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Sonnet Memory Poems | Sonnet Poems About Memory

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

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Details | Sonnet | |


Floating down with grace and ease
Carried off by the Autumn breeze
Rich in hues of orange and red
Landing in the flower bed

What once was buzzing full of life
Now succumbs to the pruning knife
Staring up at the wilted rose
Another season comes to close

Looking for memories of this day
Not forgetting her fun filled stay
Lying amongst the rocks and sticks
I'm the one the little girl picks

Hurries home with the one she took
Placing it in her poetry book


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Yesterday's Joys

The Old Refrain

Where have they gone, the simple days of old?
Though filled with toil, their melody was sweet—
A blending of the common joys that hold
That special place in memory's retreat:
Warm home fires burning, families gathered close,
The day chores done, the evening shared with zest,
That tranquil peace that hovered to disclose
Life's humble ways and means were surely best.

But now the complex song of modern man
So filled with discord drowning out the good
Of basic joys inherent in life's plan,
Makes happiness a gift misunderstood.

And why must progress hush the old refrain
To play this frantic tune we so disdain?

© Sandra M. Haight 2014 
   All Rights Reserved

~4th Place~
Contest: Pick a Title: Yesterday’s Joys
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst

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Memories of good old days

Memories of good old days

When memories give you tears, 
you sit, there is nowhere to go,
and you have the worst of fears,
Can you ever retain your glow ?

Those nostalgic evening walks,
drives in the dark that made crazy,
stuck in mind like stubborn plaques,
Can those pictures ever go hazy ?

Engraved in marble you can't erase,
Successive thoughts bound to depress,
Echoing in ears stays every phrase,
Alive are memories you must confess,

Emotions flow with good old memories,
as souls dance serene in mind galleries!

Written October 28th, 2014
Poet- Dr. Upma A. Sharma
Entered for contest 'Whatever' by PD A on Oct 29th

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Those Glory Days, Long Gone

Those Glory Days, Long Gone

Those glory days resting so far bygone
I trek ahead, sad and so all alone
Treasures left upon lofty mountain tops
Rushing ever foward, no time for stops

Days, we resting under a shading oak
loving in vows that we forever spoke
Coolest mornings, breezing days easing minds
days of joy in all the many new finds

Those views of life sing forever above
crystal dreams set in our undying love
Nights of magic in epic love unbound
blisses in every kiss our wet lips found

Memories of days and nights now alone
holding memories of life so long gone!

Robert J. Lindley, 09-07-2014

Poem Syllable Counter Results

Syllables Per Line:  10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10  
Total # Syllables:  140  
Total # Lines:  17  (Including empty lines)  
Total # Words:  100 

Did it , hit exactly one hundred words + ten syllables
 per line and great rhyme.. A solid sonnet according to 
my own personal standards. Wrote it and had to minor 
correct only three lines..

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Ardour's Cloth

When love becomes a masochistic moth
That yearns to feel the heat of passion's flame,
It chews a hole through sheets of ardour's cloth.

Its wings ignite, too close to blazing shame;
They glow at first with fervour as they feign
A beauty that becomes a painful game.

The tears can't quell the heat or halt the pain.
They fall to feed the weeds of sprouting dread
And drench the heart with beads of acid rain.

But rest assured that time will smooth and spread
The memories into the shrouded past
And stitch the lesions with a healing thread.

The day will come when joy will blink awake
To leach the sorrow from that phantom ache.

For Craig's "Terza Rima Sonnet" contest

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SUNDAY DINNER A hillbilly sonnet

        SUNDAY DINNER  (Hillbilly sonnet)
Ma's cookin now, so come and set a spell
and you can bet we'll have her Sunday best
before the settin sun, and who can tell
what's on her stove--but it will meet the test.

Can't you just smell that fryin chicken now?
And you must know the gravie's fresh and hot
for pourin on them taters--I allow
a little more than I should have--so what?!?

The butter it just melts on bread so light
to compliment the vegetables we grow,
now if you know a life that's half as right
as this, you'd better make it yours to know.

   And I will say the grace, to thank God for
   what He has give--so He will give us more.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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Memory Lane

Take a walk today down memories lane
what is it that you remember the most
is it the childhood memories of Spain
maybe the first time you went to the coast

into the waves you ran without a care
dancing and tumbling you played carelessly
drifting out to sea you had a big scare
when saved your mother grasped you tightly

or could it be the day you fell in love
all starry eyed remembering that kiss
like a shooting star falling from above
never had experienced such bliss

memories last a lifetime don't fade
reminiscences can not be remade

  written 05/19/2013

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My Angel

Your love is like a fall’s crisp kiss
I can walk a thousand miles to get away from you
I can swim to the bottom of the ocean blue
I can fly a million feet up, way high in the air
I can pretend each day that I just don’t care
Yet I am sorry for the way I acted, the words I left unspoken
When I think of how we ended, my heart feels way too broken
Do you really feel this way, my presence do you not miss?
You made it clear your heart has no place for me anymore
I will move on and hope to find another to love like you
I will walk away, our memories in my heart I’ll store
Never allowing my mind to believe that it is true
For I loved, I lost. But as a friend I will never again tell
That you hold my heart forever, you are my Angel.

