in all their eyes

if they meet my gaze at all

 

scattered thoughts, disjointed memories

( baby’s breath, seashells, Mateus Rose )

come to mind and quickly flee

 

recollections so surreal

it’s as if it all happened

to some better version of myself

 

leaving me lost

broken and bruised

a casualty to fate’s lilting laughter


OLD SCHOOL COUNTRY BALLAD by Jeffrey Littrell

I’ve still got some hurtin’ to do

I still have some pain left inside

it stays in my dreams, it won’t leave it seems

no matter how hard that I’ve tried

I’ve still got some hurtin’to do

 

I’ve still got some tears left to cry

I can’t get her out of my mind

I’ve drank all my beer, her ghost is still here

her sweet perfume lingers behind

I’ve still got some tears left to cry

 

it’s time to get my life on track

get rid of this misery inside

I’ll work hard to lose, these broken heart blues

that she left me with, when she lied

it’s time to get my life on track

 

while I still have time on this Earth

I’ll try to live right and not wrong

stay away from bad places, and sweet tempting faces

until a good woman does come along

I’ve still got some loving to do

 

stay away from bad places, and sweet tempting faces

until a good woman does come along

I just wrote my first country song   J


SCATTERED FRAGMENTS ( an emotional scrapbook ) by Jeffrey Littrell

I had thoughts of writing a poem about childhood memories and the like, but found myself too restricted in that format to get my points across properly. The end result is this short, rambling, essay/stream of consciousness piece. Faded memories. Vague glimpses of a past. Scribbled asides. Forgotten snapshots.

If you have never seen the Albert Brooks comedy ” Defending Your Life “, you should pick it up at the video store or Netflix. Essentially, Albert’s character is killed in an auto accident and arrives in Judgement City, where his life is judged by viewing video clips of his time on Earth. He has an “attorney”, played by Rip Torn, who presents Albert’s case and defends his actions. It’s one of my favorite movies, and it makes you reflect on your own past and how well your actions and behavior might stand up under such scrutiny.

Now, when I think back through my time in this life, it all seems so surreal. It seems like it was happening to someone else entirely. As if everything that was happening was pre-ordained and expected almost, and I was just reading my lines. I see my memories played back in a hazy video montage. Everything was always headed to where I am now and where I am going next.

I remember watching old reel to reel home movies on a big white screen when I was a child. Captured glimpses of family reunions long past. Riding my Grey Ghost bicycle. The men, who all had buzz-cuts and played yard darts, acted goofy, giving beer to the dog. The radios were tuned to the Indy 500. Cousins splashed in the sprinkler. A baby’s first awkward steps and little fingers in the birthday cake. Pencil marks on the doorframe of new heights attained. A 9 lb. Flathead caught out of Lake Priscilla. Vacations. Tennessee. Persimmon trees. Chickens. Mules. Outhouses. Georgia rain. Florida Sun. Feeding squirrels in the mountains of Colorado. Hammerin’ Hank catches the Babe. My first kiss. It was the neighbor girl, Debra, on the forehead, while she held her eyes tightly shut. The Hardy Boys. Batman. Striking out Willie Mays in my back yard, in my vivid imagination. Having my heart broken in the second grade by Carin, when she decided she only needed six boyfriends, not seven. My first motorcycle, a Honda XL125. My first car, a 1974 Ford Comet with a scoop on the hood and a 302 engine. It had a cassette player, although I only had one tape, which was Bad Company’s first album. Saturday nights in high school with my friends. My first electric bass. My first band. Singing ” Paranoid” and ” Jumping Jack Flash ” between bits of band drama. Sneaking cigarettes from the machine at Fire Station No.4.  A cool October night when I became a man. Prom night. Memories of Minnesota, L.A., Chicago, Savannah, and the bright colors of a  New England autumn. My first poem published. Laughter. Tears. Herbs. Pills. Powders. Addiction. Harley-Davidsons. Depression. Hating my job with the Postal Service. Wanting much more. Marriage. Births. Divorce. Loneliness. Abigail. Loneliness. Rediscovery. Magic. Hope. Heartbreak.

All was so innocent back in the beginning. I had no idea of the joys and sorrows that awaited me. The minutes and the years passed by as if in a dream state. I’m now an actor in need of direction. Who am I now ? Where am I going ? What is my motivation in this scene ? Do I get to pick my next co-star ?  The final curtain awaits me.


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