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Quatrain Memory Poems | Quatrain Poems About Memory

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

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‘The Airplane Crossing Clear-Blue Sky'

My white-washed bars surrounded me -
they held me as I slept;
they soothed me when the days were long,
and mother’s blue-eyes wept.

A baby girl, six months or less,
awakened from my sleep -
stood up legs as sure as hope;
as strong as flat is steep.

My hands, my saviors, gripped the rail
so I could peek outside –
the bluest sky I’d ever seen,
As tall as it was wide;

came into view - between the blue,
an airplane gliding by,
its smoky streamer like a flag,
across my memory’s sky...

The memory is a simple one -
a window, sky, and plane -
but in my heart, it's heaven's door
and there it shall remain.

I’ve hung it on my memory’s wall
Between that life and this –
It covers every hole I’ve dug
In sorrow’s vast abyss.

This picture brings the special peace
I knew when I was small –
Where mother’s just beyond the door,
and waiting for my call…

*Inspired by Danielle's Earliest Memory contest. I have blocked out almost every memory 
from my childhood, and only a very few gems remain - this is the first. and I will treasure it 

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My Little Box

Sometimes, when I am alone
I go inside myself
and I get a little box
I keep upon a shelf.

My box is filled with memories,
sweet days that I once knew.
One of my greatest treasures
is the memory of you.

Time has begun to fade it
and has bent the corners in
yet when I gaze upon it,
it comes alive again.

I let it take me over
I ride it like a wave
feeling every inch of love
you once, so sweetly gave.

It fills my soul with pleasure
and helps me get away
from all the tribulations
that I must face each day.

Yet it was not always beautiful,
this memory I hold.
It use to only give me pain
and leave me feeling cold.

But so much time has passed away
and the pain has took its' leave
so now I may finally
enjoy instead of grieve.

Once it has embraced me
and filled me with its' wealth
I put it gently in my box
and place it on the shelf.

I'll always keep this precious jewel
with tender, loving care
so that when I need it,
it will be waiting there.

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In times of retrospection we discover
The miles our vagrant compass trekked 
Silent horrors from which we recovered
What be righteous or unworthy we assess

For to all children life is not toys and hugs
Or enchanting dances on daddies feet
But bitter realities of drunks and thugs
Eggshell walks and battering clubs

Bewildering the difference the years can make
And the choosing to which one is inclined
To follow the path with which they were faced
Or to carve a new path by need redesigned 

They say that Rome was not built in a day
Stone upon stone is a sound foundation laid 
Tethering twine pulling massive loads up high
Burying tears in abysses carving smiles from cries

Oh no, I'm fine. Concern yourself not with me
For I am the architect of my own design
Someday a pillar in the Temple I will be
My fortress not breeched nor climbed

My world hastens wisdoms patience 
Compassion and mercy will abound
Fragrant love skilled willing agents
Through tenderness barbarians turn clown

Recreating the days of innocence 
Forgiving those too weak to see
That some with all their pitiful ignorance 
Have not the power to strip you of your dreams

There's a power of soul endowed to man
To walk by authenticity
Pities frown subsides as does vengeance 
When taken hold of true humility

No promise of ease nor heart unbroken 
To even one was this promise solemnly given
Though pain so deep to bleed is relief
It is friction that compels the driven

Though shadows past haunts you to fright 
There is light to be found in its darkness 
For shadows be slight illumination of light
The evidence of all you've accomplished

How far I've traveled from condemnation
My compass directs true north
On days my history taunts my persuasion 
It's for loves sake I've stayed my course


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Memories On Branches

An old board and a rope had made me a swing,
Sitting there when I was around the age of nine,
I curiously looked up to see the first sign of spring,
Where a robin was building a nest of twigs entwined.

Summer's heat burned my shoulders, so I sought shade,
I climbed up into your strong arms at the age of fourteen,
Along with a book, I relaxed in a solitude no one could invade,
I found myself lost within the pages and the leaves of green.

On a lazy, autumn afternoon, at the age of twenty-three,
I raked the dead leaves that buried my feet into a pile,
Through the orange limbs my black cat peered down at me,
Then leapt from the tree to play among the leaves for awhile.

Now, as I am rapidly approaching the age of thirty-one,
Branches are encased in ice, as winter continues to unfold,
From my window, I see the cardinals and the disappearing sun,
Reminding me that life still survives in the bitter cold.

March, 7th, 2014

Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Memories On Branches"

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My Memories Of Christmas

Hearing the jingling bells of Santa's sleigh,
Hanging silver tinsel on the tree for trim,
My cousin and I going sledding all day,
Reading the story of Scrooge and Tiny Tim.

Building a house made of spicy gingerbread,
And hearing a Bing Crosby Christmas tune,
Leaving out cookies before going to bed,
Seeing eight tiny reindeer flying by the moon.

Santa Claus bringing toys down our chimney,
Almost every house twinkling with lights,
Cutting down a fresh, pine Christmas tree,
Hanging antique ornaments, so shiny and bright.