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A Garden of Memories

She so lovingly remembers her grandfather here.
Tho many years gone; his memories kept near.
This book he read to her while she sat in his lap.
Taking her on great adventures; imaginations tapped.

Inhaling the aroma of orange blossoms, sweet.
Hungry after each journey, this fruit they would eat.
Filled with such nostalgia it's his scent she misses;
cherry pipe tobacco, also tasted on his kisses.

This has become a tradition for her each year;
happy memories filling her with joy, never tears.
For he is on an adventure in paradise now;
another for her to join him, when she is laid in the ground.

She will read to her grandchildren from this old book one day.
Where precious memories of her in this garden will be made.

July17, 2014
Contest: A poem in Paradise
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst

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Fair Memory

   I see you fair in memory’s sweet abode 
   ‘tis truly there with you I long to be 
   To touch again ‘fore daydream walls erode 
   Thy lips of red, o passion, mine to thee 
   In passion do I feel the tempest rise 
   Rise to meet the moonlight’s sweet caress 
   To see myself in love there in your eyes 
   And in thy garden dare to find me rest 
   O damn the world that holds this body bound 
   N’er content, my spirit yearns to search the wind 
   ‘tis there in sweet repose my love is found 
   And there I long to be with you again 
   For in fair memory’s eye no care there be 
   And to thy heart, mine own, I’d give to thee

Christopher Thor Britt
(Motif: Romantic)

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Remember When

Remember when we acted so sly,
Going to lunch and getting high?
Remember when we camped and drank all night,
All of us glowing in the fires light?

Remember the girls we used to date,
how they never used to make us wait?
Remember the time we all skipped school?
Always together, forever, free and cool.

Remember how we all dressed the same,
and thought those over 20 were lame?
Remember that awesome party we had,
and you got busted by your mom and dad?

Remember when you went away?
I have not seen you since that day.

For the "Do You Remember" contest

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My Saturday Morning Job

Saturday mornings my list was quite clear,
Pull out the comet and toilet bowl brush.
Windex, perfect to polish the mirror,
Finish the toilet with one final flush.

Scrubbing the sink till faucets do glisten,
Empty the countertop, free from clutter.
Scour the bathtub, with so much ambition,
While under my breath, complaints I utter.

Our shower the biggest job of them all,
With its showerhead and sliding glass doors.
Standing inside to scrub ceramic walls,
Finally finished by washing the floors.

Child labor I’d cry when I was not paid,
When I grow up, I am getting a maid.

Shakespearian Sonnet
10 syllables per line

Contest: Jobs

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Sycamore Memories

Window covered by a sycamore tree Constant friend of my snowy Maple days. Memories spring as insects on a tree Turn my gloomy days in glorious days Hippocrates got his inspiration for search in medicine he began. Buddh sat under it for meditation and enlightenment of mind to attain. Desdemona sat sighing under it in agony to hear willow song treat. Flying to Egypt Mary stopped a bit. Crann ban “Money tree” in Irish spirit. To demystify health, to personalize, To me sycamore is to poetize.
+++ December 2, 2014 Form : Sonnet {Iambic Pentameter) Dr. Ram Mehta Sixth Place Win Contest: Structured Forms by Georgio V. Venetto

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Recalled Memories

Tenderly she picked the pink flower
day dreaming of the first flower given
wandering over to the bedecked bower
she dreamily looked at the garden

Memories of happy times came flooding in
the places they had visited together
Roma where they bathed in Turkish basins
Athens, they were victims of a flasher

Paris is the city of love and romance
here they had dallied playing some love games
time they spent alone in a loving trance
their love for each other fueled by flames

Love had bound them for all eternity
memories founded on a dynasty

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Fog Of Sunshine

Upon arriving in a cold dawn breeze
Whilst hands might be full, demanding to lift
Eagle eyed on such a shadow at ease
Extends a welcome, still I became stiff.
Aura’s on edge to this fragile posture 
Dismal charade coats his inner bearing
As river of moonshine does not torture
The eight, deep-seated ‘til rays are glaring.
Gathered for indulgence at fresh midday 
The fragile has a mouth for his wise tongue
Sharing trivia that carried me away
And yet bluffs as a flat poker-faced young.
The fog of sin from a bag of sunshine
That is quite an open-and-shut draw line.

Skin fires up along waters in motion
A query comes in, hailed to modern dame
The rant of the fragile spurs his notion
Though excuse me, could not join your game.
Flushed and away from taking the crisp pledge
I sway to the tune of compelling tracks
Heretofore, an act that I must not hedge
Straight outside where the dazed fragile relaxed.
From pedals and licks to favored genre
The familiarity is round-the-clock
Surplus existence is not a contra
Evanescence of the soul comes to knock.
The fog of sin from a bag of sunshine
Drop out of sight; I think I will be fine.

