History or Memories

 

How little we save of our history past or present

A few jots here and there left to memory’s interpretation

Disjointed thoughts perspectives often misconstrued to suit

 

Every life lost is a history in itself never to be recovered

No matter how much we try most of history dies with us

Sometimes revived but always incomplete and lacking

 

Death is like pulling the shade on a universe of bright stars

Hidden from view forever as new stars shine and twinkle

Before burning out becoming ashes of history left in time’s hearth

 

Still, we go on creating our own chosen narratives of history

Remembering the good as the bad memories exfoliate away

A feel-good history that we claim to be fact even when it in doubt

 

Written sometimes hundreds of years later from fossil memories left behind

Knowing that most of real history disappears with us when we go

*

Photo of Heidelburg Castle: Dwight L. Roth

Below is the Fictional Biography of my grandfather, Christian Roth. I wanted to preserve the stories I heard about him for the next generation. A few years ago, I took what little facts I had about his life and embellished them into a biography of stories. An example of my personal historical narrative. It is available to read on Amazon Kindle, along with my other books.

 

 

 

 

Christmas Poems: Christmas State of Mind

When I think of Christmas

I am carried to that special place

hidden somewhere in the past

*

Christmas is a state of mind,

those childhood memories

packed away in a boxes, like decorations

brought out to celebrate the season

*

Christmas is a time when a tune or a song

will open the window of my mind

to images seemingly forgotten, yet vividly clear

Music does that,

The song always remembers

*

Christmas is that feeling of reliving

school days, of pictures to color

decorations on the wall…

recalling church programs with four-line

recitations dressed up as Mary and Joseph

with the baby Jesus in a manger

and frightened shepherds and Wise Men

*

Christmas is a feeling of comfort and joy

being loved and appreciated

singled out and given special gifts

remembering the smiles on people’s faces

*

The joy of giving and receiving

is what Christmas is all about…

God’s gift of love and grace to us

is now our gift to share with others

*

Christmas is a state of mind

lived out every day of our life.

*

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Embedded Pain

Wounds buried deeply

Covered over with time bark

Twisted barbs remains

*

Still connected to the past

Ghostly Spectors // very real

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

When You Think of Me (flash fiction)

Julian could not believe she was gone. She had been his support for as long as he could remember.

Grandma Rosalinda had now passed on.

She knew she was dying, so she called Julian in to her bedside for some final words of love and encouragement.

“When you bury me up on the Stoney Ridge in our family plot, let it be a shallow grave,” she said. “Though I am now old and wrinkled, I was once beautiful, fair, and pretty as the flowers in the mountain meadow.

“That is how I want you to remember me. ‘To be pretty for you I have dropped two seeds of turnsole in the dark of both eyes.’ When I am gone, they will grow, following the sun across the meadow. When you see those flowers you will think of me, and how pretty I have become.”

*

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Sanaa gave us a challenge line from poem by Isabel Duarte Gray called, Garden. We had to write a flash fiction prose piece of only 144 words including the following line, ‘To be pretty for you I have dropped two seeds of turnsole in the dark of both eyes.’

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

turnsole: a flower used for dye that follows the sun…

Turnsole became a mainstay of medieval manuscript illuminators starting with the development of the technique for extracting it in the thirteenth century, when it joined the vegetable-based woad and indigo in the illuminator’s repertory. Its use was mostly as substitute of the more expensive Tyrian purple, the famous dye obtained from Murex molluscs. However, the queen of blue colorants was always the expensive lapis lazuli or its substitute azurite, ground to the finest…

Wikapedia~

Where Corn Grows Tall

     ~The farm of my ancestors, now without electricity and owned by an Amish farmer~

*

Clouds hang like a blanket over the mountain as I drive down the road

Back to where my roots run deep, and corn grows nine feet tall

To the valley where my mother and grandmother and her mother were born

Past the farm where I spent my summers working during my teen years

Where cows were milked and hay was baled and stories flowed freely

Today I am driving down the road my parents and grandparents traveled

reflecting on how much has changed and how much is still the same

What has not changed are the fields of green alfalfa and rows of tall corn

Amish buggies with black tops still clip clop down the road in this world 

where time has stopped…  and the world moved on at a faster pace

Memories float through my mind as I drive down the road

letting the Valley envelop me and fill my soul with nostalgia

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Posting for Open Link night at d’Verse

This week we traveled through Central Pennsylvania visiting friends and family. It was beautiful with cooler weather and breathtaking scenery.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Ink Blots

Words better left unspoken

stain the mind with permanent

indelible ink

Remembered // played on repeat

over and over and over again

You can push the pause button

but you can never erase

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

I Can Still Dream…

Dreaming

I can always dream… they never get old!

Let my mind wander up and down memories past

Delusions of grandeur finally replaced with reality

*

I can always dream… they never get old!

Remembering the good times when faces were flushed

Spontaneous times of sweet intense connection

*

I can always dream… they never get old!

Babies, turning into children, growing into adults

Blooming in their prime… still making our mistakes

*

I can always dream… they never get old!

