Friday, September 1, 2017


                    I have a memory that’s apt to lapse:
                    ”What was I thinking of?  What’s next to do?”
                     Which sometimes causes disconcerting gaps
                     In my thought process, leaving me to stew,
                     But yet this disconcerting malady
                     Provokes me to imagine otherwise,
                     And sometimes to discover what might be
                     Which, but for that, I’d never realize—
                     So I adapt by jotting copious notes
                     Oft jettisoned at night beside my bed,
                     A mess for some; a treasure trove for poets,
                     Capturing what would otherwise have fled,
                           So that, as here, I’ve happily recollected
                           Ideas now less apt to be neglected.