First shot - a lustrous rust from ripe wonder
The seven, battled the craft of reason
Second shot - a mind’s eye leads to blunder
The two, tempted for the sake of season.
Allured to the voice of inviting mischief
A seal that is all but butterfly kiss
Dries the dearest out beyond disbelief
Enough of it calls the shots of mere bliss.
Gasp of steamy air echoes out of range
Lingering for the deep touch of desire
Vague urge gives in to an enticing change
Tender strokes spring from the poise we aspire.
The fog of sin from a bag of sunshine
The fragile climbed the capstone; likewise, mine.

The first blush rises above horizon
As the three sheets to the wind tiptoed well
Being caught in a fly-by-night zion
Upstairs is under one’s wing from the spell.
Scruffy yet born with bewitching feature
Voice endowed with suavity sweeps off feet
Mesmeric eyes that can cause mild seizure
Dear me now, could not stare or even greet. 
The four, smoothed the way back to how things charm
Others remained; clueless of what took shape
Swan song by the fragile got my cheek warm
Treated this breathing space as sweet escape.
The fog of sin from a bag of sunshine
Still and all, an open-and-shut draw line.

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There is a world of endless exploration,
The whole of life yet at its blissful berm,
A place of wonder and vast imagination,
With views of this world in its purest form.
A world that all have paid a passing visit,
And drove men mad with longing for another,
Its greatness, not realized whilst they were in it,
For years was cause of unsatisfied hunger. 
For alas, only once can this grand place be seen,
Its innocence can never be regained,
Its borders crushed by an aging world obscene,
And not but precious memories remain.
	From this world there is much that can be learned,
	Though, sadly, there’s no hope of our return.

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Near Twilight

"Sway to the rhythm of summer snow fields. . ." 
(From Tim Ryerson’s Cotton Pickin’ Paradise)

We came upon a cotton field one day
near twilight when the sun was sinking low,
then stopped the car, deciding we would stay.

We reveled in that field of summer snow
and how sun’s radiance upon it shone.
No cares had we, no other place to go!

Parked off the road, we listened to the drone
of gloaming’s insect symphony. You said
the night, like us, was young, and ours alone!

You touched my face as sky lit up with red.
We kissed as darkness fell. Full was the moon
and soft the grass that was our loving bed!

For brilliant Alabama dusks I pine
and nights of moon glow - knowing you were mine.

For the Terza Rima Sonnet Contest of Craig Cornish

a kyrielle sonnet

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An Autumn Sonnet

In poems, I keep all the things
That I should not, ever, forget-
The robin preening as she sings
The sharp scent of autumn's breath

Pumpkins fast growing ripe and round
Fields turning to a golden brown
Frosty dawns make a crunching sound
Laughter rises as pale white clouds

Sunlight pours in through a window
The clear blue of the sky above
Trees painted in red and yellow
And the feeling of being loved

These are the things that autumn mark
Cold to the touch, warm to the heart

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festal dance

The mirror's image was a thought and wraith
their solemn instances to reproduce
Fall's auburn pictures of October eighth,
became in air the leafage of white spruce,

Her face diffused on an abandoned field
where solitude reminded of her smile,
advancing night on crayon black had sealed
their song the ferns recalled and distant isle.

The train advanced where its repeated thud
exchanged the fading lights for night's dark glance;
was their abandoned symphony's ballad
- embellished synthesis and festal dance?

Evanescent the train surpassed his stare
- befalling were the stars like vows of e'er.

© G.V. 06-03-2013 All rights reserved
(This poem has never been in a contest before.)

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Faithfully returning to Chantry Isle-
Though just in deep reflection-I cross the lake
with a stowaway wickie* who brightly smiles.
The boat, Our Lady, barely makes a wake.
We lean into the wind, drawing nearer  
to Great Egrets crowning one weathered tree
on the sanctuary. So white the birds are,
as white as the limestone lighthouse. We  
step onto a shore, approach the tower
and enter. I'd forgotten how reverent
even lamps, companions to lonely hours,
bless those watchers for beacons are God-sent.
Later, a found feather is clasped like a quill,                  
its keeper whispers, See?  There be angels!

*A wickie is a slang term for a lighthouse keeper as they were ever trimming 
lamp wicks.

This poem is for an angel of Soup, Gail, who I've long called our Lighthouse. 

I know she loves them, too, so I hope she likes this.

Chantry is a small island just off the shores of Southampton, Ontario with a 
meticulously restored lighthouse and tower. The Island is also a bird sanctuary, known 
hfr its Great Egrets. I long ago toured this gem of the Great Lakes and fell madly in love with its tranquility, but there was also great loneliness in its isolation from the mainland.

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The Old World

You don’t know the old world,
But you would have liked it.
In that world, when I was young,
Like you, hungry to eat the roots
Full of fuel, I dreamed I could fly.
Flap my arms and fly, freely
I was a helium balloon,
Rising up into the blue sky.

When I think of you, it is like
A portal into that old world,
Where all my lost years unwind
A chance to find those butterflies
I left behind.  You, who don’t know 
But you would have liked it. 

