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Couplet Memory Poems | Couplet Poems About Memory

These Couplet Memory poems are examples of Couplet poems about Memory. These are the best examples of Couplet Memory poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet | |

Person of Colour

Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.

Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.

This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.

This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.

This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.

This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.

This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.


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A Flame Once Burned



~ My sizzling flame has faded in the midst of Summer's embrace and taken my virgin flower of delicately woven lace In subtle shadows and fading light silently in bewilderment I crumble without sight For each year of happiness and silver dream abound now a resonating memory silent without a sound As I walk the cobble stone path where our days had found no end I raise my arms above and pray for this love to mend If only a God-sent chance should fall my weary way this love I would cherish endless with each passing day In subtle shadows and fading light each memory of you held forever in soft moonlight ~ Contest


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Bench of Memories

There's a bench at the high school where I graduated
The wood is cracked, chipped and all weather faded

But in its prime, there each morning faces smiled hello greetings
And was always the agreed upon place, for after school meetings

Many then, lovers initials are carved upon her wood
Though young love didn't last like we thought it could

Also, many peace signs and let's stop Vietnam
Even, one I love John Denver and a, I rule at pac man

Under her bottom is petrified gum of every flavor
Stuck there, because gum in class was considered bad behavior

Like some people need but one name to be known
The Bench, was like a city of its very own....

*reposted because it disappeared from my computer...maybe I accidently deleted it..
©Donna Jones

Originally posted 3-19-2013, On A Bench Contest


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TO WHISPER MILDLY---LGT



In moments when the twilight sparks
To gently flare as dark embarks,
Tender comes eve swinging a hum
While air-brushed clouds, on flight, succumb.

Yet, through the lull of sky, I hear
Their voices billow quite unclear
Whispering mildly, still I know
Those refrains from seasons ago.

Somehow, before the call of morn
When foggy mist glides on hawthorns,
And daybreak hails a new sunset
I trace past journeys now at rest.
  
Amidst the quiver of my dreams,
Beloved voices float midstream
On to pathways that bless each name;
Marked deeply in my soul, aflame.



Andrea Dietrich's Let's Get Technical Contest
~new poem~


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Humor is my inspiration

At awe by my mothers beautiful mind,
when it came to writing I always felt so blind.

Literature class advised us to write,
for the first time I did not feel bright.

Sneak a poem of my mothers i did,
boy did I feel like a little kid.

Praise my teacher gave me for such a lovely write,
my mind here and there like a kite.

Lucky me open house was here,
the poem posted on the class wall had me at fear.

Suggesting my parents to skip that class,
trying to avoid the coming sass.

She read it and thought to herself that it was idolized,
her eyes got big as she realized.

Quiet she kept as she knew how embarrassed I was,
of course it gave her a buzz.

It was cause of that day we look back,
and my mom gave me some slack.

She later taught me it's as simple as rhyming,
and with the emotions I have priming.


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Safe At Home

When I closed my eyes and fell asleep in the premature hours of dawn
I never dreamed Your face would be
The next I’d look upon
My vehicle came to rest against the square concrete pylon
And those who found me declared to all
“It appears as though he’s gone”
They said I had the look of peace upon my face so fair
And in my lap my hands were laid
As if God placed them there
Just underneath those hands of mine my Gummy Bears were found
How is it that they rested there
And were not tossed around
You chose for me the greatest dad and mother one could have
And my sister; she’s so beautiful
Will you hold her for me Dad
For all of those that knew me knew how much I loved the game
But they also knew I loved you Lord
And someday you’d call my name
I’m grateful that I prayed the prayer to receive you in my heart
Now I know for sure that heaven is real
And we two shall never part
My final game was played that day as I heard you say “well done”
I ran into my dwelling place
Where I’m truly “safe at home”

Dedicated to RJ Ledesma jr who was called from this earth much to soon. May you rest in the Lord's care till we see you again. October 29, 1992 - September 24, 2011


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What Do I Know About Being German

Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,

except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy

Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified 
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.

We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.

From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.

Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.

To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.

The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.

Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.


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Daily Life

Living day in
Living day out
Working as hard as I can
To get money to pay the bills
Searching for food for the family
Trying to get through the day
As best as I can

All it matters
Is to get some money
To be able to not to think
How am I supposed to support?
My kids, my husband, and I
It all hits me like rain pounding the roof
Is this how life is supposed to be?

