Don’t throw away all the memories*

his wife was complaining about all his stuff in the attic

he reluctantly decided to go through all the old boxes

stuff that had been put away for years

obviously not needed but for some reason never been discarded 

he sifted through the contents of the first small box

a tin box full of foreign coins

memories of his traveling days flooded back

places he had visited on business trips and vacations

images flashed through his mind for each coin he touched

an old watch that no longer worked

it was of no value except it belonged to his father

he wound it up and it started to tick

he could hear his father’s voice again

he missed him so much

a notebook from many years ago

containing wish lists of things to do and places to see

they had written it when first married

he read off each item slowly

pausing to recall the joys of each achieved wish

trying to remember why some never happened

bunches of keys from previous dwellings

he held a front door key tightly

remembering opening that door many years ago

seeing his young children run to greet him

they are grown now with kids of their own

a big old bulky calculator he used in college

reliving the hours he spent solving problems with that

the stressful times of exams

he could remember all those long hours of study

he did find some bits and broken pieces

and a collection of old pens and pencils

he carefully put them in a paper bag

before closing the box

he had removed less than ten percent of the contents

over dinner that night his wife cornered him asking if he had cleaned out everything in the attic as promised

he hesitated before saying he had cleared some of it from one small box

she pushed him harder wanting to know why he was keeping all that junk

he insisted that it might be a small box of stuff but it contained a lifetime of great memories

she could see he was getting upset and gave him a big hug

whispering to him softly “I am so sorry, please keep your boxes full of memories”

he replied “thanks, I did clear some space for us to make a few more memories”

celebrating being in the race with a cup of tea

I am awake early with an intense headache

incredible painful head splitting pressure

is this all a dream I wonder

I pinch myself to confirm being awake

the headache is still there

desperately seeking an answer to this sudden onslaught

It could not be a hangover

no recollection of any recent head trauma

I felt for bumps on my head but nothing unusual

maybe a change of environment might help

sitting on the edge of the bed- no change

standing up-no change

opening and closing my eyes- no change

moving from light to darkness- no change

I go for a pee- no change

the pain is still intense

I am starting to get anxious

this must be a serious medical condition

am I having a stroke

I look in the mirror and smile- no face droop

closing my eyes and raising both arms horizontal- no issues

talking to myself in the mirror- no gibberish

the pain is still intense

I reach for the pain releiving medication

I down a couple and hold my breath

hoping for instant reduction in the pain

nothing changed

desperately seeking answers

am I being punished for all my sins

is it a sign of impending death

are all my affairs in order

should I get dressed and look presentable

should I say goodbye to all my family and friends

will I live long enough to speak to them all

perhaps a group text would be more efficient

what should I say to them all

will it make them sad

how stupid I will look if I don’t die seconds after sending that message

suddenly the pressure is dropping very slightly

perhaps the medication is working

or maybe death is approaching fast

I lay down and decide to take deep slow breaths

accepting my fate with dignity

with each breath the pain subsides a little more

a few minutes later it is gone completely

relief washing away most of my anxiety

no longer seeking a reason or a cure

waves of gratitude flowing over me

I have been spared death, at least for the next few moments

what shall I do today to reward myself

will I still feel this gratitude for the rest of my life

or will it all fade away like the memory of a dream

best write it all down immediately

read it daily to remind myself how precious life is

time to celebrate with a cup of tea

I am still in the race

the human race that is, at least for the moment

The immortal handwriting police

I remember learning to write with a pencil

Later spending hours drawing individual letters over and over with a fountain pen

My handwriting was never very pretty

The words flowed out if my mind clearly but often stumbled as my pen scratched the paper