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One Soul

Stones crash and shatter
Architecture annihilated 
Atrophy lie their empire
Fated souls separated

Nomadic in pursuit
Forlorn hearts in quest
Amour of absolute
A lifetime possessed

Dimensions of eternity
They cry into space
Dreaming of a fantasy
Fading memory of an embrace

A fated meeting binds them whole
Two halves, of one soul

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That Morning on the Beach

That morning on the beach, where did we go?
That June, before the current swept away
That thin island between the sea and bay,
Where did we walk, the risen sun still low?

Before the current swept away the land
And me along with it, where did we stride?
Next to the sea, the waxing, waning tide
Whose rhythmic jaws consumed the footprint sand?


We went nowhere that morning on the sand. 
I stood and let the icy waves beat me
And hoped that they would pull me out to sea,
Far from this disappearing island. 

Back then, I thought the sea would set me free,
But all it did was make a memory. 

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A so called captain of a Costa Concordia

The Captain of the vast cruiser
handed out his inconvertible crip
This Captain a self declared  only end user
for the first rescue boat of his ship

The Captain of the vast cruiser 
sent all passengers  a brief letter
This Captain a self-declared bruiser
not offering anything more or better

The Captain of the vast cruiser
had such a hard time watching the disaster
This Captain a self declared non-looser
speeding up his rescue boat leaving even faster

This Captain in his private cabin cruiser
sang a selfish song while abandoning his ship

(c) Elly Wouterse

This poem is based on  
* a documentary  about the tragedy with the "Costa Concordia".
The vast cruise ship "Costa Concordia", with Captain Francesco Schettino at the 
controls, .grounded into the rocky shore of the Italian island of Giglio on Jan. 13, 
2012, 32 people lost their lives. 
* there are Captains of ship and planes, Captains of industry, Captains of small or large companies.....and people who t h i n k or pretend they are a Captain... I do hope you haven't met "your" colleague' of the Captain of the Costa Concordia in your life...  

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Remembering a Father

A pair of shoes that walked many tests
Skipping and hurdling the hardest
Shock proof to the condition around
Halt to prepare for what tomorrows abound

A distinctive scent of sweat for a living
Upbringing of children is not failing
Many sails and flights brought them away
A love message to sustain each longing day

Hiding tears to withstand the test of time
Strong grip of every chance is sublime
Man of few words but a cherished action
Unload your worries, now at peace with God without distraction

In my most solitary moments
I will live to the image you represent

15 June 2013

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Lancaster Bomber

You were standing on a museum floor
Calm and peaceful to fly no more
Lancaster bomber once you spread your wings
Your bomb bay doors open your pay load to fling

You helped us to win in world war two
As part of the Dam Buster's you proudly flew
Barnes Wallace's bouncing bombs you threw
Brave English airmen were your crew

So many were lost of your unique kind
As we look back through history that's what we find
Yet to save so many you were literally few
Yet we a thankful for what you did do

Risking all so that we could be be
Free to live in a world which you helped rid of tyranny

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Birthday Sonnet For My Wife

Close your eyes and bring back sweet memories
Try to remember at your early age
No recollection of your first few years
At age 6 was that far you could engaged

Wiping your face full of cake, dress like a princess
Friends and relatives joyfully singing
Greetings and gifts are the way to express
That day is still worth remembering

Open your eyes now and see what has changed
Childish fun is over, now settled down
Much meaningful life along the open range
Learned basics of life, now you have outgrown

Today is your birthday, another year to share
This special time with us, we really care

Noel N. Villarosa
21 April 2014

Posted also in:

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- On every tenth of June -

On every tenth of June
The sea waves splash upon the moors for years 
and shadows draw upon the walls festoons
unspoken verse, conceived on silent piers,
the advent of our loneliness attunes.
That day of June remained our only fair
and minds' ascension to the astral reign,
blooms' multitude and fragrances’ affair
a purple thistle on the field and rain.
Remember me, a windy song and laugh,
our holding hands and young, the Summer’s call,
we celebrated then, upon the wharf
and acanthine of solitude's dance hall.
...On every tenth of June my eyes embrace,
above the summer moors, your lines of face.
© G. Venetopoulos, 06-14-2013, All rights reserved
(English Sonnet)

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barefooted on the beach
listen to the sea's preach
water waves softly caress
from toe to top wiping stress

wind offers a cool breeze
sun and clouds gently tease
in blue and dots off white
heaven shows her arc-light

evening sky paints dreams
sunset's cooling down beams
waves whispered their song
while dreaming I could walk along

disrupted lifetimes are out of hand
dreamed steps not longer printed in sand

(c) Elly Wouterse

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Yesterday's Joys

Yesterday's joys

Dancing to the tunes of destiny, as if we are toys,
Today's yearning, is lost yesterday's joys,
A cascade of memories that ever last,
Can't forget wonderful moments of the past !

Carefree attitude and joy of tender mischiefs,
Conflicts with teachers and innocent beliefs,
When parents used to pacify our fears,
and siblings used to exploit our tears,

Competitive spirit of dare with friends,
Love and care that was well in trends,
Reminisce those days of secret meets,
Starry nights and the dreamy cheats,

Introspect those days of when and why,
subtle joys are alive though yesterday is gone by !

