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Best Memory Poems

Below are the all-time best Memory poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of memory poems written by PoetrySoup members

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A Clustered But Beautiful Memory by Forever, Malta
A Fond Memory by Lykens, Sammy
Fading Memory, Remembered But Soon Will Be Gone by Lindley, Robert
My Last Memory of You by Madsen, Stuart
In Loving Memory Taua by Love, Jamesa
My Memory Bank by Morris, Rod
- AN EMBEDDED MEMORY RETURNS- 9 by Guillermo, Olive Eloisa
21st century memory by Dover, Anthony
TWILIGHT MEMORY by Digregorio, Bruna
Memory Box by Jameson, Sam

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The Best Memory Poems

Details | Memory Poem | |

Sleepless Night

Sleepless Night

Pillowed feathers,
Caress a precious moment around my tender skin.
***
Teardrops, bagged eyes, a way of sin
The mirror reveals a lost eternal soul
A conniving move against tonight's phantom glow
Voices circle the insomniac moon
Like magic and beauty, "I'm Gone With the Wind."

The idea of love, 
broken like yesterday's wishbone.
She is leaving today
her arms, my shelter
Her wings were immense
teardrops, gone forever. 
Never will she suffer-
Never will she return-
All I have are lost memories,
tracing what is left.
One last deep breath
tequila vice
washing away the pain.....

At Last Now I See!
Under the drunken stars 
Yesterday I had an epiphany 
Falling like a match
A sunken treasure 
At Last I Knew
You don't belong in there,
you were there for the taking
Frail and sick, no longer sane.
Memories lost, no longer - her
My Mother! 

What has become of her since? 
You're a demon, who played us all
Made us cry, while you slowly took her aside

The way you laid waste to her body
nip nap both her legs
Fed her through a stubble

She rapidly forgot
our names'
our faces'
I hate you Alzheimer
I hate the way you took her the first time!
I hate you Death
I hate the way you claimed her final moment!
***
Sleepless nights and pillowed feathers,
Caressing a precious moment around my tender skin
Pretending my mother tucked them in
Anything to help me get past my sleepless nights.

By: PD
7-08-13

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

More great poems below...


Details | Memory Poem | |

The Old House

Seven generations walked through your door,
Which stood so strong and always welcomed in.
You said goodbye when boys headed to war,
Two soldiers lost to battles they can’t win.

Your kitchen always busy as a bee,
With canning, baking apple crumble cake.
Stone hearth, a place for warmth and drink some tea,
The table decked with riches to partake.

The living room a place to sit and chat,
With pictures hanging for one hundred years.
A chair still there where ancestors once sat,
This room for laughter and at times for tears.

Your nursery where many babies grew,
With bassinet where ev’ry child did lie.
The paint would change at times from pink to blue,
A place where time would always quickly fly.

The floors within have felt each child’s first walk,
Their worn out wood drowned many times with stain.
You watched the aging people gently rock,
You’ve heard and felt the tapping of a cane.

I stand and listen in your sacred halls
And feel that you’re a part of everyone.
Each breath we took embedded in your walls,
Of fathers, mothers, daughters and of sons.

Old house of stone your warmth embraces me,
Your children now all scattered far and wide.
You still stand proud for all the world to see,
The thoughts of you, sweet memories inside.

The house my children grew up in.

Iambic Pentameter  
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.02.2014
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III
2nd
Best of 2014  1st place

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

Sand Dollar Dreams

It's quiet here - quiet in a way that catches me off guard. The tranquility is almost tangible, something I can touch and hold and wrap around myself. I can hear the pulse of faraway waves, the faint hum of the wind, the nonsensical call of distant seagulls. I can hear my own heartbeat, pounding along with the waves. 

As I kick off my sandals, my spirit steps out of my body, leaving behind the material baggage of city life. The sand is soggy beneath my feet and I know my footprints will disappear when the sea rises, as if I were never here at all. 