Going down hills
Going up hills
Having great times
And some bad times
You think your life should be easy
It is not supposed to be
Life is difficult for a reason

*MAKE LIFE WHAT YOU WANT IT TO BE. LIVE EACH DAY, THE BEST WAY YOU CAN, LIFE GOES ON UNTIL YOUDIE. BE HAPPY BECAUSE YOU CAN DIE ANY MINUTE NOW. SO LIVE IT UP!!!


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My Sister

My sister wrote a poem for me
Of christmass's gone and past
The time that was so special
We thought would last and last
The time is always changing
And we all know this is true
And things are not the same for us
So what are we to do?
We take the precious moments
That we shared some years ago
And know we will always have them
And never let them go
For no one can take the memories
That we hold oh so dear
As long as we could remember
And so how much we care


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The Gift

THE GIFT

My arms are empty my heart in such pain
For I know that I may never ever see you again
That mother’s love so strong, gentle and true 
Has to be put aside, forgotten in favour of you

Who knows how long this sadness will last?
Will I ever recover and get over the past?
My prayer is fervent and is always the same
That you be cherished protected this is my aim 

It was different up to the very day you were born
I had made up my mind and had always sworn
We would stay close together whatever the cost
But I looked into your face and was immediately lost

You deserved better than me and my rebellious boy
We prepared for you as if you were a living small toy
Reality changed the moment I held you so close
I knew then and there that I did not have a choice

And so we said our goodbyes that cold winter day
I cried so many tears that I struggled to find my way
Out of the refuge into the wide world once more
Your loss to remain with me an open weeping sore

But my awful sadness became someone else’s true gain                
My sacrifice made sure two strangers would forever remain
In my debt grateful to me for the selfless gift I had made
This knowledge alone helped make my deep sorrow fade

What of the future who knows what life may bring?
Perhaps a connection that will make my heart sing
For whatever the heartache, the trauma and pain
It is as mother and daughter we will forever remain



©Copyright Dilys Brown 3rd September 2013


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THE VERDICT

Copyright © 2013
07/17/2013

Skittles and a soda
against a gun in its holster?

One day that scream
will be known as a teen
not a heinous lying Fein

What a sinister ploy and twist
with a loaded gun and no fist?

Had everyone sitting and waiting
doomed by a verdict just delaying

Was this just an optical illusion
or, a devious planned conclusion?

Now, this generation too afraid
wearing hoodies will get you dead

But, the Klan was still glad
hoodies they've always had

A verdict they too saw,
ushering in martial law


by: LP
edited: 7/30/13


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Dear Rapunzel

It seems ages since we met over your long, golden hair
an hour glass on the table keeping the meter.

It seems like too many dress up doll days when we played
take me to the river but don’t get our feet wet.

It seems we lost our inner selves painting our faces
painting our nails, singing karaoke at the bars.

Oh, to regain those lost years of our youth, unwrinkled skin
turn back all the pages, like winding gold on a spindle.

Instead we have just leaves, grieves, and grandchildren
with their laser guns, plastic skin and smug attitudes.

They never challenged gamey little midgets with foul intent
they had us to pad them safely with money, love and scent.

Dear Rapunzel, do please let your hair down one more time
and play climb out of the cellar and up the apple tree with me.

Signed Your Dearest Play Mate.


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The Tomboy

I was fascinated by frogs, dinosaurs, and outer space.
Comic books, video games, and fast cars to race.

I got my clean clothes dirty and skinned my knees.
I spent my afternoons climbing high up in the trees.

Came home from the playground with shoes full of sand.
Went fishing, and held up my catch with my bare hand.

I would get on my rusty, blue bike and ride to the park.
Where we played games of tag or catch almost until dark.

After school, I would go play baseball with the boys.
Then, stay up late, listening to music and make noise.

My homework sat in my backpack and never got done.
I was too preoccupied with finding adventure and having fun.

I was the tomboy that liked building Lego block walls.
I was also a girl who played with pretty Barbie dolls.




Richard Lamoureux's Gender Bender Contest


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A Summertime Couplet

This summer morn I silently slip very close to shore,
With every paddle pull I'm drawn to many years before.


