attic memories (poem)


maybe it wasn’t really meant to be

as it was wont to be tho’ now and again i

remember once it happened i can barely recollect

reality has a way of fading away

into the past into the dreams like photographs

anyone can see how happy it was perhaps was it a dream too

gathering in the cobwebby corners of attic memories

enveloped in clouds of dust

insipid memoirs of forgotten pasts

somehow surface from bottomless cavernous chests

(never before disturbed)

opening pandora’s mysteries escaping

tiny creatures flitting fleet shadows

echoing echoes of murmurs from murky prints

aspirations caught in time frozen

silenced by the settling dust spiders spinning webs around

you stepping stealthily trying not to stir the memories.


© Cindy Lapeña, 2012


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Blogging and Visiting the Past


Putting together a blog is not easy.

In the first place, what do you say that you don’t mind the rest of the world knowing?

It’s also a challenging exercise. You need to figure out what to put in your blog and what to keep out.

There’s one thing I have to say for blogs: it’s a great way to organize your past.

I’ve been wanting to sort out all the bits and pieces of the past that I’ve been keeping in all kinds of little boxes forever. Doesn’t everyone have a little box or two or three somewhere with things you just can’t throw out? Little things that remind you of incidents in your life that you might otherwise have forgotten?

I could never get all sorted out and organized the way I imagined I should because there never really was any pressure to do it. But now that I’ve got a blog that I’ve got to fill up with things, all of a sudden, I’m pressured. Besides, all my friends are digging up their old pictures from elementary school and posting them on Facebook and other places. I know I’ve got a bundle of pictures somewhere…everywhere.

I’ll be opening up those boxes now, one by one. I’ll be reading old notes and letters that are yellowed and torn at the edges or crumbling. Well, not really–that’s just waxing poetic, but you get my meaning. But honestly, some of them are crumbling. I’ll be scanning each and every little souvenir and letter and photograph and note and card so I’ll have an on-line scrapbook that’ll be an autobiography of sorts, as well.

And I will be baring myself to the world.