Grandma and I baking my favorite cookies,
Shopping for Christmas gifts in every store,
A fireplace with a stocking hung just for me,
And singing Christmas carols at every door.

My hometown covered in glistening, white snow,
And the sweet, minty taste of a candy cane,
Presents containing treasures we wouldn't know,
And drawing snowflakes on a frosty window pane.

My Mom making a snowman, as perfect as can be,
Decking the halls with garlands, wreaths and more,
Whispering wishes to Santa, sitting on his knee,
And the excitement we all had the night before.

December 12th, 2013

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The Royal Crown

What birth pains are these
The kind that bring no peace
It seems no one is pleased
Until someone leaves

©2014 Honestly JT

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Forgotten Memories

Tonight the shore is pounded by the fretful, roiling surf, 
dark clouds tempestuously race across a yellow moon; 
the ocean's breast heaves a heaviness of bitter tears   
flinging gray shadowed sobs against silent, white-faced dunes    

Far across deep seated waters, another golden strand--
do you pace there the churning surf line as here I do;   
are these waves that beat against my blistered, sand burnt feet    
a desperate, longing message dispatched tonight from you?   

Somewhere harbor lights safely chart the well worn channel   
for anxious, weary sailors longing for the arms of home;    
but you and I, marooned, remain in lonely shadows    
forgotten memories between us, darkened pools of foam.

October 22, 2014

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The Echo of a Soul

The Echo of a Soul 
By Andrew Weeden 

In the windswept hills of vibrant green, 
Here I sit at your lonely grave. 
The bright flower that made my heart beam, 
Is the wilted flower I could not save.  

From the beginning I did not know, 
I was oblivious from the start; 
Cancer’s blade cut away your happy glow 
And would thrust to pierce my very heart.  
Consumed in the darkness of raging anger, 
Ten years I stand alone in the rain. 
With death no longer a distant stranger; 
My only companion in the storm of pain.  

Now it seems no one remembers, 
But you did not cease to be. 
Your spirit still burns in glowing embers 
And lives inside the fire in me.  

The storm is passing; I finally see its end. 
Happiness smiles again and shakes me to my core.  
I realize every time I lift my pen 
My Grandma speaks once more! 

Reflections of your love 
Weave tapestries in time. 
As a singing mourning dove, 
Your words whisper in my mind. 

So though you had to go, 
You remain in your begotten; 
As an echo of a soul, 
Gone but not forgotten. 

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Pen in Hand

Pen in hand or board with keys
     Toil with verse and rhyme.
What disappoints might later please
     Hasten borrowed time.

Chills run up and down my spine
     To think of things I miss.
So much is gone that I called mine.
     Tough to reminisce.

Years ago on any day
     Far and wide I’d roam.
Busy with best friends at play
     Seldom around home.

Now kids huddle on the floor—
     Stationary fun.
Competing for the highest score,
     Sit instead of run.

Guess I’ll wander at the beach—
     Spend time along the shore.
Ponder all that life might teach
     Had I a few years more.

With inspiration from and dedicated to Just That 
Archaic Poet and the Quatrain King, Jack Ellison.

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Dundurn Castle

I hesitate for a moment outside the rod iron gates;
sensing behind those castle doors, a long past life awaits,
within those many mortared walls, rising high above the lake,
as my breath begins to quicken and my knees began to shake.

Step into the parlour, the old curator now implores;
where upon I see  the winding staircase, I at once abhor. 
Below the ground on cobbled stones, stepping up to marbled floors,
a scullery maid with calloused feet, summoned by her Lord.

As I climb those winding stairs again, my back begins to ache,
as visions of cups and saucers, tumble down the stairs and break.
The Mistress of the castle, coiled, and hissing like a snake,
strikes me down to lie among the shattered glass, and birthday cake.

Upon a marble checkerboard, in squares of black and white, I die;
barely fourteen years of age, a lonely  child, frail and shy;
buried in a shallow grave, no marker telling where I lie,
just the roses in the garden, underneath a blue, blue sky.

Written:  June 25, 2014
For Past Life Contest

Author's note:
 Dundurn Castles is a real castle in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada.
On a visit there, I had an overwhelming feeling of familiarity, 
which inspired this poem about a past life.

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The Waves

Strolling along Myrtle Beach
Collecting shells in the sand
The waves become hypnotic
And the mood moves into grand.
So many thoughts and memories
Come rushing back with the waves
Thoughts that flood and can’t be stopped,
Some get panned, but some are raves.
Again and again
They flow in and out
Life reliving every decision
Life reliving every doubt.
Then sanity reasserts
For the mind knows what it knows
And hypnosis grinds to a halt
With the sand between my toes.
By E. Marshall Evans

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Oh Great And Powerful Future

Oh great and powerful future
What will you do with our past?
We’ve labored over the years
To make sure our photos last.

Having filed hundreds in books
Where they’re somewhat organized
By event, by year, but by god
When we’re gone, will they still be prized?

Oh great and powerful future
I know I’m a simple man,
Without powers of prophesy
My life has a limited span.

