Forgotten happiness

scan 21-1






When I was a small boy
at the zoo

This world seemed

And yet

If someone told me
how lonely
life would grow.

What could I have done
(or changed)
to stop that fate?


not finish up
as melancholic.
faded soul.

Like a goth in spirit.





Perhaps long illness shows us
who our true friends are?

With mine revealing
I had none.

a loving uncle.

until the end.


His photographs were left for me.
Preserving childhood days.

Those early sunlit trips
escaped oblivion




To my surprise
he claimed I’d been
a source of fun and joy.


arrived later.

Once art waned
I lost my way.)


His favourite picture
caught me unaware
a swan approached






I found an unseen image
of what happened next.


He’d made it known
the bird drew near.

So I turned back






these few shots

which now

though blurred
or aged

might still display

their faint remains


of such










(This is my third

Birthday blog post.


After 30 years of spending them alone (and ill)
I often feel sadness, on the day.
It tends to emphasise continued isolation.

My uncle used to ring me.
But, since his death, the phone stays, mostly, silent.)


Hope everybody is well?

Do you like any of the photos?


Comments are always VERY welcome!


Thank you
for reading.


( art / blog / blogging / depression / goth / life / mental health / photography / poem / poems / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

172 thoughts on “Forgotten happiness”

  1. I felt sadness reading the story but I felt like i wanted the story to carry on and on. The pictures are beautiful and show happiness. Remember the happiness 😊

    Liked by 5 people

  2. Ken, this is so beautiful. The pictures are perfused with a sentiment I can’t quite describe. It reminds me a bit of that album from Carlos Cipa, Sculptures. That album always gave me the chill of a everythingness, of a stream-of-life flattened by the weight of its totality.
    Happy birthday. Nothing is quite forgotten, but simply, transubstantiated into this beauty.

    Liked by 5 people

  3. Ken, this piece is so precious. Thank you for sharing these intimate moments with us. The picture of you turning around to see the swan is so beautiful! I really loved that one.

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Thank you, Laura!😊
      I thought of marking my birthday with a post (as it doesn’t mean anything to other people, now).
      I didn’t know that final picture existed, until after my uncle’s death.
      (Perhaps he felt it was flawed, by the blurring.)


  4. Ken, yes the shots are charming, as they mostly are in black and white. I hope all goes well for you. I know what depression is like, as I have lived with it for most of my life. Be well!

    Liked by 3 people

  5. First of all– Happy Birthday, Ken. You flashed me back to the early 1950’s, when my Dad took my brother and I to the Bronx Zoo. And despite its “caginess” (as kids we were in awe to see such wildlife) which has improved immensely since then, the sights, sounds, smells and our wonder are still vivid. I am fortunate to have some old b/w photos from that time period– which my other cousins and same-age relatives weren’t interested in as much. After all, it was part of my own life history.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you, Art!
      I’m glad the piece resonated with you.😊
      I tend to do a personal post for my birthday.
      (It’s one way of marking an event which has lost significance for everyone except me.)


  6. Happy belated Birthday Ken! Glad you wrote a poem. It is very good. The black and white colored pictures go well with it. Seemed like I was watching a movie, and the poem was the narrator speaking. As the world around us becomes less and less magical as we grow older, this poem hits home.

    Liked by 3 people

  7. A melancholic poem that is drenched with the feeling of loneliness. It is true that we build an empire of that wretched feeling. Though, it is also true that we build such an empire around ourselves, trapping us.

    It reminds me of a time I would periodically see my own father, who was dying of cancer, as the only person who’d receive visitors at the hospice. All the other patients never received a visitor. It was like they’ve been abandoned, left to die in that loneliest of places. I then wondered, years later, “What are such people’s truest suffering? Is it the way they’ll die, or is it that no one’s around to hold their hand, during their final moments?”

    I truly believe that loneliness is humanity’s greatest suffering. It is a pain, that though unmerciful, connects people. We are not meant to be alone. We are meant to embrace. For even if we cannot find the bravery to approach a lonely person, we still will find ourselves connecting to their ordeal, even if it’s at a distant.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for such a thoughtful comment!
      Unfortunately isolation may not be our choice, and others can reinforce that situation.
      After I fell ill, people soon withdrew. Then abandoned me.
      Making new friends, or finding love, appeared almost impossible.
      Thus I finished-up spending most of the last 33 years alone.

      I also hope a hand might be there to hold mine, at the end.
      But I doubt it.

      Liked by 1 person

  8. Beautiful melancholic poem I really connected with. Thank you for sharing. Loved the photos, I too wonder where the carefree feeling of youth went, when everything seemed possible and a discovery. But if I am honest, I realize I already felt lonely even when surrounded by people. So it is in life sometimes. Best to you. Thank you for stopping by and liking my blog

    Liked by 1 person

  9. One of my earliest memories is of seeing a hippopotamus at the Milwaukee Zoo. It opened its mouth, and I remember being just fascinated by its huge teeth. I can relate to the little boy’s grin at being approached by a swan. Rather a swan than a hippo, of course.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you!😊
      Yes: there would be no smiles if it had been a hippo behind me, for sure! LOL!
      (I read somewhere they can be one of the most dangerous animals in Africa.)


      1. I appreciate how you are approaching blogging. I’m not very advanced technologically, but I like putting my work out there into the virtual world, in case others might find it valuable. It’s good to know you’re not alone.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Thank you!
          I’m not tech-savvy at all: a picture with words underneath is about my limit, LOL!
          (And I’ve managed to avoid that new block editor, so far.)
          Also, yes: being very isolated, I find it’s nice to connect with people on WordPress.

          Liked by 1 person

  10. Forgotten happiness… Ken, heart wrenching. Such a beautiful memory shared, such poignant words. I shall be reading more, for sure.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Belated happy birthday Ken.
    Old photographs are so priceless, not just because of the people or surroundings in it but mostly because of the memories. I wonder how much time you would have taken to create this one. It is so difficult to contain one’s emotions in such a lovely way. Thanks for sharing

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Samina! 😊
      Finding the final photo, which I hadn’t seen before, gave me the urge to write about it.
      The prose transformed as I edited, turning toward a more poetic form, which took a few hours.

      Liked by 1 person

  12. I felt eased and engaged by this Ken. I’ll have more of a look through your pages. (Also thanks for liking a page/poem of mine today, I wouldn’t have strayed your way otherwise). Glenn

    Liked by 1 person

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