Written November 2nd, 2014
For contest 'Pick up a title' by Isaiah Zerbst'

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Justice And Devil

Brilliance – distinction of a complex mind
Force of attraction drawn to the longhair
Holds spellbound deep into the soul may find
Inspired long hours linger in calm air.
Mischief – a debonair gentleman’s lure
Damage traced in dark abstract history
Plays wicked games in belief to mature
Tingles to one’s warmth from sheer misery.
Their wrinkled fusion bewilders the will
Fool notion deceives the bathing beauty
Though pleasure is craved such as a sweet pill
Perhaps parallel taste appears moony.
Claimed thought of justice being ideal
Still, the devil works as its best rival.

This feeling surrounded by eloquence 
Gives delight in the hope for a phoenix
Its blood from stone hungers to flow presence
Fed by debauchery for a lush fix.
Amusement strikes the concealed sensation
Engrossed in own world; leaving others out
Being engaged to toxic relation 
Considers the benefit of the doubt.
Bright haze from white lightning on the table
Sugar cubes spread in the strawberry field
Yellow shine in blue heavens is stable
Every puff of wisdom causes to yield.
The devil creeps in with false mastery
Justice is controlled by rare flattery.

Jadedness – an immortal tolerance
Defense for letting go of black balloons
Farewell to judgment and dull acceptance
Eases the torture of sorrowful tunes.
Midnight talks greet goodnight to bad mornings
May the ego erupts; to care is more
Trauma from the misunderstood warnings
Fades to passion of which the two adore.
Raw concern reminds of the consequence
Stubborn eagerness decays such comfort
As long as the charm kills beyond nonsense
Chances with the fellow will not fall short.
Tarot cards foresee a future to fill
Mine showed symbols of justice and devil.

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Sonnet of Love

Why does my heart beat suddenly of love
To strangers who’ve just been passing my way
And been bedazzled but only to have
Lifetime to remember, some time to stay?
Glances and verses all traded to bliss,
Glittering hope do blind these truthful eyes
And love bruises create eternal piece
That keeps on playing to where this heart lies.
I keep it secret though my heart complains
That Cupid failed an arrow on your chest
After striking my heart with costly pains,
And wonder where he throws the arrows rest.
My heart dies tonight because love I know
Even in my deep sleep away you’ll go.

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Soonn Deux

On the sands of time

How will his feet print on the sands of time?
The query he is so bothered to ask
Emirates, ere hit and run dashes his rhyme
And creates deep holes of vast pending task.

Will those little lights yet glow when he’s gone?
Or will they die off when he’s in that hole?
This, he meditates in his deepest lone,
Scribbles verse, should unexpected grips whole.

Placer orb was where he conceived this tongue;
Whence his momentary opt to torch the ground
Ere it will be too late to dong a gong-
Then the planet will guest still air of sound.

For the world abrupt visitors, he scribes
This anon writ, ere God sends His un-bribes.

©A.O, 4/3/2014.

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Shadows Creep, I Lost Sleep

Shadows Creep, I Lost Sleep

Shadows crept into my room late at night
those dark nasty ones with razor like teeth
Defiant I soon dared to taunt and fight
slimy ones prancing down and underneath

Climbing ones scratched slowly up moving walls
fat, dark and nasty ones scattered about
Shrieking ones gave out wicked little calls
some cursed my soul with demonic shout 

Last came ever patient and slashing kind
creeping in so close to my shaking bed
Searching very slow for bare toes to find 
clawing bed sheets now wrapped over my head

A light blasts on from lamp on my nightstand
Strange, they vanished, I never lifted my hand!

Robert J. Lindley, 08 -22 -2014

Dark memories haunt my past.
I know such are dead and blessings are here 
now to last...

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Gone Are The Youthful Days

Gone Are The Youthful Days

Gone are the youthful days of being a cat about town
beautiful young wife and family settled this man down
Yes,  memories of wild times , hell raising most nights
the many new loves, sweet makeup loving after fights

Gone are the glory days of wild songs and Rock n' Roll
living too hard, too fast was great fun that took a toll
Chasing the pretty gals and not knowing we had been caught
they set such pretty traps, "we won them" or so we thought

Gone are the many sweet things we foolhardy took for granted
we fought life, the dangerous world , with feet unsoundly planted
Each victory was a celebration of dodging shameful defeat
so many of us would rather fight, gamble and love, than eat

Now that the future has turned such to memories of the past
we must face the cold brutal truth, it all went too damn fast


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never forgotten events and objects of the  past  
all  together their future's foundation
times and memories individually  glassed
with the experiences and wisdom of earlier  narration

items of a bygone youth birthing familiar rear views
stored and boxed yellowed dusty old stuff so beautiful 
through the front screen all looked  exiting and new 
including the impression of all still being mutable 

mirrors and screens always in need for upkeep 
thorough cleaning for a more specific and clearer picture 
or sun protection avoiding a light- blinded  peep 
balanced procedures achieving the perfect mixture

holding on to what really belongs to valuable few
getting rid of what feels outdated, wrong or too brand  new 

(c) Elly Wouterse

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Fragrant Memories

You know, it’s strange how much our sense of smell
Associates itself with past events.
The slightest whiff is all we need to dwell
A hundred miles away or decades hence.

