A memory of tears filled eyes
How can I forget this precious aisle?
The aisle you walk in your gown-shy
Now carries your silent and dire
How can I whisper to you love
How you looked as a dove
Ah! The memory is green and fresh
The night of our all white and thresh
Look at you o! Once beautiful aisle
You are my dread on you my light fade
Sermon given to my love as she goes to grave
The grace I ask to face this maze
I’m Physically and Emotionally tired
I don’t want to be the strong one anymore
I can’t this time
I don’t know what to do Daddy
I need your help down here
I can’t get back in control of my emotions
I’m having a hard time dealing with your absence
I’m having a hard time standing by myself
I need your help Daddy
I’m broken and lost without you Daddy
I need your will to want to carry on
I need your strength to over come this
I need your strength to stay standing
Your courage to fight back again
I need your help
Please Daddy I’m at a loss
How am I suppose to do this
I need your guidance
I need you to guide me back
To whom I was before
I need your help Daddy
I need your help
No more new toys for you
No more bread at breakfast
No more noisy shoes on Christmas
And no more having more
Did i kill dad?
Why then the corporal punishments?
Because dad lost the job
Dad lost the breath
Dad lost the plan
Dad lost you
Dad is no more
Why punish me not the job?
Dad got money from there
Can i go and get it?
Not now but one day you will
What about you?
I will go but i have to first make you know
That i am not Dad because he took off
Now he is sleeping
We have to spend less
Work a lot
Why don't you awake him?
He is dead!
What does that mean?
It means close your eyes
Sleep in a big box
People dig a whole hide you there
And you disappear forever
Wow that sounds fun mum can i join the game?
Its no game, its painful game of loss!
Mum, you cry when i climb trees
When dad wants to go with me you scream
But dad always makes cool choices
You don't understand son,
Your father has played the superman game
The monster broke his neck
And now he is lifeless like your toys
All the people that came here were on your Dad's funeral
Your father is dead
You are now an orphan, son!
Mum, dad is in the game
I know dad he will rise again
Kick the monster, break its neck and throw it in fire
Like what he used to about Jesus
And you will know he is not like my toys
I know son
Right now you cant understand but later you will
I know mum
Right now you cant understand but later you will
In memory of my late father who passed on in 1993 while i was a little boy
Sometimes I am glued to the Earth
See every tear,every laugh and every fist…
Sometimes my mind is flying above our world…
Hear every thought…
But even there I have no silence
In my mind the violence I’ve seen…
In my mind memories of heaven where I've been
But memories are past…
And even though they last
They can’t replace the smell of heavens grass
They cant replace every tear every laugh and every fist that there I’ve had
They’re just memories
I wish I was able to go back
and feel home…
written 22nd Oct 2013
Even after sixteen years
still I cry your daughters tears
Every year on this day, will always be sad
known only as the date, God took my dad
1st June 1954- 22nd Oct 1997
Allan Thomas Holmes
written 23rd Oct 1997
So long I needed to visit
but my heart didn't listen
Letting you know how much "I love you so"
is now something, you will never ever know
Now that you are gone
I know I waited to long
If I could just have that one more chance
I would never treat it as just another glance
Now, you have become my biggest memory
for you have gone, to a place I can not see
Knowing that we will never again touch
makes me miss you, so very much
My children are still to young
to wonder why pop hasn't rung
My heart is now empty
for you, it always had plenty
I really do need to have you back
you were the "only one, who saw me back
I know deep down inside
you love me, more than words could describe
For it is only now, that I realise why you didn't want me around
you knew how "painful it would have been, to watch you drown
But, as long as I am still alive
you too, will continue to survive
For I will always be your darling little Denise
who hopes, you forever rest in peace
ALLAN THOMAS HOLMES
1st June 1954- 22nd Oct 1997
While watching "Name That Tune" reruns
I taste the garlic she used to put in the Beef Stew...
Thinking and laughing
about something we had done together...
Bittersweet mem'ries of days gone by...
She was my Mother, and now she's gone,
but she lives on in me.
Her mannerisms...her smile,
her eccentric ways of cleaning...
Her mood swings...laughter..tears...
Her struggle with alcoholism,
and my triumph over it.