But please remember these photos
Or if not, why do we save.
Can’t a record of memories
Have a future beyond the grave?

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Haunted by your memory,
You're in my thoughts and dreams,
They say you never forget your first,
There's truth to that it seems

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They say that time heals all
Yet there never seems enough
To say the words, to give your love
A mother always dies too soon

You try to make it linger
As her age increases yearly
You pray that God will spare her
Because you love her dearly

But when the days get tedious
She’s sick, alone and weary
You pray that God may take her
Because you love her dearly

Mother, we will miss you,
Your love, your care and support
You have given us your all
And triumphantly defied life’s challenges

You were so busy caring for others 
That you forgot about yourself
In honour and in gratefulness, we say
Sweet mother, dearest oma*, may you rest in peace

Rest peacefully now your time has come 
May angels guide your way
The time has come...yet 'tis oh so hard
To see you on your way

*Oma is dutch for Grandmother

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Memories Beyond The Door

I am sure the verse of fear in writing Extreme sense of sadness lies in my dreams Memories seem to be locked deep inside I cry for the loss of my tender scenes My heartfelt dreams, those of powerful love Are also tucked away beyond any hope Any hope of getting them for feeling Making me try to understand and cope Pain’s so intense that I can’t remember The joys of life are gone with this disease My longtime memories are gone, I hurt I feel real terrible, it brought a tease I’ll never know the sure pleasures of life Like others who can see their past at will They’re lucky, even with bad memories All are hope for the future, loving still
Entered into Constance La France's "Memories Beyond The Door" contest 4/28/2013

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Remember your very first movie? I surely remember mine Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs It was nineteen thirty-nine! Went to a matinee with my parents “Sit still!” my mother said Saw two movies and a funny cartoon Still dancing round in my head! I remember being really frightened By the sight of the wicked old Queen Soon as Dopey came bouncing along Happy times returned to the screen! The music's been here for all my life “Whistle While You Work” And “Someday My Prince Will Come” That's when my ears start to perk Sure don't make 'em like that anymore Now they're 3-D animated gems Amazing but I long for the simpler ones Sure wish I could live 'em again! © Jack Ellison 2013

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Where Frozen Embers Still Burn

~~ I struggle always with my memories, The long ago past is forever lurking; In a moment I am whispered back, And the pages of my life are fluttering. Fluttering in the misty winds of time, To where the joyful and painful burn; O but this is the key to who I am, And each memory has its own turn. Turn back the pages of my journey, I am a little girl playing and dreaming; O but to stay frozen in this memory, And to not ever know the pain of weeping. Weeping has always been my companion, I so often stand in a place of sorrows; Past the ornate gate and winding road, And the past shall haunt all my tomorrows. ______________________ August 16, 2014 Quatrain For the contest, Where Frozen Embers Still Burn, Gail Angel Doyle 8th Place

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Gone But Not Forgotten

I remember it now
Not all, but enough
To understand how
I am afraid to accept love

Because some love hurts
Especially the kind you gave
The kind nobody deserves
The kind that plants the seed of hate

It matters little if you feel remorse
Your guilt could never ease my pain
The damage you did cannot be reversed
I still wear the residue of shame

And you will never have my forgiveness
My hatred will be your only companion
As you lie upon your deathbed
Feeling frightened and abandoned

You still won't even have my pity
Pathetic as you are
All you will ever be is what you did to me
As I will always bear these ugly scars

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Gone Are The Days

Remember Petticoat Junction?
Perhaps Green Acres too?
I Love Lucy and Carol Burnett,
Just for a laugh or two?

Dick Van Dyke and The Munsters,
Back when the "tube" was fun;
Doris Day and Love That Bob,
Don't forget The Flying Nun!

Maxwell Smart was an agent,
We all know Uncle Jed;
Hazel was that clever maid,
It's sad how comedy's fled!

The Honeymooner's over,
F Troop's down to zero;
The Beaver's long forgotten,
While Hogan's lost his heroes!

Gilligan's left the island,
A Jeannie no longer dreams;
Car 54, where are you?
At times, I wanna scream!

Andy was a country boy,
Gomer, a seargent's pest;
Who made room for daddy?
Don't fathers know what's best?!

Dobie shaved the goatee,
Mister Ed's lost his voice;
My Three Sons are missing,
Ozzie and Harriet had no choice!

McHale can't find his navy,
The Addams flown away;
A Martian ain't so favorite,
Our Laugh In's gone astray!

Primetime's lost its essence,
Laughter is a con man's game;
A Family Affair's in mourning,
Is the "new age" ours to blame?

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Where Frozen Embers Still Burn

Her hand of friendship, not desire
Though we traveled roads long and far
My heart was hers for all to lend
She sought from life a blazing star

The years became a seedless tree
A love kept silent, never grew
My honor held in quiet stead
As she disappeared from view

An Autumn night, as years had passed
Came gentle knock, my open door
And there she stood in quiet pose
A rushing kiss, the empty floor

A night we found of hungered bliss
The embers cold to passion's fire
A last goodby, it was her gift
She'd always known my heart's desire

contest Where Frozen Embers Still Burn

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I Can Only Touch The empty Air

I cannot look in your eyes from here,
To touch your soul with my gaze.
Your too far away to reach, My Dear,
To be taken in by my embrace.