It's low tide, that magical time when the sea recedes to reveal the ocean floor. Grooves of sand catch pockets of water that are half-buried mirrors, reflecting pale blue sky and slices of violet sunlight that glitter like chipped diamond. 


a vocal seagull descends toward liquid skies – reflections ripple
At low tide, a second beach emerges, stretching all the way across the bay to the opposite shore. I walk slowly, tasting salt on the breeze as it runs invisible fingers through my hair. Strands sweep across my face, catching in my eyelashes before fluttering free once more. The beach is a dream catcher, snagging small treasures when the sea withdraws. And I am a child again, fascinated by the hermit crab retreating into his shell as I approach. I spot the dimpled surface of an urchin’s shell peeking out from wrinkled sand. Other shells are scattered across the beach, some upside down, exposing smooth, pearly souls.
a tiny starfish drifts beneath placid water – lost constellation
When I find a sand dollar, my breath catches. It’s perfectly whole, with smooth, rounded edges and clean, ivory skin. It’s heavy and light all at once, the flawless design at its center subtle and brilliant, like a delicate floral tattoo. How many hours had I spent here as a child, searching for this transitory coin? My eyes fill with unexpected tears as my vision wavers behind distorted pools of grief. I’m half-blind until I blink, releasing salty rivers down my cheeks. Even then, my sight is murky. My tears taste like the ocean and I think, suddenly: Whose tears fill the sea? Written: November 4, 2015 For Charlotte's "Creative Haibuns" Contest

Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

Leaf

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



8/05/2014

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

A Night At The Desolate Harbor

The ship in the habor on silvery seas Lay vacant outspread 'neath the glassy moon Drifting in cold whispers of the night Like a drunk man shriveled on clasping knees In the loud echoes of the crawling winds The brave ship nods its old head Restless on the empty stage of the bay When lonely stars bleed their light On what was once earthly sublimity Now silence and haunt lingers there A graveyard of bones and sadness Beside the desolate harbor Rustling in the cold distance Laboring with a haunting melody That invades me in shivers of night. Sadness defeats The happy spaces of my mind Then your sweet kiss would descend Oh... your sweet kiss would descend As a fragrant memory Thawing the pain In the frost of my heart. My soul beckons your presence But silence became my loyal friend And Emptiness - The sorrowing of my hours That slithers through the night As the brave ship nods its old head Crackling and desolate In silvered breaking waters 'Neath moon's limpid eyes My hands descend With crimson buds of April's flowers To rest upon your tomb Of eternal silence.
''Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.''

Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

White Cane

He walked down Goverment Road West
With a white cane, in shaking hand
Wearing Stevie wonder glasses
People called him the pop bottle man

With a white cane, in shaking hand
At the time he seemed old to me
People called him the pop bottle man
Searching the alleys for his treasures

At the time he seemed old to me
Frail in a menacing sorta way
Searching the alleys for his treasures
Bottles he spotted a mile away

Frail in a menacing sorta way
Us kids all stayed away from him
Bottles he spotted a mile away
I wondered why he carried a white cane

Us kids all stayed away from him
Until that day I took a chance
I wondered why he carried a white cane
Curiosity got the best of me

Until that day I took a chance
That man had been a mystery
Curiosity got the best of me
When I asked him why he smiled at me

That man had been a mystery
A lonely guy wandering the street
When I asked him why, he smiled at me
I handed him my bottle, he said thanks

A lonely guy wandering the street
Wearing Stevie wonder glasses
I handed him my bottle, he said thanks
He walked down Goverment Road West

I watch

Pop Bottle Man
Doing his blind man shuffle
When he sees a bottle 
he moves towards it with ease
Dancing with glee 
a spring in his step
More fluid than a summer breeze

He can see at twenty paces
Eyesight crystal clear
Through dark glasses 
I watch him peer
Collecting his bottles
In plastic bags
The treasure that he holds so dear

Pop Bottle Man
His cane for protection
Illusion is the game he plays
What some see as crazy
May not be the case
If you take time to study his ways

For Gautami's Sketch a  Character Contest.

I was inspired to write more after the Pantoum because of Drakes Comment.
written by Richard Lamoureux on October 23, 2014.



Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

The Scent Of Your Soul

The scent of your soul A caramelised breeze of fruit odours reverberating softly through my memory Throwing me right back in ninth grade where we sat side by side Your right arm reaching slightly for my back. Thoughts of you dwell in my mind and your name resonates gently with my spirit Carrying me back to the shade of purple orchids in evergreen woods. Our first kiss perched upon last autumn's twig still lingers in early morn's bone-china cup wafting its pungent aroma of dark roast coffee-beans and so the smell of rubber tyres against the wind. Such revoked moments of unknown danger Of fearless dreams , and defiant fun. Other moments of beauty and snow angels Of freedom and moonlights ,sunrise and life. I can still recall those weeks ,months , years till footprints marked separate paths and our shared candles became the past. Ah those lazy siestas, those days...those nights... Sweet as frosty vanilla and chocolate chips of an ice -cream parlour Melting as spongy marshmallows and honey syrup Fresh as the linen of your shirt which haunts me like an alluring glance of almond - shaped eyes. This afternoon, like other afternoons, I walk to the library that knows the musky sweat of your palm upon my own. That fragrance 's gone now . All that is left is a fading perfume of forgotten petals, between old books and dusty shelves. Nobody here, except my silence and a rotten sliced apple , Vacuum- packed ,lacking both cinnamon and spice. Back home, the mildewed strings of a guitar await my fingertips to play once more ,upon the worn out chords of my heart What willI play , What will I sing , a song that isn't ours ? Fermented wine I pour into an empty glass Yearning to taste the grape for what it was before all it was turned bitter, acidic and sour. Alone , I wonder where you might be So far or not so distant ,listening to the mood in my voice on once upon a record player, Wishing on a star ?
A repost inspired by Silent One 's contest (Repost a poem you ' ve written when happy or sad ) . I've written this poem on a sad day ... Tnks for the inspiration -not for contest.

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013


Details | Memory Poem | |

Turn The Page

Moments are faded ink written in the journal of my past.
As they fade away, the future comes on too fast.
I look back, it is luxury as I opened my mental cage,
Releasing the love, the disappointment, the silliness and rage.

I'm reflected in a photograph, thirty years my younger me,
There I was smiling sitting toddler proud on my daddy's knee.

Turn the page.

The girls were all in pink dresses, the men in suits and ties,
We stood in front of the church the day us kids got baptized.

Turn the page.

A dozen eggs with an Easter celebration, our up north vacation,
Winning an award from the radio station, the high school graduation.

Turn the page.

The album ends at nineteen, fourteen years today.
My daddy took his own life, in a horrible ugly way.
All I have are the time touched photos and memories that fade.
My life is full of life now, but the pain festers in the shade.
As time it passes, understanding comes to me with age,
It's okay to feel, okay to deal, but know when to turn the page.

Writing my journal, one day at a time, 
The past is the past, and the memories are mine.
Turning the page, the world is now my stage.


March 20, 2015

Suicide is a very ugly thing. It ends the pain for the doer, but the ripples in the water it causes reaches out farther can can be imagined. We all have issues, and there is always help. Never be afraid to ask for help, to ask for advice, or to ask for a hug. Pages keep turning and there may be a better chapter ahead. Love is in every drop of ink but sometimes it is hard to see in the blackness. Know it is there. Hugsxx

Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

Doorways to Yesterday

The house slumps against overgrown yards
Where gardens wilt against the ground,
Begging for sleep beneath gray skies.
Vines move through weeds 
Like brittle fingers,
Reaching toward a sagging door 
Where paint peels like weathered skin, 
Curling in agony against the grain.
Once vibrant, now fading
Like all doorways to yesterday.

This is where memories flee,
Lying in wait like dormant ghosts 
That walk through the walls of my mind
As I walk through the door.

The hinges creak in protest,
Rusted by the rain of forgotten days.
The floors squeak in upset,
Unaccustomed to my timid feet.
The dust is stirred, the silence snaps
Like twigs used for kindling
To spark my tepid heart.
A decade becomes a moment.
A moment becomes a lifetime.

This is where memories live,
Trapped in time like restless ghosts 
That walk through walls and haunt the halls 
Of doorways to yesterday.

Though broken, they open
To swallow me whole.

Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013


Details | Memory Poem | |

Christmas Past

Christmas Past A time I still remember, Christmas day In 'fifty-three…I was age fourteen then… And I recall those very special hours At home, so cozy, warm, with family Of many generations, happily Around the sparkling tree, with old-time trim Of bubble lights, glass balls…and Christmas songs Playing softly on the record player. Extended family…my mom and dad Grandparents, brother, cousins, uncles, aunts… Spent happy hours…and such a blessed time Was shared as peace and love were felt by all. It was perhaps the only year we were Together in one place for Christmas day. I keep that time of family delight In memories that fill my heart…for some There on that day, so special in my thoughts, Are dearly missed, no longer here with us… They fly with angel wings, look down from high Above in Christmas past, with joy and love… As I…once the youngest, now the oldest Generation…carry on that spirit And make traditions last…to someday be My children and grandchildren’s Christmas past. Sandra M. Haight ~1st Place~ Contest: Any Poem Sponsor: Broken Wings Judged: 12/21/2015 ----------------------------------------------------------- ~1st Place~ Christmas Past, Present or Future Sponsor: Kelly Deschler Judged: 01/09/2015 Form: Blank Verse: Unrhymed, 10 syllables, 5 feet per line

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

Just an Old Memory

She’s just an old memory of a younger man’s dreams
An image of love hard to find
I can still see her eyes, taste the joy of her lips
In the deep recesses of my mind
Hair that was flowing, a smile that was glowing
An angel with earthly charms
Felt her heart beat in the tropical heat
Got lost in her loving arms
Sometimes I wonder if it was only a dream
An old sea story that I told
But I remember those eyes like a radiant beam
A treasure greater than gold
I wonder now if she waited on shore
With the fire in her heart still burning
And I wonder if there were tears in her eyes
Realizing I would not be returning
She’s just an old memory that haunts me today
A storybook love affair
A blanket, a beach and two bodies entangled
On a tropical island somewhere.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008


Details | Memory Poem | |

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

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

Dust From The Past

Looking back again, back into the past, 
it was written in sand, all those questions we asked
on those last days of summer, something was wrong
as the leaves started turning, and shadows grew long

There was dust on the tables, and the clutter remained
where never before, .... had it not been restrained
You were known for your grace, now your pride was at risk
Quickly swept, polished fine, brushed away with a whisk

This just wasn't you, having bricks without mortar
You were never unkempt ...now a life out of order?
You would never have allowed such things out of place
Something so small, would have been your disgrace

There was something to blame, something was strange
Even small tasks, we noticed, had changed
Another piece of a puzzle, fell into place
Your trace of bewilderment, when a name was erased

Your memory lost, and a world gone absurd ...
Then, once it was you....alone and disturbed 
Lost and afraid, but mostly confused
Forgetting the day, many things you would lose,
or someone you loved, so much undefined
shoved back to blind spaces, your words couldn't find

Dust motes collected where never before,
would settle, make home, in your mind evermore
Without any warning, without any sound
until you were gone, and the years fell around

Dreams that you had, were drawn in the sand
into the traces of dust of a far away land

_________________________________________________
Inspired by Isaiah Zerbst's Contest: "Pick a Title"
10/31/14

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

REQUIEM IN MY HEART



Out in the middle of a large farmland, I become a girl of old charm and unexpected songs again. Past the flanks where cluttered rows of hyacinths and ferns quiver, disarranged huts begin to shake as the rough wind wheezes. And on this late July, mounds of dust remind me of summers back in my grandfather’s hometown. Yet, a different vanishing overtakes me.

a season passes…
carrying all its flowers
to emerge as buds

Watching for thrushes that grow moist from dusky froth , my heels trek along deepened clay. As I lay on haystacks listening to stars chiming, the inky moon sinks its riddled face through a veil. Somehow, I feel alone...abandoned  like the  opera of a heart which seems to fall into a tragic ending. Yes, Grandpa isn’t around any longer, as a requiem of tears swells.

on this barren field…
a solitary twig cracks
from one glittered tree

The nightfall drools looking for the yellow among clouds. For a while, the hazy outlines of strangers--native women and children ---disturb my old revelries  when Grandpa would linger by the porch dipping tunes from his violin. Through calm intervals of laughter, we sway together;  fire to air, salt to honey. Much as I need to inhabit this space, it no longer belongs to me, or to him. But twilight comes brimming with all the glistened jewels of our own world.

