Memory holds a moment

[Manna]

Memory holds a moment

no better than a lung
holds a gasp.

And here is this moment:
the first pressing of every
soft and warm movement
a lip can make with another,
with every kindness
we trusted to it,
an institute
for every subsequent scene
in our love story.

Were heaven to be built
from the textures of a life,
and if my prayer counts,
that is the moment
I would ask to keep.

____________________________________________________
To be written on a leaf shaped like a heart and sent by secret messenger to my faithful one.

[jimbo]

Yes nice poem.like a momment.a photo.frozen in time. in your mind..........

oh i woke un eh.dis morning from .
a nother sleepless night, da dreams.
i dont remember.cause they d"dnt happen yet.
i must.ring my fecking docter.and have a little bet.

so i cruised into town .in my silverdream mashine.
that i hav"nt paid for.first whizzing to the libaray.
to increase my vocabbbrably.some words'
i hav"nt met.and to surf da fecking net.


it might be the seed of song? thats just 2 verses that came from my mind
to finger.

[Diane]

Manna, there's something quite beautiful about your piece on the strength and meaning of your 'moment'. I hope your "faithful one" gets to receive it. Or is the "secret messenger" a silent knowing between you? Don't have to answer that, of course.

Thanks

Diane

[seamus]

little jesus meek meek and mild.
look on me .a little child.
if I Dye before i wake.ipray THE LORD MY SOUL TO TAKE.

the last prayer my mother said.famlly around her bed.
my memmory is her last tear shed .when she met her destiny

yes your prayer will count.................................................

[Manna]

That little thing at the bottom is about St. Valentine. I don't know if it's accurate, but the story I heard is that Valentine (B4 Beatification) was thrown into prison for something - probably for being a Christian/Catholic, maybe for proselytizing / preaching. I don't know. But the story goes that there was a plant growing near his barred prison window that had heart-shaped leaves, and that he would write little messages (Keep the faith...Don't worry, I'm OK...God is love) to his followers on the leaves. That's where we get the connection between messages on hearts and St. Valentine's Day. So it was just my cute little way of saying that this was for my Valentine.

I suppose if I wanted to know the real story, I have only to google around for it, but I like this version.

[Sherry]

Manna,

I love your poem. It's beautiful. Especially this idea of the kiss as
an institute. Your memory is clearly holding it longer than
the lung can hold a gasp!

Sherry

[Manna]

Thanks. I'm still looking at the final bit. The tense changes in awkward ways that need to read as a single thought better.

The use of institute here is from something that's stayed with me since adolescence. I was one of those nerds that had to go look up every word I heard. So when I heard Paul Simon sing "Why don't we get together and call ourselves an institute." I had to look it up. (I knew what an institution was, and I had to know the difference, if there was one.)

It's a great word, because as a noun it's a group of people who've come together with a common purpose in mind, but as a verb, it means to start something. There's also an archaic meaning (I confess, I've had to just look it up again, me-nerd) that means "a summary of principles." I'm glad you liked my use of it here, because I like it too.

[Sherry]

Hi Manna,

I was also thinking of it in relation to the "institute of marriage",
not necessarily implying legal statutory marriage, but the state
of union of two people who simply stay together out of choice.

I look forward to reading more of your work.

Sherry