June, 11, 2013


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My Memories

My Memories 

I was thinking of buying a new house
So I’m here with my son and his spouse 

Sitting outback looking up to the sky
Hoping to see something go bye  

Wishing for a sign to see
Something from my wife to me

To move into an empty and cold house
I would leave behind memories of my spouse 

I don’t want to leave those memories behind
More memories in the house then in my mind
               
When my kids were small
They would play and mark up a wall

I see memories on every wall
Where my wife painted over marks from a ball

A memory in every room
Some good some with a little gloom 

It’s something that will always be
Even the gloom is a memory to me


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It seems I wanted too much

It seems I wanted too much:
or may be just a touch.
May be a little bit more:
happiness with the one I adore.
May be a good morning kiss,
or sweet words: “My honey I miss”.

It seems I wanted too much:
to be happy as such,
to fly in the sky like a bird,
to be understood without a second word,
to listen to the songs of my Lord,
to give a smile and behave like a child.

It seems I wanted too much:
to live without any mistakes,
without any heart breaks.
I wanted my soul not to be cold,
to live without any storms,
to feel your heart warmth.

It seems I wanted too much:
to turn into a dove,
to swim on the waves of love,
to meet with you every dawn,
to have the wings of a swan
and never be alone.

It seems I wanted too much...

Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)


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A Walk to the Club

The lonely street stood still in the night,
Buildings grew tall all around with dim light.

Sound of my steps echoing in the alleys,
The air is moist like a mountain valley.

A bright neon light a few blocks away,
With a beer and an arrow pointing that way.

A few cars lined up beside the street,
I work my way through them not to discrete.

I walk up to the door with my collar pulled high,
The cold air chills me, as a taxi rides by.

Thumping of music can be heard from behind the door,
Some kind of music that I've never heard before.

A slight push on the door opens to a big room,
Louder now I heard sounds and the smell of perfume.

Smell of smoke and alcohol fills my lungs,
So thick is the smoke, my eyes burn and stung.

My eyesight dances across the room that's filled with so many,
I hear a man ask his waitress if she has change for a twenty.

I can see the bar all the way in the back.
With a lot of alcohol and a huge wine rack.

This was what I saw when I went out that night to the bar,
People gather and have fun in a place called The North Starr.


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You're Beautiful

Wow!... words cannot express,
Such beauty, such finesse.

The shape and color of those eyes,
No description will suffice.

Just like wine, you're finer when older,
And beauty to the eye of every beholder.










©2013 Honestly JT


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Park bench-2

Park bench

Memories haven’t blurred
Of how we were once love birds
And sat here together
In good and foul weather.

And of how the ones more bold
In ultimate pleasure rolled
In this coarse garden bench
With some cheap paid-for wench.

And of how after they left
Someone slept after a theft
Or a beggar for a night
Lay here and forgot his plight.

21 Mar 13.


Details | Couplet | |

Memories Beyond the Door

I keep you—you and all things you—behind this wooden locked door.
But still, your shadow: through the gap below, escapes; painted all over the floor.

That door stares and stares at me for days, weeks, months, years in vain;
For I truly dare not even touch that gilded, rust-eaten key again.

From there, I hear your screams as if you were declaring the next World War,
And truth be told—for no lies would suffice, it scares me to my deepest core.

From the gap below I see flickering lights, hear metallic sounds of rustling chains;
I see seeping from below unrestrained laughter, like puddles formed when it rains.

And often too, I find blood pooling underneath: rose syrup generously poured.
(Though I always stand there and stare—I don’t know what I’m waiting for.)

After a while, I noticed a curious thing: my hand, on the wood, it has left a stain;
Obscure, it was nonetheless there. I still see it with bare eyes, slightly strained.

Hey, you know, it has been coming to me lately; the monster that stomps and roars.
Trembling at first, I will be alright, for I remember: “Lock the door and count to four!”

And there it comes for its daily visit and find me it will. But fear not, dear; for I'd fain
Suffer this than to open the door and let you, too, be devoured again by Pain.


