Amnesia – George Snedeker
AMNESIA
I awoke at 3 AM
from a bad dream.
I was a prisoner in a mental hospital.
I could go from floor to floor,
but could not escape.
When I awoke
I was in a state of amnesia.
My mind would barely function.
I knew I was in my bedroom,
but little more than this.
I felt my way around the room
in the dark.
I knew my name,
but not who I was.
I could remember things,
but not what they meant.
I thought for sure
I was losing my mind.
Nothing had any meaning for me.
I thought that if I called someone
and heard a familiar voice
I would remember who I was.
but it was the middle of the night.
and there was no one I could call.
By George Snedeker, Ph.D.
Poetry
LAST SLOPE
Winterlust crinkled along the forest trails,
Camp robbers nuzzled close
For evening’s warmth.
Lte rays leaned here and there
On pine-edged crests
Where tiny springs’ drops
Had run nervously
From white-tressed needles.
Soon my love would stir from sleep,
Sigh and sing again.
The cold challenge would fade away
Under soft caress
Of burdgeoning winds –
My dreams will change anew
The Most Rev. George T. Boileau, S. J.
February 22, 1965
Seattle, Washington
Prescience
Aquamarine pooled water
Forest green sentinels
dark and light
freckled pine, phthalo, persian, olive.
chlorophyll pulsing blood
life death
slate sky horizontal bands of light
rolling forward to greet me
crows overhead checking me
bothering wind, pushing to get my…
attention…
no caress here. Insistent
pushy ..pushing
on
my
heart…
open harder
open wider
bleed
By Nazarita Goldhammer
Prescience
Aquamarine pooled water
Forest green sentinels
dark and light
freckled pine, phthalo, persian, olive.
chlorophyll pulsing blood
life death
slate sky horizontal bands of light
rolling forward to greet me
crows overhead checking me
bothering wind, pushing to get my…
attention…
no caress here. Insistent
pushy ..pushing
on
my
heart…
open harder
open wider
bleed
By Nazarita Goldhammer
Last Slope
LAST SLOPE
Winterlust crinkled along the forest trails,
Camp robbers nuzzled close
For evening’s warmth.
Lte rays leaned here and there
On pine-edged crests
Where tiny springs’ drops
Had run nervously
From white-tressed needles.
Soon my love would stir from sleep,
Sigh and sing again.
The cold challenge would fade away
Under soft caress
Of burdgeoning winds –
My dreams will change anew
The Most Rev. George T. Boileau, S. J.
February 22, 1965
Seattle, Washington