between two lifetimes
is a haunting melody…
like a song unsung


11/19/2015
Creative Haibuns Contest
For Charlotte Jade Puddifoot


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

DELICACY IN PAIN


Her reveries slant the compass of time: 1970s. Minefields now roar through blurred visions. She retreats into dots of space to live in the moment, as emotions fling to a gray sky. While curtains blow unceasingly, hours freeze. Again, love passes; leaves, while a young wife’s heart crushes in tears. 

bouyant clouds wander
in the expanse of night time
to gather shadows

There is delicacy in pain. Letters from Nam change the dark of winter to a glitter of December lights. As she sets the table, the flaming candle waxes through a kitchen filled with sweets and almonds . He is the breath touching musical tones in the quiet rhythm where carols are sung together. Feeling his presence,
she regales in a lone dance of fond remembering.

pines in crimson gold
waltz across the starlight
etching mellow notes

Somehow, a woman begins to droop beside a half-closed window. In the cold of duskfall, she longs
for her soldier husband, quietly. Then wiping her cheeks, she is refreshed by those who need her, now. In a joyful play with daughter and son, Aunt Jamie finds her true north. Such is the luster of more tomorrows, 

moon glimmers, dust fades
a balm of healing renews
fresh discoveries


For scott thirty seven:Haibun Contest
8/7/2015

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

Paradise Leaving Not A Trace

Paradise Leaving Not A Trace


I took the last picture off the wall
 then my broken heart started to bawl
 on the floor lay your broken vows
 fat they lay like bloated cows

The love sworn by your sacred heart
 flipped over like an apple cart
 the corner lay three mismatched shoes
 I sit here , lonely, cryin' da blues

I took that picture and held it tight
 sad memories of our fightin' last night
 you spat upon my deep, deep remorse
 grieved as you beat on that dead horse

I saw dear hope entered my heart today
 I saw a picture that reminded me of you
 the pretty girl had your perfect eyes
 sun shining so like you in her skies

Tell me just one more time how you care
 lie to me even if it is an oath unfair
 whisper gasps of our sex-filled nights
 baby, please forget those recent fights

Lets hang the pictures back on the walls
 lock the doors, not take any damn calls
 undress as we rush into mad, mad embrace
 stay in that paradise leaving not a trace

Robert J. Lindley, 06/21/1976

This was my last poem written to her before my first wife and I finally 
divorced. I had my best friend deliver it. He said she threw it into the 
garbage can and told him to tell me to go jump into a lake. Next morn I 
knocked on the door there, her mother answered. I asked for my poem back 
from the garbage can, she got it and gave it to me! I have it still with dried 
food stains on the last stanza.
I keep it to remind me that too late is a damn terrible place to ever be!!! This 
is the first time I have  ever shared it with anybody since she never even read 
it. 
I hope you may like it , for it shows that young fools
 suffer too. And often rightly so...

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

Mortality's Own Friend

(Inspired by Abe Lincoln’s “Memory”) Mortality's Own Friend So sadly here, among the dead, I live - mortality's own friend. Recalling all that's lost, I tread so sadly here, among the dead. Sweet memories are as a thread which link the living to their end. So sadly here, among the dead, I live - mortality's own friend. For the "Prose vs Poetry and the Classics" Poetry Contest of Jerry T. Curtis Here is Abraham Lincoln's "Memory," which really speaks to me: Memory by Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865) My childhood’s home I see again, And sadden with the view; And still, as memory crowds my brain, There’s pleasure in it, too. O memory! thou midway world ’Twixt earth and paradise, Where things decayed and loved ones lost In dreamy shadows rise, And, freed from all that’s earthly, vile, Seem hallowed, pure and bright, Like scenes in some enchanted isle All bathed in liquid light. As dusky mountains please the eye When twilight chases day; As bugle notes that, passing by, In distance die away; As leaving some grand waterfall, We, lingering, list its roar -- So memory will hallow all We’ve known but know no more. Near twenty years have passed away Since here I bid farewell To woods and fields, and scenes of play, And playmates loved so well. The friends I left that parting day How changed, as time has sped! Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray; And half of all are dead. I hear the loved survivors tell How nought from death could save, Till every sound appears a knell And every spot a grave. I range the fields with pensive tread, And pace the hollow rooms, And feel (companion of the dead) I’m living in the tombs.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


Details | Memory Poem | |

The Teetotaler

In Ordinary Cups

The blades of winter grind into the ice
like blood on a bitten lip
two lovers spin and twirl
The days pass from teacup to teacup
in the peaceful silence of a solitary nest.
From gentle easy sunrise through sheer white
to the subtle fall of accordion night.