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November

My old home town, 12 years old and playing in the hay
preparing feed as I waited for sunrise, that fateful day
The suns warm rays broke the dark crispness of my world
Just as if windblown leafs,  the rays of light began to whorl

It nudged life, to wake from sleep, on this November day
Then painted my world in colors, instead of moonlit gray
Thankful to see the sun, tend animals, I didn’t disobey
I cleaned up, caught the bus, to learn at school this day

A simple, wonderful life, in a world that's about to change
As we listened, we learned our ideas aren't so strange
My teacher's and classes are great but, I must confess
we'd see movies, even watch TV, but not to an excess

After lunch I had history, maybe he had a movie to see
But, in class he looked sad as I heard the intercom key
"Our President has been shot, teachers turn on your TV"
As we watched tears flowed, it wasn't a movie we'd see

Learning of fear, uncertainty, hope and prayer I bereave
That life is like a roller coaster, on this day, as we grieve
My world and life changed this day, seeing life so brutal
Was it pointless to live free, an effort seemingly so futile?

I struggled with this many years, then in 1969, I choose
It's better to die free, than live in fear of what you oppose



A fragment of my life.


Started writing this for Broken Wings contest
but, I lost track of time


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Heart Stopper

My heart stopped as you took my breath away
You are the brightest part of every day

Years do not matter you are still sublime
The best part off life is that you are mine

I possess you but not in a bad way
It is our dance a game that we both play

I live in a dream with you in my arms
I will never be immune to your charms

I feel the beat of your glorious heart
I continue to explore every part

You are the one who wipes away my tears
You kept your promise to always be here

I soak you up within my whole being
So satisfied with what I am feeling

So now when I laugh it shows in my eyes
The essence of me has been realized

The heart that you stopped is beating strong
I am so thankful that you came along


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Memories

I'm all alone as I sit here in my room
And think of all the special memories 
And the times when it was just me and you
I laugh to myself when I think of the crazy things we used to do
Sometimes i laugh outloud and sometimes i shed a tear
Not a tear of sadness but of the memories that are so dear
I know some day the time will come
When we are all together again
So I'll just sit here quitely and say a prayer till then


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If I Remember You

If I feel your heavenly touch in the flutter of a swan You will know that my passion for you has never been withdrawn If I see your sweet face in the blue sea we traveled upon Such magic will just come in the most colorful hues of dawn If I feel the spray of waves when I climb out on the jetty I’ll sense the passion of your kiss when all cares did seem petty If I wade into the sea, I’ll remember our last Christmas The wading boots I bought you to fish filled you with so much bliss If I leave footprints in the sand, I’ll recall days at the beach When the warm, bright rays of a summer sun caused our hair to bleach If I hear your gentle voice in limbs rustling through the forest I’ll remember hearing you say, “Nature’s the premier florist” If my eyes fill with tears as I recall your great loyalty I’ll remember your strong intelligence; you seemed like royalty If I sense your presence accompanying me as I walk I’ll miss the sound of your deep voice and recall each time we’d talk If our song is played on the radio, I’ll miss you even more “Without You” by Nilsson recalls the sad day life shut the door And if I meet you again in the blessings of afterlife I’ll see your sterling-blue eyes and hear words that made me your wife
Written Monday, 3/23/14


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Body Surfing

Most days I go to the beach.  I like to sit
in the warm sand and watch the waves.

Like a parking lot, the beach is heaving
with day trippers who have come to play.

Mostly I like to watch the body surfers,
as they maneuver and swim out brave.

I have known this rush of speed and foam
crashing over the tops of breaking waves.

But lately I prefer to sit and breathe,
and catch some whiffs of my long lost days.


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Memory Or Lack Of

                  ~ Memory Or lack Of
Memories are so important, but I can’t remember mine,
I knew I had some once, once upon a time.

I go up the stairs and then I turn back, 
Was I going up or down, now I’ve lost track.
.
Where did I put it, that thing, you know what,
Oh blast I’ve forgotten what it was, or was not.
.
I look in the fridge and find my teapot,
So where is the milk, oh I know I’ve forgot.

Do I know you stood there, knocking at my door,
Oh yes you’re my son, I knew I’d seen you before,

Why didn’t you walk in, why do you knock?
Oh I locked up son, I’m sorry I forgot.

What are you doing there six foot three tall,
This morning you left you were really quite small.

