If you need a disclaimer, here it is:
I can probably guarantee that what follows will be almost impossible for you to understand. I, for certain, can’t explain the true meaning or creative effectiveness of my thoughts having been turned into an honest appraisal of their meaning. After all, my old gold stories stem from a dreamer’s mindset.
Good luck be had by all of ya…

“Old Gold Stories Told”

Old gold stories told
From within mind’s eyes
Worldwide
Admissive during one’s lifetime
Dismissive, almost never

Pad nor pencils ever a necessity
Public reciprocity never offered

For all people over eighty
Still strong enough
Allowing visions
Of old gold stories recalled
Pleasing insightful memories
Yours forever believably unfold
Past performances
Hot and sweet when first they came
Unannounced
Each a new discovery
For you to claim

Youthful grails to be held, and behold
There within
A method for my madness lies
Often one must be gentle
When preparing to unfold
A pleasant remembrance
May not always be for your taking,
Not always from a happy time
Revisited
A person, place, thing, or happening
Accompanying this dream or that
Often quietly still
Free from reason, rhyme, or formality
When certain memories resist
When generosity begs for the forgettable
Life presents dreamless sobriety
It summons, deflates, challenges,
Perhaps ’tis new, this unabashed paradigm
An inhaled, unencoded, undesired spectacle
Of what life places within our human paths
Will it serve as a final engrossment

Who amongst us will endure
Frets stemming from life’s past
When deceptive age
Chronicles one’s present
We gather from the past
Serving as a possible remedy
Presenting new goals
For the present and future
And then, too many years ago

Do you understand,
You are nothing more than a dreamer?

“Perhaps”, he replied, in a free form I had never heard before. He spoke of what and when my mother explained to him on the day I was about to be born. “This one, I can tell you, has a mind of his own”, while her groan was heard as well. And as my dad went on with his story of this new beginning, it became a stream of consciousness he used under his breath explaining to whoever might have been listening: “How did she know it was going to be a son?” She must have dreamed it. My mother might have been a dreamer. Often, dreaming ran rampant within a man or woman’s family. Often, it’s all a dreamer is free to do within their entire span of life.

A Tale of Two Cities is a historical novel published in 1859 by Charles Dickens, set in London and Paris before and during the French Revolution.

Dickens opens the novel with a sentence that has become famous:
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

…And for a few moments at this special moment
A distinct time in one’s life, yours to conjure and celebrate
To take and reshare with yourself all you’ve seen and felt, and, yes…
All you can humbly store within a choice of dream-like treasury…
Dream humbly and great magnitudes of life and joyous well-being will become dream-like…

With great humility, joining your dreams in a salute to the very best of times…

With my special thank you to Charles Dickens

Harvey Kalmenson

Source/s: charlesdickensinfo.com