My whispered thoughts cannot extend to there--
Where you are's too far away.
I can only touch the empty air
Instead of holding you near always.

So many men between you and I.
I envy each one his place.
Oh, to be at the head of that line,
Looking at you again face to face.

Wonder of wonders, fate of all fates...
I chose to be where I am:
Sitting alone laughing at regrets,
Cursing the notion "what might have been".

I wish I could steal your heart to here
And keep it captive near mine.
But hearts are only given, it's clear...
All I can do is offer you mine.

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The old rocking chair

There on the porch
Sits the old rocking chair
Soft cushions to touch
Warm blanket are there

Where tadcu* used to sit
After a shift down the mine
Man and boy at the pit
Until he injured his spine

At his side on the stool
Is a gnarled old pipe
Tadcu made it a rule
He would never light up.

Said his lungs were busy
Dealing with the pit dust
coughing made him dizzy
Oxygen a must.

Loved to rock as he dreamt
Of his life as a lad
Remembering he wept
Getting old made him so sad

*tadcu - grandfather

Penned 07/07/2014

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Treasure In The Cellar

I walked down the steps
To those musty gray walls,
And breathed in the air
Of hand soap and moth balls.

I saw the oil tank
Near the pipes to the well;
And the concrete sink,
With its dank, clammy smell.

Some jams and preserves
Lined the shelves with great care,
With labels that read -
Straw-, Rasp-, Gage Plum and Pear.

Then as I walked ‘round,
I hit line overhead;
Where aprons were hung,
That were stitched in fine thread.

At that I glanced down,
Seeing box under sheet;
Near a braided rug,
Which was under my feet.

I grabbed hold the box,
Where its sides read “C. James;”
And lifting the sheet,
Saw in bold print, “Ann’s Games.”

With that, I dove in,
As I opened the case;
And when I saw “Rook,”
Beams of joy filled my face.

Then reaching I pulled,
“Go Ahead of the Class;
Then Old Maids, then Snap,
And Monopoly last.

But after these treats,
Came another as well;
With old comic books,
That were all made by Dell.

I sat there and read
For an hour or two;
Then put all away,
With the box tucked from view.

Then climbing the stairs
To the kitchen once more;
I marveled the child
That my mom was before.

Copyright - By Paul Ray

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Remembering When

I remember when…
Main Street was laid with dark red brick
now it’s laid with black hot asphalt.
The stench alone can make one sick
with environmental assault.

I remember when…
Our radio was our television
we could get broadcasts all around the world.
Letting imagination envision 
as the “War of the Worlds” unfurled.

I remember when…   
Buzz Aldrin stepped down on the moon
how ecstatic our nation was.
Dancing about on big sand dune
setting communications abuzz.

I remember when…
On my first date, went to drive-in movie
where we viewed the picture “Bonnie and Clyde”.
We really dug it, thought it was groovy
but saddened they were so young when they died.

I remember when…
Schools showed respect for country and to God
with pledge of allegiance and morning prayer.
Today they have spared the punishment rod
and high esteem for beliefs we did share.

Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey

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Memories rest in tender frames
Picked over, chosen, kept
As real are the scorching flames
Those dowsed by tears wept

A day, a week, a month, a year
Roll by without respite
Gathered, attached, more appear
Of hurtful and delight

Memories rest in splendour frames
Each one a work of art
Torn from joy, laughter, pains
For body, soul and heart.

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Husha Husha We All Fall Down

Husha husha we all fall down Gonna take you back a few years Everything was exciting and new Memories we all hold so dear First time riding a two wheel bike Mom thought we'd break a leg Climbing aboard some floating ice Painting some Easter eggs Our first encounter with puppy love That pretty young thing next door Sudden she's not just one of the guys Feelings never felt before An interview for our very first job Nervous with hair all slicked down Catching two people in the stock room Passionately messing around These things we all remember With fondness and tears in our eyes So sad we have to leave them behind These feelings you just can't buy Husha husha we all fall down These memories are so bittersweet They help us through the tough times Making our lives complete! © Jack Ellison 2013 Ring-a ring-a rosies A pocket full of posies Husha Husha We all fall down. The rhyme originated from the plague in London in 1665. The red rings on the skin were the first sign of the plague. The posies were the herbs and spices carried by people because they thought the disease was carried in the smell. The last part was when the person died. The rhyme continued to be used referencing small pox outbreaks, long after the Great Fire of London in 1666 burnt out the spread of plague.

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Voice of the rejected

From the pits of society's regards
I hear a cry.
Subtly breathing into oblivious hearts,
an anonymous sigh.

Singing melodious sorrows,
a still, small voice in the darkness.
A drum of war to whom luxury bestows,
yet a beacon for kindness.