Is it you or is it me my memory is shot
Oh now I remember it’s me, I forgot.


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Ring on my foot

Oh my feet are cold I grumbled as I sat upon the floor
Head upon his lap as I hear him quietly snore

I looked upon his face as though seeing for the first time
Worries, not a trace, cant say the same of mine

Asked myself the question,  is this face i want to see
Each morning as i wake up will this pleasure me

Thought of all his good deeds,  the way he takes control
In an emergency,not by half measures but by whole

Wonder if i turn around, put my feet on his chest
They will get warmer,  shall i put it to the test

So i did, not a pretty site,  sitting on my bum with feet looking white
Slowly he rubbed them ,put them next to his body for heat

So the answer to my question,  is yes i think i can
Wake up each morning,  looking at this man

Now i am laughing because when he rubbed my feet, I can see he
Placed a ring upon them , now he is  asking  to marry me.

Any man that  can put up with feet this cold must love me so
Of course I  said Yes  he was the one for me, but God called him home.




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Childhood Faces

Know you this feeling that I get?

Alone with memories, I now sit.


Small and smiling face of an elf.

I thank you each for sharing myself.


Know you this fire in my eyes?

When with tears, I realize


This eternal echo never dies

To be relived each moment cries


Within us all we all shall live

To us all, this thought I give...


Over time's distance, I see our faces.

Cherished companions in my heart spaces.


Though the moon eludes, the sun yet chases.

So cherish our memories; our childhood faces.


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I think

I think about death in ways I can’t explain
If I told anyone they would think I’m insane
I think about life in ways I’d like to forget
If I told anyone they would think I live in regret
I think about joy in ways no one would know
If I told anyone they would think I can’t let go
I think about peace in ways no one would guess
If I told anyone they would think I simply repress.

But no one has seen through the eyes I behold
And no one has heard all the lies I’ve been told
But no one has walked down the roads I have walked
And no one has been watched to the extent of being stalked.

I think about stitches in ways no one has seen
If I told anyone they would think I had a bad dream
I think about love in ways no one has felt
If I told anyone they would certainly not melt
I think about heaven in ways no one could bare
If I told anyone they would wish I didn’t share
I think about demons like they’re right here with me
If I told anyone they would think I was melancholy.

But no one has seen through the eyes I behold
And no one has heard all the lies I’ve been told
But no one has walked down the roads I have walked
And no one has been watched to the extent of being stalked.

By: Sabina Nicole





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THE REALM OF HARMFUL REALISM

During my sleep no sound is powerful enough
to awaken me from the realm of harmful realism.


Hours roll and not being aware of a temporary death,
every past life's event I relive with bitterness and regret.


I flint as an airplane piercing misty and thick clouds,
not wanting to be trapped in any hypnotic state.  


People who harmed me suddenly come into view,
some are dead and still haunt me with their laugh.


I sweat as grass on a humid day, I terribly shake and fall out
of the bed...realizing I've left the realm of harmful realism.


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A Special memory

A special memory


Still remember the memorable day,
When happiness was on my way,

I was anticipating confirmation of our meet,
Passion was eager to warmly greet,

Legs were trembling in great trepidation,
Heart beats getting faster in succession,

And eventually close as he reached,
Subtler emotions desperately beseeched,

Having lost in an intimate embrace,
Unaware of the time and place,

Apprehensions culminated into serenity,
Special instant of time is a pinprick of eternity !


Written September 17th, 2014
For contest 'A special memory' by Regina Riddle


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Un grand pas vers le Bon Dieu

Sweet short round sadness in the mirror may grow;
He writes her name twice on the mind`s first snow;
It is the moment to find a joke and make her laugh;
If he holds his dreams and her hands ,that`s enough;
A smile of the kidness with each cup of tea, and soon
As brought by Fancy`s Fairy in the blond afternoon,
The taste of honey mealt in bitterness of broken glass;
The subtle drums in his ears violently might surpass
The horses`galoop at the purple banks of his veins ;
From the green empire, where eternal spring reigns
The romp`s steps of imagery in the Plato`s realm
Composing an ode of joy or a long lasting psalm:
Child dancing, playing with the joyous rain,
 Like Narcissus at the sides of the fountain.
That parfume of violets :her hair and her eyes
Tactile, fragile china, cold glass solitude lies
In their unwritten novel: everybody may choose
The thrill of dancing among the Greek statues;
The rustling of the two doves following Love`s call 
 In the hand of Light,with overflown tumult in one soul. 
The step towards his heart and quickly her stop;
Without the slightest hesitation, all muscles hope
 Ready to caught a falling star still hoping
The crystalline tear prolonged dropping
Transformed in advancing recollections through:
Two masters of slaves and two slaves ,thus sum two.