My teachers scolded me for my poor writing

More interested in the appearance than the substance

I started to despise being judged by my handwriting

I wrote the absolute minimum at school to avoid more criticism

My academic achievements were hampered by my poor handwriting

I discovered a talent for mathematics and excelled

Numbers and equations were easier to write than words

I studied physics and eventually became an engineer

Then came the magic of computer keyboards

Two fingers hunting for letters

But the typed words were always perfect

No more scratchy scribble

I practically abandoned writing anything by hand

My communication bypassed the handwriting police

Technology almost totally freed me from old fashioned writing

Venmo and Zelle replacing the art of writing checks

Texting made post it notes redundant

I dictate my shopping list into my phone

I sign most documents electronically

I discovered the joys of writing poetry in retirement

Transferring my imagination onto the screen with finger taps

Many decades had passed without any intervention from the handwriting police

But something is missing in all this advancement

Emojis in a text cannot compete with the romance of a hand written note with inked kisses

I decided to go back to old school handwriting

I wrote a packing list for a recent vacation

The words were lost in my erratic pen movements between letters

I could hardly read it myself

There had to be a way to improve my handwriting

My iPad came with a stylus pen that I had never used

I discovered it can convert handwritten text on the screen into typed words

Eureka! Now I could go back to old fashioned hand writing while the words magically appeared on the screen alongside the stylus pen

My first attempts were pathetic failures

The computer had infinite patience and guessed most of my words wrong

I tried to write more slowly and carefully

Perfect typed words started to flow behind the stylus pen

I assumed the computer was progressively learning to read my bad handwriting with more precision

However, when I wrote faster the computer got very agitated

Inserting random @symbols # and —dashes $ between & every { other * word

Suddenly I had a very creepy thought

Maybe my iPad was linked to the spirits of my long departed teachers

The handwriting police were somehow still operating deep inside the coding of my iPad software

