Memories of John Lennon

Yes. Dearest Yoko, my memories of John:



http://www.flickr.com/photos/rebelwithafrog/5245222138/

I traveled to an unfamiliar city (NYC) and met an unfamiliar woman. She learned that I did not have a place to stay for the night, that I didn’t know anyone, that I was alone. She offered her couch, I accepted. At her apartment she brewed an evening pot of tea to share. I could hear the water getting hot and I could see the vapors rolling out of the spout. Just as it whistled she stood up and exclaimed "O'cha, honorable tea!" She played music: John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, repeatedly. We spent the evening chatting, sharing the stories of our lives and sipping jasmine tea. There is one song still fresh in my mind from that evening. Isolation. It brings me back to that evening, back to that pot of tea, back to the particular moment in my life where the fear of being alone wasn’t the obvious feeling. The prevailing feeling was the joy of unconditional company. The evening ended with her whispering to her tea cup “Invisible flowers, unfold your wings and fly with the sunrise...” When I woke up she was gone. There was a note on the table to enjoy a muffin with the sunrise. I finished our pot of tea and I left to continue my journey. I never saw or spoke to her again.

I have no direct memory of John. What I do have is his presence in the memory of a peaceful moment in my life. I am grateful for his subtle and lingering influence he had on my life that night. Jasmine tea and the John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band album are a catalyst for recalling the peace in my life. They remind me that I am not alone in my desire for the situation to harmony. Yoko, as a complete stranger, in direct contrast to my rebellious tendencies of isolation I thought I would share that with you. I thought I would share that with you out loud in public.
Thanks for asking.
http://imaginepeace.com/archives/13454
Peace.
Rebel with a Frog

what use is the 25 hour sunday

I used to call people when I knew they weren’t home and leave short poems on their answering machines. The problem with that today is twofold. 1. Cell phones and voice mail. More people abandoned land lines and carry cell phones. How do you call them when they’re not home when they take their phone with them? 2. Answering machines have fallen in use to phone service voice mail. The transfer of information via recorded message is the same, but the vehicle has changed. Old School: There was nothing like coming home, standing in your dining room or kitchen, pressing a button and listening to poetry. Time changes..

I wandered around a bit on Saturday night. well into Sunday until it was time to change the clocks. With the moon about 0% full nothing visually inspired me, only words. Vexed atwix the weight of camera and weight of pen. I sat at my desk with fresh ink. not pencil, pen. I'm not afraid of not editing. I set my clocks back for daylight savings and went to bed.


listening to the night fill the room…
i don't so much notice the clouds, or lack there of, when the moon is so new.
as such, leaves are missing from the branches of trees.
pears in the bluster of darkness drop, the foraging racoons.
momentary water fills the basement toilet (jiggle the handle).
mental note: pay attention to old things.
window sashes bumping jambs. drafts or ghosts?
coldness in the air indicates neither, could be either.
in stillness,
she breathes warmth, wearing comfortable socks
fast asleep in slumber.
i lay awake under blanket
contemplating a morning cup of tea.

what use is the 25 hour sunday?