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I Miss You

I miss the way you pull me close and tell me it's all right
I miss the way you stroke my hair and tell me not to cry
As the years go by the memory of you starts to fade
As if I'm stepping into the shade
The look of your face I start to forget
And I try not to fret
I know your not here today
But my world is turning gray
You are in my heart though
As I am beginning to grow
You are in a better place now
And for that I take a bow


In memory of Charles Moser


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Beneath a Streetlamp

The city streets are littered with sodden remnants of fall,
a chilling wind moans low between brick walls;

my vacant arms enfold my shivering form
to shield a heart grown weary of the storm.

There is a melancholy feeling to damp leaves upon the way
as though some precious spirit has packed and moved away.

The sidewalk's sheeted puddles reflect the faces that I love
peering through the golden ramparts in God's city up above.

I bend beneath the streetlamp where my face with theirs' will blend
remembering us together the way it will be in the end.

November 12, 2014


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Memories Buried Alive

My mind calls attention to where I've been,
When I was alive in that lion's den.
Summer breeze on a winter's day,
That memory won't fade away.
Yeah, I know these skies are gray;
I pray, we don't press replay.


©2014 Honestly JT


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Simplier times

Life was so simple a long long time ago when I was just a little girl where did the time ever go?
The games we played in the summer's heat, in the winter's cold and snow,
I'm very very thankful that I have those wonderful memories to share,
When I was young and so happy and did not have a care.


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Goodbye to an Austin Angel

She was headed off to college at 18 years old,
News of the crash leaked out, and the mood turned cold.
She was the best person you could ever know,
When she danced with her team she put on a show.
Recently in Ohio, I found this rock,
With its angelic shape I found this cross-walk.
In the crosswalk I found my old best friend,
If only my heart could find a way to mend.
As a young country singer once sang, 
“18 years have come and gone,”
It’s hard at this point, it’s hard to move on,
I guess it’s time to move down the line,
I need a reassuring sign to ease my mind. 
Goodbye my friend, may heaven treat you well,
In the past, I will no longer dwell.
Hello my guardian angel, you are my eyes,
For you are with God, and He is wise.
Goodbye Tracie Lynn, you made people smile,
I’ll be there for you after a while. 


Details | Couplet | |

ODE TO THE MEMORY MAKERS

Do you want to hear a story, perhaps an anecdote or two . . .
There is a place to do it, when life caves in on you.

There is a group of people who share their lives today . . .
I found them only by happy circumstance, as I was traveling this way.

They get together once a month, to tell tales of their past . . .
Each one in their particular way have stories that will last.

Each one could talk for hours on end, and there would be no lulls . . .
For the times and places they have been, are etched upon their souls.

Their pleasure in remembering is a joy to all who hear . . .
We like to listen to the tales they tell, they give us all a cheer.

The lives they have led, the people they've known, the places they've been to . . .
Are celebrated with us each month, as if we'd been there too.

The moments in time that in our hasty lives, we often will forget . . .
Are cherished now as memories, especially the ones we seem to fret.

Memories, I know, are not for us alone and need to be shared . . .
Even the ones we don't want to think on, the ones that made us scared.

The stories they share with us are not just a reason for rhyme . . .
But I wanted each of them to know, how much I enjoy this time.

Because of them, I have remembered so many things of my own past . . .
Times that I'd forgotten, but have come back to me at last.

The darkest corners of memory are brightened by their chat . . .
I, for one, know I will always be grateful for that.

Our thought are put in new perspective - even the darkest ones we save . . .
But however dark and grim they are, as memories they behave.

To all the MEMORY MAKERS present and past who grace us all this way . . .
This rhyme is for you, "Thank You" for sharing your lives with us, past, present, and today.