They were out to get me and shame me publicly

I understood their disguised message and put away the stylus pen

The keyboard welcomed me back like a long lost friend

My thumbs hurt again from the RSI stabbing on my phone

My computer keyboard has fresh crumbs from the daily snacks at my desk

I put extra hearts and kissing emojis in my text messages

The immortal handwriting police will never arrest me again

Self meditate is better than self medicate

I remember a time way back in my 30’s

Working long hours to support my family

Young kids and all the demands of home ownership

There was never enough time in the week to relax

Occasionally meeting with a friend for a drink and a chat

He listened to me babbling on about my busy life

Then he said something which shocked me to the core

You have become too boring

Your work has taken over your life completely

You try and devote the remaining time to your family

But you have hardly any down time for yourself

What do you suggest?  I asked

Take a day off and we will go fishing

I remembered fishing as a kid 

I had doubts that it was a good way for adults to pass the time

He insisted so we took a day off to go fishing

We did not catch much but it was a fun day out

Fresh air and nature all well away from the office

I went back to work refreshed the next day

Deciding to try another fishing adventure

Soon it became a weekly ritual

A necessary therapy for my busy lifestyle

Now I had a new rhythm in my life

Work/Family/Fishing

I enjoyed each one more than the old Work/Family

Strangely my performance increased too

I made better decisions at work and had more family fun times

Fishing was initially nothing more than meditation time

Then I became obsessed with being a better fisherman

Learning all about the science and technical skills of fishing

Catching a lot more fish as I applied this knowledge

As my fishing skill improved, my work and family life was more rewarding

It took me a while to figure out what was really going on in my life

Family and work was a constant stream of issues to resolve

By taking time away from them I was able to meditate

My subconscious was figuring out all the solutions while I fished

So next time you feel very stressed and looking for a better work-life balance

Hesitate before accepting the medication your doctor might offer

Put down that self medicating second drink

Don’t rush off to see an expense therapist

Buy a cheap fishing rod and self meditate 

Say it in a letter

There is something special

About opening a letter

Not those junk sales letters

Nor those overdue bills

But a letter from a distant friend

You can see their name on the envelope

You touch the stamp they affixed

You pause to read how they addressed it

Checking the postmarked date

Wondering what they are writing about

Trying to recall your last contact

Then you open it carefully 

Using a well cherished opener

One thats been in your family a long time

Gently pulling out the letter inside

Lest anything hidden spills out

You unfold the pages

Start to read it slowly

Your mind forms each word

To the sound of their voice

You can hear them reading the letter to you

Its an old fashioned voice message

One that was recorded on paper

And sent to you in the mail

You conținue reading at a faster pace

Desperately hoping nothing is wrong

Thankfully there is only good news

You carefully put the letter back in the envelope

Smiling because your friend reached out

Not with a text or an email

They had put pen to paper just for you

You put the letter in a safe place

Knowing you can read it again later

With their voice talking in your head again

Picking up your phone to compose a text

Saying thank you for your letter

You delete it before sending

Searching for a pen and paper

You start to write a letter in reply

Filling pages with all your news, hopes and dreams

Inviting your friend to come and visit you

The ink is hardly dry as you put the stamp on

Walking quickly to the post office

Soon your letter is on its way

Your heart races each day the mail arrives

Waiting impatiently for their reply

A few weeks later their next letter arrives

This is so much more fun than emails or texts

Chess morphed into football

As a young boy I spent almost every waking moment playing football

That is real football AKA soccer

In the beginning it was a purely physical game

If I had the ball I ran fast towards the goal

Once the goal was in sight I kicked it hard goalward 

If I was very lucky I scored

If somebody else had the ball I ran towards them fast

As I got close I tried to kick the ball away from them

Often I missed and kicked the other player or they got away from me

I did not score many coals back then

Almost everybody in both teams played exactly the same way

Nobody played in a set position except the goalkeepers

The remaining 20 kids on the field all chased the ball together in a huge huddle

Our team coach spent a lot of time teaching us the right way

We were all given a set position and drilled to stay in that zone

I was a central defender and it suited me well

My job was to guard the middle of the defense and stop the opposing team progressing 