I loved her dearly.
In loving memory of
Della Jeannette Ham
9/24/20 to 10/20/94
Let me sing this song
Dozens words in my yearning rhythm
Delivered within the wind of autumn
A single pray, only for you
In this moment of silence
Bearing clearly in my mind
The love we have given one another
In our years of sharing
You embraced me with endless love
A love that cannot be compared
And it lights my sky forever
Made me a woman I am
We are destined to have each other
Since my first breath, until your last
So I sing this song for you,
Poem written near a Cemetery 1 of 2
On 13th February 2012
While moving near the walls of a cemetery,
I saw the glimpse
Of a bunch of some tiny wild flowers,
Blooming in the golden Sunlight falling on them,
They were waving their simile,
With every gush of wind,
On the monument of a deserted grave.
For me it was a new and exciting experience,
To enter in that cemetery of eighteenth century,
What had brought me to that spot,
Where those wild flowers were still smiling,
Remains a mystery
Every time, I think and rethink.
I saw hundreds of monuments and tombs,
After entering in that preserved cemetery,
Some were telling the story,
Of the grandeurs of its dwellers,
While others were there,
Standing without a crown or a story.
The grave on which, I saw those flowers,
Was not showing an appealing face,
Age had withered its luster and charms,
And time had left its marks on its face.
Being in the last line of that cemetery
It was waiting in the long queue,
For some kith and kin of Sophia Ress,
May come some day and
The face of that noble soul’s grave,
May once again obtain its lost glory and grace.
There I found those lonely wild tiny flowers,
Still blooming and smiling and dancing,
With every gush of wind,
Telling silently a beautiful story of its dweller,
As if, they were paying their homage,
While remembering her lost songs and images.
In the morning hours of the Autumn,
The tree leaves were falling,
Everywhere on the ground,
And some were even falling on me,
Either to tell the universal truth,
Of the inevitable departure of everyone’s one day
Or perhaps to accompany me,
In that graveyard of all those,
Who were totally strangers for me.
After watching that grave and
Appreciating those tiny flowers,
I explored each and every tomb and monuments,
Standing in the memory of those British,
Who had lived a royal life during those days,
When they lived here and ruled my country,
For a very long time.
Kanpur India 18th Feb. 2012 concluded in Part 2
Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen
"Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen
In the memory of Sophia Rees Owen
The beloved wife of H T Owen Esqr.
Of the H C Civil Service, who died on the 27th
Nov.1834 aged 31 years 11months and 18days.
Leaving her husband and Six children to lament
Her loss. She was a sincere friend, a truly
Attached wife and a devoted Mother.......
I fear death, not quite death but yours, and not yours but mine
I guess I fear my death in being your survivor, but not quite
I fear grief, that it might consume me once more, but not mine
I guess it is your sorrow and despair at death that is drowning my life
I've been here before; I don't know how I survived or what inside me died
I had so many questions that she never answered; they never left, never died
So your gasping breath brings back my sorrow from that walled in stasis
I teeter on the rim of a well that reaches grief's bottom blackness, I lied
It is not your pain I fear, it's mine. I did not survive her deathbed
I never again lived. I died with her though peace I never found
I don't know if it was her death, my loss, hers, or the death cycle
But the air has stayed musty from graves while I pretended not to care
I don't know if I was there for her, or how she felt that last morning.
My memory lapses with that of the child I was then into dreams of gray
I don't know the pain of death, if it is worse to leave or know you are leaving
I don't know if she found peace or her heart broke for me or because of me.
Sorrow swells as the memories fade in, filling that well with blackness
I know that if I don't fall, it will rise up to suffocate me again
If I jump I will lose myself and never find you to say goodbye
My memory lapses, I think I jumped, did I tell her goodbye?
I fear my grief. Grief is all, nothing before or after exists.
I fear that grief will over shadow my mind and I won't be there
I fear that this sorrow will rob me of the words to say I love you
I fear despair will take my soul and this time I'll have nothing left of home.
How do I ask you to share this life with me when I don't know if I'll survive your death?
How do I ask you to live each day and don't let me run when I ran from her?
How do I ask you to believe in me and don't fear when I fear myself?
How do I ask you to comfort me when I'm too afraid to comfort you?