Places to go and things to see traveling while we still can

Making the most of the time we have left

*

I can always dream… they never get old!

Even when I am old confined to a chair

Memories are as fresh as they ever were

*

I can still dream…

***

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Things I learned in High School

When I think back on the things I learned

I wonder what fragment remains after sixty years

Math and Literature History and Civics

all are fading fast, but there is one skill

I use every day, creating this blog for you…

Typing skills remain

***

Stamp Art Typewriter: Dwight L. Roth

d’Verse prompt for Quadrille Monday… type… or a form of the word.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Mourning or Celebrating

New buds surround light

Filled with the hope of springtime

In church loved ones mourn

Remembering a life well lived

Celebrating family ties

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Yesterday we gathered with family and friends to remember the life of my brother’s wife. She was a beautiful strong woman, who spent 35 years of her life serving others as an Intensive Cardiac Care nurse. She was loved by all who knew her. Though we mourned her loss, we celebrated the gift she was to all of us.

The Climb II – segments 8&9

Jim was glad he had worn his jeans today instead of shorts. Cautiously he climbed into the cave. There wasn’t much head room, but he was able to maneuver and turn around without much difficulty.

The leaves that had blown into the cave smelled dank and musty. But they were dry and made it easier on the knees for Jim.

“I can see why you chose this cave to get out of the snowstorm,” said Jim, as he settled into the spot where George had spent the night. “Between you, your gun, and pack there is very little room left.”

It really was a tight fit, George replied. “There was so much of me in there, there was no room for the cold! But it did keep me somewhat comfortable through the night.”

Jim laughed as he scrambled back out of the cave into the sunshine and onto the flat rock where George was sitting. By now the sun was high overhead and George suggested that this might be a good place to eat their lunch.

“You know,” said George, as they ate their sandwiches. “We are sitting right at the spot where that Mountain Lion would have been that night. It was pitch black, I could not see anything, but there was a slight reflection from the snow.”

“How did you know where to shoot if it was that dark?” wondered Jim.

“I could hear heavy guttural breathing out on this flat rock, George replied. “Not wanting to take any chances, I decided to shoot before it stuck its head in the opening. As a result, I must have just grazed him, from the light blood stains I found the next morning.”

“Wow! Thought Jim, you were a lucky man.”

***

Jim’s mind wonder off, thinking about all that George had gone through that cold night two years ago. He was so glad that his friend made it home again and had recovered well from his triple by-pass surgery.

Jim offered George one of his chocolate bars as George pulled out some dog biscuits for Old Blue. Blue snatched them up and chomped down on one crushing it between his strong teeth. Sitting on this particular rock with George gave Jim a warm feeling and he was glad George had drawn him away from his reading to come along with him.

Old Blue gobbled down the biscuits and stood wagging his tail, giving a bark letting George know he would like another one. George gave him the last biscuit he had brought along. After eating it, Blue wandered down to the creek below for a drink.

As Jim and George sat on the rock finishing their lunch, Old Blue went sniffing a little farther up toward a large pile of rocks nearby. After a few minutes, he started barking furiously standing his ground near one of the rocky outcrops.

“I wonder what he is so excited about,” chuckled Jim, as they closed their packs.

“Probably just another ground squirrel that ran under a rock,” George replied. “Lets go see what he is up to.”

They put on their packs and headed down and back up to where Old Blue was having a fit. As they got closer, George stopped and listened. He immediately called Blue back to him and took out his pistol. Jim was surprised at George’s actions until he looked at what Old Blue was barking at.

There curled up under the ledge of the rock was a timber rattler! He was eyeing Old Blue and his rattles were shaking with a steady warning rhythm. Fortunately, Blue’s instincts told him to keep his distance, but that did not stop his barking frenzy.

“Just stay back,” George told Jim. “This is not something we want to tangle with today.”

“Are you going to shoot it?” Jim asked excitedly.

“No,” George replied, “we are going to keep our distance and move on away from it. It wants to avoid us as much as we want to avoid it. Those warning rattles are telling us to keep away.”

“Shouldn’t we kill a poisonous snake,” Jim inquired.

“Snakes are a very important part of the ecosystem. They help keep down the rodent population as well as the rabbits and squirrels. So, no we are not going to kill it. Many people are afraid of snakes, but they are seldom aggressive unless cornered or messed with in some way.”

George went on, “Old Blue is lucky he kept his distance and waited for us to come. If a dog gets too close the snake will strike at his face. In most cases the dog will recover, although there will be swelling, and it will be painful for him. It is important to get them to a veterinarian as soon as possible.”

“With humans, antivenom is used to counteract the bite. Timber rattlesnake venom is considered a hemotoxin, which means it acts to destroy tissue as an aid in digesting its prey. It also has neurotoxins, which affect the nervous system. Getting medical help is very critical to preventing tissue damage. Most people will recover from snakebite!”

***

For more information on Timber Rattlers check out this YouTube clip:

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Timber+rattler&docid=607996575647475445&mid=6A10E5084F83CEF29E566A10E5084F83CEF29E56&view=detail&FORM=VIRE