Discarded bones regain their flesh
and the mindless their searches cease,
replaced by justice's harmony fresh
and the laughter of the heartless decrease. 

A cry still ringing
louder and louder to be elected
in the court of hearing,
the voice of the rejected.

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Once More

I see your name here and there
Suddenly, I can’t get you off my mind
I catch your fragrance on the air
Remembering when your lips touched mine

I feel your presence all around
In the night and the sunshine, warm
I would give all, and all again
To hold you once more in my arms

                       ~Christopher Thor Britt

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Inside Stories

Nobody knows your dirty clothes,
Like your best friends do.
The small detail that few know,
Back roads that lead to you.

©2014 Honestly JT

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Dear Diary

           Dear Diary

Dear diary, you know I love you so
And treasure your pages
I never lied to you as that would be fallacious 
And not in keeping with the full disclosure laws in Europe 

At first I confused you with dairy products
And would leave grass in your pages to eat late at night
While I masturbated over cartoon shows
Waiting for you to moo 

I guess that was wrong and I was young 
You were simply a book and not there to judge me
Or book me and put me in jail
Forgive me diary as I forgive you for missing pages…By the way….

What happened to June 3rd. 2004 pages?... Remember?...
I was quite explicit in writing several pages on the subject of
An orgy in Atlantic City with show girls, under the boardwalk 
Involving fruits, vegetables and assorted live action toys

Dear diary, I must confess, I also thought you were diarrhea
Kept you by the toilet and treated you like a guest
One last question Mr. or Mrs. Diary or whatever the case might be
Are you mute?  I never hear from you… I guess that’s good dear diary

                                                             5/16/14 Dear Diary Contest

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Bill's Slippers

I miss him dearly Sweet Bill of mine The love of my life A one of a kind Had his share Of quirks I adored Leaving his slippers By the front door Gone for a while But only last week Sadly put his slippers Away with a weep We all have habits Some strange some not Remembering Bill's Forever in thought Tugging at hearts strings His love's still alive The memory of sweet Bill Will forever survive Had his share Of quirks I adored Leaving his slippers By the front door © Jack Ellison 2013 Written for Bev, a friend of ours who recently lost her hubby after 42 happy years

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All The Way Live


                                      So we're on the brink of a new weekend;
                                       And I'm ready for the guests to arrive.
                                          Come Friday everything will begin;
                                                  Let's go all the way live.

                                                     ©2014 Honestly JT

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In The Arms Of An Angel

In the arms of an angel No words could be more fitting I raise my voice in loving tribute To Ken with your permitting A celebration of this loving soul Such a kind and gentle man Always upbeat, ready with a smile As each new day began In the arms of an angel Looking from above with a smile Always ready with a kindly word In spite of all life's trials Dear, dear, sweet Marguerite The love of Ken's existence Will journey forward hand in hand Together still, though distant So everyone's here to celebrate This special bond he possessed With each and every one of us As a friend, he was the best May he forever rest in peace. © Jack Ellison 2013 For my good friend Ken, which I wrote for his "Celebration of Life" ceremony .

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I started with so many
My pockets overflowed
All those many memories
From the past that I had sowed

Then there came a silent thief
A pickpocket in disguise
Taking precious memories
Before I realized

Now my pockets are empty
I see faces I don't know
Grasping for recognition
From my mind it does not flow

Just a body in a room
With fleeting thoughts in my head
Pockets filled with emptiness
I'm among the living dead 

What happend to all my love
Did he throw it all away
Or is it waiting somewhere 
To collect some future day

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Memories Of You

My thinking about you haunts me
We went from deep in love
To this place where you don't want me
Now we're deceasing love

I forgot to say I'm sorry
For all the times you hurt
There isn't a need to worry
Already quenched my thirst

For the taste of the sweet nectar
That only lovers spew
Your giving up us will fester
Then rot inside of you

Until the day we meet again
Your memory will live
Within my mind and heart until
I can no longer feel

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Paradise Fallen

I think my brain has scar tissue,
Remembering days of past issues.
Did I forget home values?
Am I somehow consumed?

©2014 Honestly JT

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The Carnival

Another day…a different town
the never ending path…
It’s time to hoist the tents again
and make the people laugh…

Crank the music up my boys
make haste, they’ll soon be here!…
Let’s give them all a real fine show
they’ll talk about all year…

Everyone get ready now
we’re bout to let em in…
Power up the Ferris wheel
and let the rides begin…

Cotton candy step right up
the best you've ever had...
Caramel apples everyone
they’ll make your stomach glad…

Come and see the Siamese twins
for just a dollar more…
The ten foot giant alien
is just beyond this door…

Toss the rings and win a bear
you’ll make your girlfriend proud…
The people in the haunted house
they’re screaming very loud...

One by one they all go home
with smiles upon their face...
Tomorrow we’ll begin again
then soon, another place...