Once I got possession I had to pass to one of our team upfield

Our team became more skilled in moving our players into open positions

I was a good central defender and hoped to become a professional

At the age of 8 I was taught to play chess at school

With 16 pieces on my side I had to out maneuver my opponent

I could put those players in any position I wanted

I could attack or defend depending on the situation

I became the team coach for my 16 players

Of course there is no physical side to chess 

Its a game of strategy, tactics and forward thinking

I became a very successful chess player in my youth

My chess training also helped me become a better football player

I never achieved my dream of being a professional footballer

Hanging up my boots when I was 18

I never became a chess grand master either

Half a century later I rarely play chess but I do watch a lot of football on TV

I can see the patterns in the play and can predict the next moves

I am thrilled when my team pulls of a daring set of passes to score

To the untrained eye its just a bunch of folks kicking a ball around a field

In my mind football is a game of chess played at 200mph

With 2 coaches on the sideline orchestrating the mental battle

After each game I enjoy studying the detailed analysis

Heat maps showing where each player spent most time

Diagrams showing the formations of each team when attacking or defending

Arrows showing how passes led to a goal

football is a fascinating sport to play or watch

I will be forever grateful to the teacher who taught me chess

my chess playing skills morphed in my football playing games

my football spectating era morphed into watching a chess like game

I want to be a dictator

I am seriously considering becoming a dictator

Not the autocratic leader of a nation kind

Having my spoken words put directly into writing kind of dictator

That will eliminate the tedious task of typing

Which I have never been any good at

Despite being welded to a keyboard for many decades

I have never mastered multi finger key stokes

Hunting and pecking with just two fingers

Always the index finger on my left hand

But my right hand uses my middle finger

I have never noticed that until now

There must be an explanation for it

Even more weird is that I use the side of my middle finger

As my right index finger points towards the screen

Reminds me of a china cup afternoon tea drinker

With their pinky finger delicately pointing skyward

I hope that my middle finger keystroke is not deemed to be rude typing

If it is then my left hand pleads not guilty

My right hand will reluctantly go to jail in disgrace

Anyway back to being a dictator

It will be so much faster to use speech to text software

I will be able to focus on the screen as the words pop up

Unlike now where I look mostly at the keyboard

Occasionally looking up to see the numerous spelling errors

Mostly due to my fat right middle finger pressing the wrong key

Perhaps dictating is not the right way to go though

Much better to enjoy the silence of writing

Than listen to my own voice babbling on and on

I am sure it would annoy everybody in listening range

I am hoping that AI will invent a device to read minds

Then I could plug one in and point it to my shiny head

Watch my random thoughts appear on the screen in prose

Lets go one step further where everybody gets a thought reader

With an added adaptor for thought transmission

Then you will receive my daily writing directly into your head as a thought

You can even leave thought comments on a virtual Cheeky Monkey page

Which you never have to log onto because you will just think about it

No need to have a computer or keyboard at all in the future

AI will become so advanced that it will be able to predict my thoughts

My writing will continue well after I am dead thanks to AI taking over

It will be ever so easy to authenticate it as my writing 

You will spot the AI generated moddle fonger spelling mostakes

Writing cleanses the soul

I often wonder why I have this urge to write

it all started seriously in my retirement

my mind became free of technical and business tasks

writing started as a hobby for me

something lighthearted and fun to pass the time

steadily developing into a daily pre-breakfast ritual

why is there such a burning desire in me to write something daily

I have been trying to understand it for the last six years

there is no clear answer or definition

the closest explanation I can give is in these words

we go through life performing actions

mostly driven by the demands of others

in those rare moments of solitude

when you are alone with just your thoughts

ideas are created

dreams are made

fears are confronted

memories are cherished

if you leave these thoughts in your head

they may disappear forever

if you write down your thoughts

they become memorialized 

they can then be read by others

you might entertain, enlighten or inspire somebody 

Writing cleanses the soul

The 6.29 train from Grey Matter Pool is now arriving at Fingertips

When its time to write my daily poem

I grab random words as they run fast through my mind

Capturing them in my neural net 

Tossing them into a large empty container at the back of my head

I fill up the container with water

Dead words silently slip out through the drain

Lively words float to the top singing

Dancing over the surface like olympic ice skaters

After I have been sufficiently mesmerized by their display

Words are invited to step out of my grey matter pool and dry off

Commuting words quickly line up for an approaching train

The 6.29 morning train for Fingertips is now approaching platform 7

The train rushes though my veins at lightening speed

The 6.29 train from Grey Matter Pool is now arriving at Fingertips

Words burst through the open doors and run towards the exits

Massive lines form at the turnstiles

My fingers start to swell up with commuting words

I read the next word in line and spell out his name on the keyboard

The turnstile clicks and he exits the station

Once on my computer screen he typically smiles at his new neighbors

I type as fast as I can to ease the pressure on my swollen fingers

Eventually they all get through and I can take a rest

Suddenly a fight breaks out as a gang of words become agitated

They took offense from the taunts of a nearby rival word gang

I send in the word police riot squad to break up the scuffle

Separating the offenders onto different parts of the page

Unfortunately some words keep resisting and have to be deleted

I feel sad for them having wasted a long journey

Eventually every word is in the right place

All excited to see which of them will make it up top into the title

Knowing that in a few minutes they will all journey to another computer or phone

Patiently waiting in cheekynonkeypoetry.com to be read by you

be it ink or electrons, they both transmit thoughts

I like to get up early and catch the sunrise

its my zen moment where I am alone with just my thoughts

soon after, I am at the computer writing something

which usually goes out electronically within an hour

I wonder if the readers appreciate the freshness of the writing

would something written last week be less appealing because it went stale?

before the age of typewriters and computers, writers wielded pen and ink over parchment

with no delete buttons or autocorrect,  it must have been a slow task to write a letter back then

were those inked writings more interesting to read than todays electronically processed words?

did the fact it took weeks or months to arrive make the writing mature like a fine wine?

treasured letters were carefully wrapped in ribbons stored in a shoe box under the bed

to be retrieved on cold dark winters nights and read again by candle light

I doubt your computer has a file named shoe box for stored writings

its unlikely that you read texts more than a day old

with no crossed out ink on your screen giving clues how hard it was to write

no handwriting style to admire and no wax seal to authenticate

just a sterile text or email to click open

however, the processes of writing and transmission do not matter at all

be it ink pen, letters in the mail, emails, texts or a blog

they all magically place my thoughts inside your mind