I never asked her to hold me again, to comfort, because she was the one dying.
What right do I have to ask the sick to comfort the healthy, the dead the living?
And how could I, being the first spirit to die, ask the ones who speak of life still
to comfort the shell I left behind while theirs decays before my eyes?
There are no comforts to sooth the guilt of living, but forgiveness will birth new life.
but sleep escapes
her face only
my mind quakes
close my eyes
Toss and sigh
the sun will hide
She’s rolled up with patience
dedication and faith in the Lord;
her strictness punctuated a shared vision
that focused on learning acquisition.
Her punctuality, precision, and determination
to teach her pupils with discipline and right focusing;
as a rule of thumb she always obeyed
made the essence of what music means to all.
Rain or shine she’s there in her cubicle
waiting for her pupils scheduled to take their lessons;
those Hanon exercises, arpeggios, and other finger articulations
would lead off in concentration or warm-up in every lesson.
Perhaps she’s a scarecrow to some who hadn’t known her;
but she’d a listening heart described as a story line;
with depth and assurance that no one is denied,
along with other slow learners who coped with perseverance.
Truly, her endless word to slow down in every measure,
her technique that entailed so much discipline and correction
through memory lane I still remember a constant repetition;
her affinity for perfection that requires discipline and proportion.
She’s a teacher keenly aware of her pupils’ emotions,
her generosity explained either in time or learning a score;
as a sign and meaning to pedagogical association
with thriving efforts to play the music with technique and precision.
She’s held in the affectionate memory of her pupils,
their collective thoughts about her fittingly honored her
a woman like her with a horizon of meaning to everyone
a true Filipino educator with a glowing torch in her soul
and her music sustained my vocation to go on.
Its magical link to depth and soul of human expression,
its beauty and inspiration that kept me to deepen my own calling;
to make piano sing in the balance of emotion, technique and celebration
a way to experience Him with wonders and beauty – limitless world.
Maraming salamat , Maestra Marina M Diokno!
I really missed you; I really treasured whatever you taught me;
your strong affinity for virtuousity, allegato and sostenuto,
indeed, a memory lane suffused with gratitude and threads of appreciation.
A trigger was squeezed.
Gunshots echoed through the streets, follower by an unnatural silence. How
could it be a life was taken? The silence immediately interrupted by questions
like who, when, where, how, over and over again we asked ourselves why ???
The questions faded out, as our minds were assaulted, invaded, and over ran by
grief, sorrow, morning, pain, and sadness. Sadness was short lived. The sorrow
abruptly turned to guilt, anger, hate, hostility, and thoughts of revenge with a deep
longing for vengeance. After many harsh thoughts of retribution a sea of endless
tears flooded the streets. We all anger over the withholding of the truth. Together
we mourned your lost. “My loving caring, compassionate son, my brother, my
nephew, my uncle, my cousin, my lover, my friend, my neighbor, my big brother,
my lil brother, my hommie, my shorty, my round, my dog, my boy, my child taking
by the streets ahead of your time.”
We all felt this family and friends alike, not I, you, him, her, them nor they. Leon
it’s for you: we cried at your passing. We frowned at the way it happen. Yet Smiles
illuminate the darkness when we’re asked about the way you lived. My son
though you were taken from this world by injustice, far away in heaven well
beyond the stars may you open your eyes. Through the masses your memory
shall survive – Music, pictures, tee shirts, poetry, rip tattoos, and the ceremonial
pouring out of liquor. Through us, I pray may your memory live on not stained by
the evil that stole you away. Through us your family, friends, and from time to time
a casual stranger, you will always be remembered as you lived. Rest in peace to
My Tru Solider.
A SOUL NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN!!!
My foot slips on the pebbles.
In the flotsam
I'm looking for a perfect piece of shell.
To describe my feelings
I flash up a piece of wood
I inhale its moldy smell.
I use it like a pencil on the sand
but something pops up in my mind
I feel like being under a spell.
As wind slaps my face
I remember old things
with similar feelings.
Disappointment covers my toughts
like crashing waves covering the sands.
Everything becomes crystal clear now
at this cool August day.
Years ago, when I was a young boy
the foams of a sudden wave
had stolen all my words .