All Rights Reserved Jon Arno 2013

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Terror Within

Trying to make sense of senseless murders...

among the flock there seem to be
a few without remorse
they want their name for all to see
no matter what the course

so silently they await the day
they've planned down to the minute
misfortune soon has it's way
with the poor souls caught up in it

and families left to grieve alone
while a killer still remains
with empty eyes and face of stone
he most certainly is insane

but deep within his twisted mind
lies coherence with evil purpose
psychopaths aren't well-defined
yet another will surely surface

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Your Gift

Memories nudged my heart today
you walked in through the door…
Everything was as it was
and love was like before…

Dancing with you in my arms
we played our favorite song…
I ran my fingers through your hair
you smiled and sang along…

For just a moment I was there
could even smell your scent...
Although the moment very brief
so loved the gift you sent...

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Where Frozen Embers Still Burn

           Where Frozen Embers Still Burn

Canyons scorched over time by an overburdened sun lust
A desolate lost soul still wonders blindly back
On that past, the darkened prairie grass, and covered dust
Where rain fell, love began, then turned icy black

Confused, buried through time, recalling if you ever were mine
Glimmers of gold discovered there that memories retain
Scattered rocks, sharper than my mind, thoughts refined
Landscape with solid features remains untainted in refrain  

Our love was silent born on golden morning’s mist
Only a sad sun remembers everything that lasts
Silence in the quiet open air recounts every little kiss 
Forgetting nothing in the embers of our souls that passed

Cold winters ice etched us beyond simple lust
 Memory retains those golden laws of life divine
Still keep their secrets silent born in trust 
Covers that distant morning when you were mine

Entered Rhonda Johnson-Saunder's Poetry Contest on 12/23/14 "Your Best Romantic Poem of 2014"  Original Post 8/18/14 

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A Muddy Gerber Baby

My mommy used to tell me that
I had such tiny toes
Which she counted, one to ten
While tapping my little nose.

It was difficult to believe it;
How could I have been so small?
To fit in tiny booties and slippers
I could not believe at all. 

Until one day I took a look
At the album my mum had found.
It showed: me dressed in diapers and
Some mud from off the ground.

If I knew I was dirty, I didn't care
Or my disdain was shown as a grin
And ten tiny toes all curled around 
The same mud I stood in.

Such memories I still cannot recall
But I must believe it to be true.
I still don't think I fit in those booties.
(In that picture I had no shoes!)

The picture I used was one of me when I was 

two or three years old. I was standing in my 

grandma's garden, muddy but smiling with 

little dimples. Good times, good times.

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Drawing A Blank

Drawing a blank, now how's that possible Unless you use invisible ink Then what's the purpose if no one can see it Kinda senseless don't ya think However it seems I can kinda remember The comics offered this kit You wrote with a pen containing invisible ink After rubbing it appeared bit by bit Thought the whole thing was simply magic Master spies is what we became Belonging to the army's intelligence corp Sending notes in an espionage game Oh those were fun days of make believe Pretending to be super sleuths Slinking around passing invisible messages Those super fun days of my youth <3 <3 <3 © Jack Ellison 2014

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The moonlight fugitive

Short gasps of air whirl through a burning throat,
still her legs defy the exhaustion in desperation.
Behind her trail phantoms of memories afloat
upon a sea of desertion.

Beneath a canopy of constellation
she finds herself lost in time.
The forest unfolds before her like a revelation.
An apocalyptic bell sounds one chime.

It won’t be long before a mistake is irreversible.
Every turn is just another minute to live.
The last road taken proves an ironic circle. 
Sinking between the waves that created her, rests the moonlight fugitive.

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My Very First Movie

Remember your very first movie? I surely remember mine Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs It was nineteen thirty-nine! Went to a matinee with my parents “Sit still!” my mother said Saw two movies and a funny cartoon Still dancing round in my head! I remember being really frightened By the sight of the wicked old Queen Soon as Dopey came bouncing along Happy times returned to the screen! The music's been around for a lifetime Remember “Whistle While You Work” And “Someday My Prince Will Come” That's when my ears start to perk Sure don't make 'em like that anymore Now they're 3-D animated gems Amazing but I long for simpler times Sure wish I could live 'em again! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Acute History

Is it four eyes, or
for eyes?
Some things they
need not see.
Sometimes love is
And life behind is
acute history.

©2014 Honestly JT

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Wide-Eyed And Eager

There are some things in life That you never forget Buried deep down in your soul Your very first kiss Your first two wheel bike The very first cookie you stole Nothing quite compares To a lifetime of memories A treasure trove to cherish forever Your sixty-five Corvette With a 350 engine Feelings never equaled ever Nostalgic these memories When the world was brand new Your life was just waiting to be lived Experiencing new things Exciting new adventures You've got so much giving to give May think my time's come To throw in the towel Plan to still be around for a while Got stuff to explore Lotsa places to see Still wide-eyed and eager like a child © Jack Ellison 2013

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Running Away From Mariposa

Standing in the meadow 
Looking up at old Half Dome 
Watching deer meandering 
Across the front porch of their home. 

So many years ago 
When the Indians still were there 
And the great Winona redwood 
Could be driven through if you dare

The times were so much simpler 
And the living was so free 
When the life of a little boy 
Was all that it could be. 