The smell of new-mown hay or baking bread
Now brings to mind my happy Hampshire roots
And heady scent of hyacinth has led 
Me to a cottage in a wood where owls hoot.

The rich aroma of an open fire
With blackened teacakes on a toasting fork,
Transporting tired spirits even higher
Through fragrant bluebell woods on family walks.

So many memories, frozen in time
Until that unique scent will make them chime.

2 February 2014

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''How the memory of her sluttish face'' revised

How the memory of her sluttish face
disgusts me. What on earth was I thinking?
My time lost in her sickening embrace 
was loathsome, rank, gross, foul, vile and stinking.
O why gave I myself to one so whorish?
(I know why. But it's pointless.) Young, naive
and mislead, I failed to divine her game-- 
so hell-bent was I to casually receive 
her. In hindsight, I would undo the past
and live forevermore as a virgin,-- 
pure! In that there's no shame. Oh, but the waste
of not waiting was my too fatal sin!
      Since love most foul came at such terrible price,
      I'll not repeat this error--not even twice.

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Holy Child School

pizzas and hoagies were my Friday treats
when I was going to Holy Child School
those treats made me healthy walking the streets
back then I was strong in faith not a fool

unfortunately it was long a go
and Holy Child School is not there today
for pizza and hoagie I won’t say no
after those lunches I wanted to stay

even those white box lunches weren’t that good
except that special day was lobster tail
those box lunches were watches I have stood	
since those Friday lunches I never fail

God bless you Sister Rene helped me out
back when I was just a little wee sprout

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 Serenity blushes the shadows mild
And blow soft wind like "pepi"
As your dent romances me with pains
That worm over my body like death

Erecting my emotions like breath
As disappointments walk me through this journey of solitary
With my prints clapping in the sands
Hiding my fears in clouds of tears

As if there were no you tomorrow
Here the scorching sun shivers
Sharing her cries over my head
To console this bereft heart

That bleeds in tons of memories
With skips of pages one after the other
To silent the sweet tastes
That last but for a while

It is this bleeding heart

©Patrick K. Atsu 2015

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Surprise Spider Lilies

Sheer fine batiste settles in the hollow
Like a ghostly creature who at night roams
Longs to float over dewdrops who follow
'Til sun's rays bring the hearse and funeral home

Surprise Spider Lilies blossoms' stand straight
A reminder of mother's few flowers
Ones she planted then she's have to wait
For those soft spring showers to empower

Down where the rain lilies now blossom
Without any soft rain 'pon the garden 
Where death of summer's flowers a problem
And elderly who live there death certain

Will there linger any flowers alive
In memory of life's beauty abide

Details | Sonnet | |

Well Red

The book is red, bright red, that’s plain to me.
Okay, it’s black, but that’s just years of grime.
It is the office dictionary, see?
And when it is consulted – every time –

a new thumbprint is left to join the rest.
Across the years it’s been consulted – ooh,
let’s see now – several thousand times at least;
collects detritus from the desktop, too.

Sometimes we check reality, exact;
illusion is a well-thumbed word as well.
Oh, yes, the book’s bright red and that’s a fact;
you only have to look and you can tell.

And yet we’re startled when that colour’s seen
so brightly where my coffee cup has been.

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Death of Bruce, My Friend

Death of Bruce, My Friend

Bruce, my puppy died so very , very long ago
 buried him in a grave deep beneath the snow
Vanished, the days of tramping wood and field
 no more would such joy his countenance yield

Looking back seeing more sweet joy than sad
 thank God and childhood for blessings we had
Remembering well the nights he slept in my bed
 often climbing up to lay beside my little head

Attempting to crush memories of his sad fate
 yet thinking of him often, so often as of late
A hero the time he attacked that poisonous snake
 getting snakebit instead for his master's sake

A friend, a love , no greater has a boy ever had
In dog Heaven he awaits and I am so very glad


I had Bruce from age five years old until age 
eleven. Six wonderful years, blessed years and 
sweet years!
Even now at sixty not a week goes by that I don't 
think of him , his loyalty and his faithful love.
I wrote this about twenty years ago. Found it 
today in a scrap book , with no date attached but 
remember writing it one week before Christmas in 1994.
Found the Christmas card from a dear friend(now departed)
 right there with it...

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Robert Beach

With screams echoing through these halls,
Smoke begins to rise.
Retuning to these murder filled walls,
It's the past I have learnt to despise.
Lights flashing red, blue, and white.
Sitting up against the door,
We've held up one hell of a fight.
A knock on the door.
"You'll deal with my son first!"
They pulled my beaten brother by the wrist,
As they cursed, 
Ignoring my bleeding mother.
Scared and traumatized, 
We have survived.