The echoes of childish laughter tremble
across the cracked surface of plaster walls.
Random squeaks in oaken floors return 
the footfall of father, coming and going.

Long lost cat's paw prints impress carpet
dragons from Shanghai with ghostly ease,
and every loved and loving one returns
in peace, to rest beneath the tapping fingertips
upon a porcelain cup of tea from China.

11/9/10

Re-formed for Roy the Verse BELOW

The Teetotaler

The blades of winter grind into the ice, flirting
with the rosy cheek of puppy love, snow-crusted mittens
cling, like chapped skin on bitten lips; scarfs twirl; they spin.

As steam rises from the cup, reminisce, the first kiss,
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping
with the rosy cheek of puppy love; snow crusted mittens

cling. Black hair, fair skin, Irish-eyed, he cajoles a grin.
In the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping;

they spin. Assam seeps in porcelain, another cup
she pours. In an empty nest the cup clinks saucer,
in the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him.

From sunrise through fall of white, she sees the mist
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory.  
She pours. In an empty nest, the cup clinks saucer.

The recollections of youthful laughter cut, tremble,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory. 

Random squeaks in the oaken floors recall returns, 
these images mist swirl from the tea-of family,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls.

A long lost cat walks shrouded through silent the scene 
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips
these images mist-swirl from the tea-of family,

Every loved and loving one returns mist-born
within a porcelain cup of tea from China;
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips.

3/21/15

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

PLAYGROUND MEMORIES

Nobody observes her leaving her room wearing just her nightdress and red felt carpet slippers Shuffling silently she slips out of the front door onto the street Rivulets of rain start to soak her to the skin Her straggly hair hangs down limply It becomes so matted and twisted Soon it looks like writhing snakes are alive on her skull Her once pretty face is now lined and wrinkled Rain drips off the crevices and onto her sagging breasts Wandering off into the night she begins searching Walking the empty streets with her arms outstretched Searching, searching, desperately searching Eventually she reaches the children’s playground Sitting on a swing she rocks backwards and forwards The rhythmic movement seems to calm her down Tears form in her eyes and mingle with the raindrops Strong arms hold her and she is powerless to resist She hears voices telling her she must return home ‘We knew you’d eventually find your way here Maisie It’s time to return to the sanatorium … In future we will make sure the door alarm is activated’ 10~19~15 Contest Dark and Twisted# II Sponsor Nathan D

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

Precious Moments

Cherry wood accents, glass entombed precious moments captured, enshrined antique curio cabinet, bring me back in time that porcelain doll, great gram's pearl painted piercing eyes still reflecting her love thoughts of Mimi, now in heaven above that vintage mantle clock, octagonal design all the years sitting on Dad's desk, can't remember the last time it ticked, but I still recall the nights watching you hard at work sitting and pondering over a pile of bills and letters oh how those days were so much better there are many different figurines and collector plates I can't even recall what they are there for But there is one picture I just can't get past I often stop and just stare wishing you were still here the little playful smile always lighting up a room when you walked in those deep caramel eyes, able look past all the smoke and mirrors deep into someone's soul oh how I long to hold oh how I long to feel oh how I long to be be one with you again

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

Memory Rides the Rails - Poem Time Forgot

Forest fairies changing colors,
autumn's patchwork pattern weaving
in the foggy morning stillness
before winter's barren grieving,
up the river on the damp air,
up hollows through the shadowed vales
sounds the mournful, sobbing whistle:
once more memory rides the rails.

Childhood song for railroad watchers -
a tinge of hobo in my veins,
longing for the lonesome whistle
like a lost child for his name.
Life began beside the railway,
an open door to fantasy;
my dreamer's soul soaked in the flavor
hearing that whistle witchery.