Seems I've spent a lifetime
 Looking for a better way to be 
When Mariposa was just waiting
 For me to come back and be me.

Indeed I've spent most of my life,
A lifetime running away
Trying to be what I wasn't,
A mask and a part to play.

Trying to be this one and that one
Running away from seeds that were sown
Breaking deals and breaking hearts
Even at last my own.

So I offer this advice
To those whose heart is achin',
Go right on and just be yourself,
Everyone else is taken.

by E. Marshall Evans

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My Desk

My desk was once a fallen ancient tree,
And I was never what I want to be.
My heart was once a sheltered enemy,
Until these walls were opened up for me.

And now I write my heart into its grain, 
This desk is strong and manages my pain.
Your halo heart to which I will remain,
Upon my desk until you come again.

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At a banquet with daddy, his sweet little girl
Is wearing glass slippers and her mother's pearls.
She's smelling the flowers he gave to her,
And wishing her roses could live forever.

"Oh, why can't they live, these roses of mine?
They blossomed and faded, in such a short time.
I'll cherish their sweetness, 'til the last petal falls
For all things must die, still their memory lives on."

The day she's eighteen, the doorbell rings,
A boy is there smiling, so bright and so sweet.
He hands her twelve roses, all in full bloom,
And he says, "They're not as beautiful as you."

"Oh, why can't they live, these roses of mine?
They blossomed and faded, in such a short time.
I'll cherish their sweetness, 'til the last petal falls
For all things must die, still their memory lives on."

All dressed in white, she walks down the aisle,
Her hands full of roses, her face full of smiles.
They represent love, so pure and so new,
Though the roses will perish, the love will stay true.

"Oh, why can't they live, these roses of mine?
They blossomed and faded, in such a short time.
I'll cherish their sweetness, 'til the last petal falls
For all things must die, still their memory lives on."

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Memory Box

In a little wooden box
deep beneath the ground
is where my memories
are buried safe and sound
beautiful moments faded
like flowers in the snow
now just wisps of memories
where only weeds can grow
so I put them in a willow box
far from my heart and mind
deep within the silent soil
the memories now left behind

Written January 9, 2013

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The Canadiana Folksingers

Once was part of a folk group About fifty years ago Just before that group from England Took over the whole damn show You known, that famous foursome Blew us out of the water Folk scene died almost immediately They wiped us up with a blotter Fantastic time the six of us had Not a money making gig for sure The bunch of us had the time of lives On TV, an album, a tour Looking back with very fond memories Gave us such an inner peace Singing many times in old folks homes Appreciative beyond belief Sure you wouldn't have heard of us The Canadiana Folksingers, we were Proud as hell to have been a member Those days now are just a blur © Jack Ellison 2013

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The Babe, Ted Williams, And The Mick

Remembering the days way back when Baseball was what made life tick Lived and breathed that wonderful game With the Babe, Ted Williams, and the Mick Jackie Robinson breaking the colour barrier Sweet memories inhabit my brain Jackie was the absolute first hero of mine Brought equality to this time honoured game Stan Musial, Bob Feller, and Joe DiMaggio From a much simpler era, these names When salaries hadn't yet become astronomical They played for the love of the game How many remember the powerhouse Yankees Every year the cream of the crop They were always a perpetual Series contender Seemed like the Yanks were always on top Those days are gone but sure not forgotten In the recesses of this old mind Can still see Ted hitting one over the fence In my mind, it's nineteen-forty nine © Jack Ellison 2013

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The Gravity of Genius

To show the world so many faces
yet not reveal your tears,
to take imaginations places
throughout your bright career,

To see your heartfelt humility
and real self-deprecation
with natural unmatched ability
of mad improvisation,

to fly where others find no path,
to thrive in air so rarefied
defines a genius of his craft.
How could life's role terrify?

Perhaps Robin would break the silence
with a brilliant improv routine,
heckling death with satirical defiance.
He was the best I’ve ever seen.

Otherworldly talent must command
a price no man should ever pay.
I can’t pretend to understand,
so I will laugh, reflect, and pray.

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Beneath starlight, a red ember

Beneath starlight, a red ember;
I think about the past.
How life’s events roll slowly forward
And leave the present last.

I’m standing as their stems emerge 
From soil too long staid;
They grow like weeds and flowers in
My yard of moonlight shade.

My memories, invasive plants,
Consume my empty chair.
Deny me any desperate rest
Without your presence there.

Recalling wandering memories,
Adventures conscience free,
Reminds of souls without purpose,
A soul that still is me.

Bring back the rocky quarry edge,
The late night New York trains,
The tunnel underneath the street,
And muscles sore and strained.

Bring back the open, solemn night
That beckons, calls, persuades,
Our longing hearts to mischief hid
In midnight’s dark cascades.

Bring back freedom from anxious fear,
Do that or leave me be.
For even though my heart feels still,
It still beats to be free.

Beneath starlight, a red ember
Goes out among the weeds.
I close the door on moonlight and
My distant memories.