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Rev My Throttle

As last rose of summer opens wider
Night is drawing nigh, rose cutter in hand
The rose clipped in its best stage; placed in cider
Jar that was used up, cleaned_now it will stand

Jar of cider was enjoyed long ago
Remember that day on our honeymoon
You were so young with raven hair my beau
We found that road side stand that afternoon

Bought that jug of cider that was so cold
Refreshing after long ride around mountain
So eager for life that we would build_hold
Hold each other_life; wanting to obtain

I clip that rose_place in memory bottle
One memory revs my motor throttle

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Youthful Memories, Treasures Held

 Youthful Memories, Treasures Held

Memories,  treasures waiting for me
pictures frozen in precious vaults
fruits from so many time trees
holding lessons of my many faults

Endlessly endearing emotions store away
stars swept into vast galaxies of fate
on journeys my mind often eagerly stray
seeking relief, praying it is not too late

My heart keeps redial with a quick connect
loves, sorrows, sweet pains of deep remorse
ever ready to serve up for desired effect
with the wanted results given of course

Treasure waiting to be conveniently tapped
Sweet , delicious milk to be silently lapped

Robert J. Lindley  06-22-2014

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Kingdom Builders

July 31, 2013

Kingdom Builders

Holy Holy Holy I must say to all.
Long day hard day I am with you.
Hot day cold day it is for me too.
Days months or years you I call.

You have displayed my visual doll.
Multitudes of truth seeds you grew.
Spoken for as spoken words abrew.
I grant you the light in that dark hall.

Never say never!
Never look back!
I am yours forever!
I am with no lack.

I am always the hands of  filters,
Observing my Kingdom Builders.

(C) Copyright 2013  Ann Rich

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Ramblings of Home

Far I have travelled to a distant star
  Over land and sea upon the two isles:
To eat sweet guava jelly from a jar
  And fill of its red rum, and all its guiles!
To walk the old sands and not feel it strange
  And gaze on peaks and wonders for my sake:
El Cerro del Aripo on the Range
  To the Devil's Woodyard and black Pitch Lake.
In calm wind and sail out of Scotland Bay,
  Iguana hunt in woods of Gasparee...
And deep spear fishing when night becomes day
  Beyond Monos and Chacachacare.
Hear the sounds - the calypso drums of steel -
The rhythms in the heartbeat that you feel.


Trinidad & Tobago

September 1996

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Ahhh, Those Sexy Southern Gals

Ahhh, Those Sexy Southern Gals

A write for such a very fine night
echoes drifted in as day lost light
Whispers of former days with sweet gals
partying with my old longtime pals!

Thoughts of future days so far away
living each minute no thought to pay
Life, love and fortune always to be had
we that raced about quite crazy and bad!

Thrills of love lost in it's sad stings
pretty gals angling for a wedding ring
Memories of so many pretty eyes and faces
sexy girls, sexy legs and pretty laces!

Wild were the times of we Southern boys
gone are the days of guns, cars and those sweet ,fast toys....

Robert J. Lindley  07-15-2014

A wild youth remembered by a now very settled old man... 
note: "toys"  has a double meaning..

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Youthful Transgressions, Rejudged

Youthful Transgressions, Rejudged

Let God judge my past wicked ways
 cast stale food from dirty trays
So much molded bread happily ate
 a leper in a rich famishing fate

Let my Soul eat out of my heart
 pray love and spirit never part
To many deeds born of living hell
 some so bad I shall never tell

Let my Life venture a fine course
 consider deep regrets my source
To little care embraced in youth
 memories steeped in wishful truth

Let Fate render a verdict so fair
Pray love gifts a verdict to share

Robert J. Lindley, 08-13-2014

note: A man can not undue his past,
mistakes deep ever seem to last,
hurtful are those lost loves, 
wicked tears tarnishing golden memory gloves....

Details | Sonnet | |

Wade the Shallows

Wade the Shallows

Wade the shallows, swim not the deep,
loss of time makes the old man weep.
Imagine castles, thundered in glory prime
fleeing shadows racing about in time!

Comfort of the known sees the dream,
whistles the kettle in heated steam.
A vow, a promising oath made in sin
darkened shadows await in the heart of men!

Cleave to the willows along the bank,
sand on the beach, rocks to thank
Look back at a wild path solemnly made
rejoice in the hand so well played!

Walk a path that gives solace and high spirit.
Ring that bell, do not worry if failing to hear it!

Robert J. Lindley, 07-20-2014

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''Why are you a bedevilment to me''

Why are you a bedevilment to me,
O beloved? Though you are the fairer sex
your callous, enigmatic, and complex
heart is full of insensitivity.
Your foul, sweet love betrays the best of thee;
"You and me, forever," you said, to vex
me with your lying lips like a reflex,
ne'er once admitting your dishonesty.
O beloved, understanding you is lost
to me, for even your noblest thoughts lack sense
and sound! My faithfulness--and at great cost
wasted on you and your love's false pretense!?
     Now wiser, I abhor and spurn your love;
     ne'ermore to regard you as from above.