Hungry tramps in search of breakfast
found our doorstep every time;
hobo network communication
marked mama's eggs and bacon "fine."
Bleary eyes and beards all stubble
made child imaginations fly
and the tales with which we clothed them
were wilder still than hobo lies.

Oh, for the days when trains were magic:
iron dragons breathing smoke and fire,
lashing long tails through the valleys
with monstrous strength that never tired.
Oh, the secrets that were hidden 
behind the doors of plain boxcars;
feel the untamed urge to mount them
and plunder treasure from afar.

Delight was ours beyond measure
to waken on those special days,
finding, in the night, the dragon 
had brought the circus train our way.
See the bearded lady waving
and catch the fat man's twinkling eye,
smell the coal smoke's pungent flavor
beneath our magic big top sky.

Grown up am I; steam train magic
comes swirling by once in a while
to view autumn's fleeting pageant
and make train lovers like me smile.
Nostalgic, rhythmic beating,
staccato yelps and sobbing wails
make my soul a mental hobo;
once more memory rides the rails.

Copyright, 2000

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015


Details | Memory Poem | |

remembrance

i do not have the power to control what haunts beneath night's sheets nor the courage to send them packing from the depths of my mind nor the words to bid them farewell nor the freedom to learn how i am trapped my mind cries remembrance, the apple of your eye hides within a bushel of pain as a worm crawls circles around my life i long for a peck from warm lips not cold, stiffed imperfect ones like death's my lips peel beneath the folds of rare smiles and whispers of words from seeded pain my soul cries out in silence beneath the folds of life its bitter bite and darkness uncontrolled

Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2013


Details | Memory Poem | |

I'm my Daddy Made Over

Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013


I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over

Taught me to fight back 
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over

He gave me my stubbornness 
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over

How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over

Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on 
I may stumble I may fall 
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over


Sabrina Niday Hansel

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013


Details | Memory Poem | |

The Letter

"Dear Time"
Thank you for being patient, 
Thank you for understanding I'm human, after all.
Forgive me for all the mischievous prank calls. 
Much of what I said and done, was out of fun.
Now, I sit on this rocking chair getting old.
Reminiscing over the beauty and honor it has been 
   Passing this land we call "EARTH."
Reminiscing over the beauty and honor, ----- REMINISCING!
Sorry, if I repeat the same beat a thousand times....
You see, I sit here every day thinking this world is mine....
Trying to remember, who I AM.
Every moment there has ever been or ever will be, 
Is taking a toll on every single feeling and memory.
Time, Yes------------------ TIME!
The wrinkles on my face will never describe 
how many birthdays I celebrate.
The wrinkles on my face 
Tell stories reminding my readers,
 Where I've been and come from
How consistent, and fortunate I've been, 
Babbling about my past, present, and future; 
The only advantage of the word "TIME."
-- It helps fade hurting moments away--
You see, time is the essence of memories.
 
Dear Time,
"Growing from young to old, was not as easy as it sounds."
Please be patient with_____ Wait! I said that already....
Thank you for understanding what I’m going through.
Please listen, be patient with what's burning deep down inside.
It's almost dinner time -- once again, I mention the word "TIME!"
I'm not hungry, food just isn't the same when fed through a straw.
Besides, have you seen the garments ''they'' make me wear?
Never thought I'd live to see myself in old-fashioned nightgowns
Time keeps adding silver to what used to be pretty brownish red hair
Time what have you done to me?
Please excuse if I can't work a remote or function the TV properly.
What has happened to simple technology, 
   When everything came with "ON and OFF" buttons.
Time understand what I go through, my legs never felt this tired 
I can't seem to keep myself on the same path, 
I lose track of time when navigating my toes

Dear Time, 
Take my hand, lead the way and understand I can't see more
Time,  allow the joy to take its time when my end is near.
Thank you, Time, for all the loving moments we shared
Thank you, Time and please be kind and end my life with love.
End my life with love-----
End my life with love-----
Wait..... I said that already....

Dear Time, 
Thanks for having patience.

Sincerely Yours 
The Little Old Lady Across the Street

by: PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013