Category: memories

In Memory of the Franciscan Sign

In Memory of the Franciscan Sign

How will they fill this sign-shaped hole that’s now inside my heart?
They’ve taken down Franciscan’s sign and broken it apart.
I hope they don’t replace it with some corporate looking art
But rather choose a design that will iconically impart

The feeling from the sign they took, how it used to be.
The wooden sign from Old Franciscan’s now a memory
Without the sign for Camp Franciscan, how on earth will we
Know where to turn when driving up on University.


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The Internet Door

The internet is like an open door
That swings in from behind before I know
The information’s like an open sore.

I pick it piece by piece as I implore
My clicks to lead me on, a friend info.
The internet is like an open door.

My windows broke last night and so my floor
Is now translucent booby-traps galore.
The information’s like an open sore.

The bugs ate through the screen or simply tore
Their way through obstacles as if for show
The internet is like an open door.

I’m still unsure what information’s for
If memory’s retention is so low
The information’s like an open sore.

I still recall the past when I’d explore
But can’t remember where I’d like to go
The internet is like an open door
The information’s like an open sore.

The Opera Tonight

Wind-down window worlds have long gone past
Replaced by air conditioned comfort zones,
Still music did consume my car and cast
Away my wind-up window’s silent tones.

A slow crescendo pulled beside my car
Of music made to make me feel and move
The opera pumping thumping was bizarre
As it persuaded me into a groove.

I rolled my window down and bobbed my head
To music from a language I don’t know.
From operatic music I was led
To empathize with passion and let go

Of things that held my mind in structured form
Instead I danced to opera in my seat.
Tonight I’ll tune to tenors that transform
My setting to a wind-down window beat.

When Memories Stay In-Line


Circumventing orange cones
Like my feet are on tracks
hearing concrete tones,
as cars stand in stacks

Of traffic lined up on Sixteen Mile.
Driving decisions had been relented
By a detour keeping you, while
I skated by on the newly cemented

Road that was untainted
By tire track marrings
And yellow lines painted,
Too early for tarrings,

This smooth surface gliding
Underneath my wheels.
My memory’s sliding
From how it feels,

But I remember moments of victory
The hockey stopping, curb jumping times that we
Skated ‘cause skating could let us see,
A physical form in complacency.

Turn-Around Time


There are new fangled cameras with LCD Click-sures
instantly carrying clout
that your memory’s captured the digital pictures,
In zeros and ones, they’ve turned out.

But remember the old film cameras and printed photos
Where you didn’t know what was good.
You’d take a picture and have to suppose
They’d turn out, or hoped they would.

It could be months or even years before you’d venture to the store
To search through alphabetic bins for the film turned in before
Then you’d stumble on old photos to your ultimate delight
finding last years memories that had been out of sight.

Nowadays it’s instant that your friends can take a look
At ridiculous expressions that you bagged
In the shooting spree of friendly-fire photos that you took
And posted to subsequently be tagged.

Digital Photo Etiquette

When digital cameras were still an idea in the womb
You could take a picture of someone and not show the room.
But that era is over, the etiquette’s made,
Right after your photos are taken, they must be played.

We’ll actively ignore my baby
Adorably smiling and kicking.
To see if you’ll stop and play me
The smiles you caught with your clicking.

I get it, but don’t understand
Why we’re leaving the physical version
So we can instead see the two inches spanned
In a digital image emersion.