Details | Sonnet | |

i feed on it

When I knew what triggers writing
Quite relieved, I fed on it, like twitching
To keep this tormenting treasure alive,
It‘d healed but still in it, I dive,
Ran over it again n again,
My blood sheds like the rain
But stared on it like a blind,
This catastrophe doesn’t need to remind,
An old melody is enough for me to be blown,
But now, yes these dried eyes don’t moan
This treasure of gone needs not to be awaken,
When mocked on lost charm, like bitten,
I just wear that smile, yes memory of compliments still fumbles,
Though dead, but not forgotten, it in my heart rumbles!

Details | Sonnet | |

Bolder She Is A Clemency

On the wings of her 21th derail
Of Shakespearean and Vigil's asked thee her name
Who is she?
Bolder she is a clemency!
Of her atoms glowing her frontier
Arena's of fortune teller
Seized no name
But she's living now in literatus gleam
She the metaphor and irony
In expressive ways of stylistics
Carry herself like Atlas above all ages
And yes bolder she is a clemency!
She the five foot iambics scheme
Thats her height in rhythym
When she'll be the ancient?
Of William's midsummer nights dream
The Iliad of an epic events
Calling her to a narrative scenes
Believe her in
Bolder she is a clemency lies within.

Details | Sonnet | |

My Darkest Childhood Memory

My void is the darkest penetration of childhood.
No memory at all before age of six so fair.
Thine memories might have been bad or good.
Mine has no glimpses, or comparison to share.
Thou shall say this may be a blessing so sweet.
Though my mind has no distinct recall to meet,
No shape of any kind, only fantasy for retreat.
Whilst I travel onward, I am lost in defeat.
My darkest childhood memory is none at all.
Mystery of things I have missed or recall.
I live on in the shadows that make me whole.
I waver on the balance of what does console.
This mind and soul with a spirit that will seek,
Diligently answers for future, my past is weak.

Written for

Sponsor Walayee Whitlock 
Contest Name My Darkest Childhood Memory 

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Postcard from Mykonos

Below the Grecian walls and pillared stone
  A great bridge does cross the river's divide:
And the Maroochy water's gentle groan
  Concentrates my mind betwixt moon and tide.
Its untrammelled swelling in bended route
  Can flood its great flanks in uncommon sight,
And pelicans a fisherman's catch loot
  From creekbed weir to mighty ocean bight,
Where cane ash over scorched earth river-north
  Flecks the golden sun till sleep's late curfew:
And me and "Johnnie in a can" gaze forth
  Puffing cigars on Bradman Avenue!
Let the Cod Hole streetlight shimmy across
Shine upon my postcard from Mykonos.


Mykonos was the name of the unit complex
I lived at in Maroochydore, Qld, Australia.
The Cod Hole was a well known local fishing
Spot on the river.

October 1999

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Non Compos Mentis

 How creeps the dark where once was brightly lit,
   That he who once mighty is idly damned:
 To watch destroyed an energy and wit
   Makes concealed and sad a life long and grand!
 Where the acquisitions of yesteryear
   Become a puzzle piece and not a whole,
 Where atrophy on each new day impair
   The bravest heart! The old sense! The lost soul!
 I have seen the inconsolable grace
   And pride which inherit the living haze -
 That robs identity without a trace
   Kept more sedentary in mortal malaise.
 And when my time comes I pray not in vain
 I remember to die before I wane.


Non Compos Mentis in Latin means "not of sound mind".

April 2014

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For years I’ve lived with being a soixante-huiter
Although my wardrobe’s more fastidious and neater
Those heady days are not beyond recall
The nights and days when we first did it all
But sober work and ethics have combined
To make a settled bed  my truest mind
And catalogues and dictionaries my woe
To understand what happened long ago
Far flung days have their own allurement
But nothing beats the logic of procurement
And adventitious loves have gone the way
Of all youth, to say it’s had its day
I daren’t even call myself a woman sweeter - 
Past perfect indiscretions tend to tweet her.

Details | Sonnet | |

A Memory

A memory once so full of life
Has its strength to again revive?
Would have had if not been forged with
The load of sorrow and painful thing
But does that mean an arch of smile
Can be camouflaged with just few brine?
And so a memory once filled with joy
Could not bring cheer as like a child with toy
But the longing and fear hammer hard
Whenever you remind you of pain and stark
And that the happiness is such a weak
Unable to defend a memory!
But a single touch of agony can breathe
For years over the highest peak...?

Details | Sonnet | |

''To John 'Chad' Chadwick, the most foul of men''

To John "Chad" Chadwick, the most foul of men
and baneful beast, he falsified friendship
to curry trust to look for filth and sin;
at first, he fooled me with companionship.
His motives were impure, dishonest, lewd,
salacious, corrupt--he tried to seduce
me and said I was not even worth the food 
that I ate. (I was shocked at his abuse!).
He thoroughly enjoyed molesting me
by deeming me as worthless as a maggot
and even by asserting that I was as 
contemptible as (his words!) "a faggot." 
      I should forgive him, most deserving of hell,
      but damnation's best in this poet's true tale.