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In Memories Way

“It might be gathering dust but it is still my most treasured memory”

Every since I was a child I loved bright things that sparkled shone 
And saving every dime I splurged to purchase things of little worth 
Thus Christmas time I tithed bits of jewelled gifts, in loving brawn   
Unlike the hopes that faded way, the aftermath of such, was mirth 

And on that special day he brought that box of precious gold 
Along with laughter song and cheer, a father’s love tenfold     
The birthday cake had flowers piped of green and red and pink  
He handed me a ticket too, “The Great Ballet Of Brink”   

It has been forty years since then and still it’s tucked away 
At the bottom of my chest, where time has placed her crust   
I’ve travelled far and wide to see the grand old top ballets 
But never did I validate, the gift he gave with so much trust 

In memory I keep it tucked away 
Where it can be in memories way 
Each and every day…

Mystic Rose 

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Yesterday Once More

It seems like only yesterday I was young and climbing trees Running through the forest Scraping arms and knees Playing tag or hide and seek Hop-scotch or skipping rope Making a bow and arrow Building a periscope Playing ball on the local lot Wishing upon a star Swinging on a hanging vine Stealing from the cookie jar Tossing a ball against a wall Making figures out of clay Raiding the local apple trees Jumping in a pile of hay Playing cowboys and indians Saturday morning cartoons Running around like hooligans Acting like silly baboons Memories all come flooding back As I sit here and reminisce Of halcyon days way back when Filled with pure happiness © Jack Ellison 2012

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Dreams And A Splintered Heart

Memories play in my mind
faded black and blue
remembering mistakes
that I cannot undo
picking up the splinters
of this damaged heart
tired of trying to mend
what always falls apart
sinking broken dreams
of my yesterday
I can't hold on to things
that want to fly away
I'm trying to let go
of what's come to an end
hoping that maybe someday
these wounds will truly mend

By Morgan Mise
Written December 6, 2012)

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Remembering - contest

A hug a kiss the love we once knew
A smile a tear I remember them well
Important little things for you and me
Now just a memory, in my living hell.

The birds would sing when you walked by
Admiring the flowers especially the rose
bending your head the perfume to try,
looking up with pollen covering your nose.

The love of my heart is now in heaven
His time clock had stopped, time to go home
To watch over his loved ones, sins forgiven.
Watching as I wander life’s garden alone

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Down Memory Lane

I took a walk down memory lane,
My heart reliving the scenes
I visited with loved ones now gone
The ones I see in my dreams.
Each picture tugged at my heart
Some even brought down a tear
I felt a special kind of glow
For I felt each loved one near.
There was my mother alive and well
I felt the warmth of her arms
I knew that I had been loved
And kept safe from all harms.
I took a walk down memory lane...
I held my baby girl tight
She was fast asleep on my chest
Unafraid of the dark night.
The man of my dreams was there
Back when passion meant fire
I stared at his youthful face
Was once more filled with desire.
 Tonight I walked down memory lane
The journey was ever sweet
I saw myself as I had been
Oh, it was such a joyous treat!
One day I’ll reach the end of the lane
That lane that is called life
And I’ll look out from a picture
A smiling mother and wife
And when she looks at my picture
I hope my daughter will smile
Remembering that she was loved
Which makes life’s journey worthwhile.

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Thanksgiving Guests

Gathered ‘round the Thanksgiving table, Are the folks who are dearest to me. I know, as they talk to each other, They aren’t seeing the faces I see. Grandpa and Grandma, and uncles and aunts And a few even closer than those, Are indelibly written on a memory page, In a book that I can’t bear to close. I lovingly gaze at these dear ones, Toward faces that aren’t really there. With thanks to our generous Maker, That another has filled up each chair. I cover my sadness with gladness, Amused at their jokes and their quips. Trying not to let on that my thoughts are far gone, To the pictures fond memory flips.. Just the last year, he was with us. The one who’s the most on my mind. I vainly search those at the table. That missing, beloved face to find. My daughters and precious grandchildren, Bow their heads for my Thanksgiving prayer. Praising the Lord for those present, Remembering the ones who aren’t here. This day, too, will soon be a memory, I shall add to my burgeoning book, And when this day is done and I am alone, I’ll turn each page for a comforting look.
By: Joyce 10/24/2000

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The history of man,
Like rocks turning to sand,
Slips through our fingers
As we grasp in desperation.

Covert con-artists
Mold new stones
To replace the ones
Crumbling as we slumber.

Grays yield 
To stark black and white
As people dream of Truth
In “wrong” and “right.”

Blinded by the sleight of hand
That shows us
What we want to see
Rather than the shades of truth.

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nowhere to be found

the other day i stumbled upon
something i'd been trying awhile,
to find but it was contingent on
my memory being more versatile

to where it was when last seen
by me or anyone else i think,
not right or left but in between,
recalled location my missing link

with much glee i picked it up and
my palm turned and rolled it around
what occurred after memory offhand
said it was nowhere to be found

© Goode Guy 2011-07-13

now where did i put that fourth stanza?