Poetry Friday: Forgetfulness (and author attribution)

Well, I completely spaced the blog today - apologies!

 Hence - two poems by Richard Lee King - one of which has already achieved the status of having become one of those things that floats around the internet without attribution. So let me attribute it here, and point out that the author has a website and several books in print (and for sale).

MY REMEMBERER IS BROKE

I’ve forgotten what I can’t remember,

or can’t remember what I forgot.

This remembering thing is a problem,

cause I think it happens quite a lot.

The things I can’t remember

seem to slip right out of my mind.

I can’t remember why it happens,

but it seems to happen all the time.

I leave myself reminder notes,

then can’t remember where I left them,

and since I’ve forgotten where they are,

It’s more than likely to happen again.

When I do find one of my notes,

can’t remember what it’s about.

Likely, if they were more complete,

they’d carry a lot more clout.

I seldom remember what I’ve forgotten,

though I’ll remember that I forgot.

Sometimes I’ll be reminded,

but after the fact, likely as not.

But, now on my computer

there’s a calendar in my software

and if I remember to remind myself,

I can find the answer there.

So now, my daily chore

to keep my mind fancy free,

remember to turn on my computer

and send a reminder note to me.

Copyright 2010 Richard Lee King

MY REMEMBERER IS BROKE - REVISITED

Recently I wrote a poem

called, My Rememberer is Broke.

I wasn’t really serious,

it was intended as a joke.

But, for some it touched a nerve

and wasn’t all that funny,

though it was mostly about me

with parts of it, about my honey.

I wrote it for my mom,

just some fun I wanted to poke.

A little something for her to read,

while having her morning smoke.

You see, I sometimes don’t remember things

and I live here all alone.

Just the other day I had to call myself,

‘cause I couldn’t find my phone.

And recently I found the TV remote

in the cradle where the phone should be.

I wondered who could have put it there,

knowing all along the answer was me.

Like I said, I live alone,

there’s no one I can blame.

I always say, “That’s the last time.”

Yet, it keeps happening just the same.

I find things in all sorts of places

that I know they don’t belong.

I’ve heard them sing about things like that,

but I can’t remember who sings that song.

Found my keys in with the silverware,

while I was looking for a spoon.

I’d been looking for the damn things,

since yesterday afternoon.

I spend hours on my computer

and I’d probably spend many more,

but they keep asking for my key word

and I can’t remember where its stored.

Over the years I’ve used different ones

before I completely filled my brain.

Now when I try to recall them

it causes memory strain.

I’m sure I wrote them down

and stored them where they’d be safe,

but now I can’t remember where,

boy that really makes me chafe!

Seems things often get misplaced

and I know it’s all my fault.

I just keep forgetting things

like the combination to my vault.

I bought it to keep my things safe,

should have gotten one with a key.

turns out the one they’re safest from

just happens to be me.

Course if it had a key,

I'd have to keep track of where is was,

something else for my brain to remember,

which it hardly ever does.

So, I stashed my spare money

till the combination was resolved.

Then I couldn’t find it,

oh the nasty words I mouthed.

I finally came across it

long after I’d given up.

It was up in my cupboard

inside my favorite coffee cup.

I’m sure I put it there

during a brief moment of reason,

thinking my next cup of coffee

would turn out really pleasing.

Pleasing doesn’t describe

the sensations that I felt,

for if I was a religious man

I’m certain I would have knelt.

You see that stash of money,

was quite a healthy wad

and if I’d have never found it

I’d have had a serious talk with God.

Copyright 2010 Richard Lee King