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Best Memory Poems

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Premium Member Poem | Details | Memory Poem | |

Sleepless Night

***
Pillowed feathers,
Caressing 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 AM" gone with the wind

The idea of love, 
broken like yesterdays wishbone.
She is leaving
her arms, my shelter
her wings
her teardrops gone forever. 
Never will she suffer-
Never will she return-
All I have is one last memory
tracing what is left
one last breath
tequila vice
washing away the pain.....


At Last Now I See!
Under the drunken stars 
I had an epiphany 
Striking like a match
A sunken treasure 
At Last I Knew
you don't belong 
you were there for the taking
Weak and sick, no longer sane
Memories lost, no longer -her
My Mother! 
What has become of her?

You're a demon, who played us all
made us cry, while you slowly took her away
the way you ravaged her body
nip napped both her legs
fed her through others
the way 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 took her that 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

Premium Member Poem | Details | Memory Poem | |

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday, your features grinned,
some silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind;
our images, that in the fields imbue.

I saw tempestuous, around me shades,
the rain's persistence had engraved your name
upon the slate, around she formed cascades,
inviting flash amid the drops, and flame.

I saw flash yesterday, inside the rain,
how beautiful it was, her kiss of dew
your words became my sails on trip arcane 
the clouds, your messengers, 'mid skies to strew.

I sensed the crooked line reticulate,
the sulfur acrid smell and pale flame's hue,
transmuting to abderian road skate,
zigzagging on a water copper tube.

The flame transformed to runnel flowing laughs;
the rustling of droplets on the leaves,
combined the bright and shapely drawing graphs
with clouds to form above, celestial eaves.

I saw flash yesterday, my features grinned,
like silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind:
two images, amidst the fields imbue.

© G. V., 10-21-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)


Premium Member Poem | 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.

Iambic Pentameter  
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.02.2014
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III

| 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

| Details | Memory Poem | |

Person of Colour

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Premium Member Poem | Details | Memory Poem | |

Forgotten Memories

Forgotten Memories



He sits there on the side of his bed gazing out the window
Viewing a sense of a world he no longer knows
Yet tears for some reason, fall gently upon his face
As if he remembers that one person, time or place 

He hears the nurses talk to him the way strangers do
Leaving him feeling more lost and confused 
Yet, he looks forward to this woman that visits him each day
The way she beautifully shines into his eyes in a special way

Today, they had times together where they slow danced in arms of surrender
Her voice, her touch; her sweet scent of perfume he tends to remember
Temporarily taking him back home to discover his forgotten memories
A place to embrace a love that was given to him through God’s treasuries

The music stops playing, so suddenly the veil is rolled down 
Leaving him blind, unable to see the connection of memories once found 
She stands there before him, becoming the nurses he doesn’t know
He begins to shake, frightened and confused on where to go

The sun start setting down in the sky as darkness fills his room
He finds himself gazing out of the window once again, blackness covers its view 
Tears streaming down his face; his soul again empty by forgotten memories
Yet, his heart still connects to a place of love where he can no longer be 

Contest: Forgotten Memories
Sponsored by: Isaiah Zerbst




  



| 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

| 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.''

Premium Member Poem | Details | Memory Poem | |

Recalling Her

It is thirty six years ago, and I am with her in the garden,
where July is a picnic of egg sandwiches, cress-stippled,
the fuzzy down of peaches, acid-yellow tang of lemonade.
Her fingers have the delicacy of dancers
as she deftly mixes paint on a palette blue as the sky -
blobs of acrylics bright as sweet shop candy.

Summer is a sizzling colour wheel, spinning in its heat hues -
cadmium orange, pyrrole red, gold ochre -
those fever flames that blaze across her page.

My small world is warmed by the sun in her smile.

Russian vine stitches a delicate doily over the shed roof.
The heat-glazed garden shimmers and buzzes.
There is a twilight world under sweet clusterings of lilacs:
a cool shock of shade, pendulous-legged black flies
hovering in the murky mauve.
China white stars of jasmine light my way.
Please keep me close. Let me stay.

*

It is twenty six years ago, a morning of mourning,
and the notes of the dead bells toll
as, mist-muffled, they roll
through November's sleet streets.

I close my eyes and the sun in her smile parts the clouds.

Sober-suited people crush and cluster in pews;
row upon row of perylene black, winter-pale faces titanium white.
Stained glass windows filter and warm the ash-grey light
until her coffin is a vibrant palette of rainbows.

There are stories - lots of stories - anecdotes,
a crimson-backed journal she wrote,
a painting she painted, coffin-propped,
a poetry reading - one of her own -
Tapestry is a wondrous thing, in it the lovely colours sing. . .

Creamed rice-colour roses heap sweet
on her stone - a slate plate serving up a dead name -
and carnations splash cadmium scarlet
like blood throbbing from the gash of grief's raw wound.

*

It is now, and I am alone, taking a short cut home
through evening's rich palette.
Elegiac elms shed viridian tears,
and the sky is a burnt sienna explosion.
October's umber seeps into November's sepia tones.

My mind is coloured with her and then.
I hold a small cameo box that held
the colourful spill of her pills: kaleidoscope planets
orbiting my loneliness, spinning off into nothingness. . .

Dark figures fill the park: silhouettes, shadows
following me home; spirits stepped from her portraits,
faces pushed down into coat collars, crinkled with frowns.

Paint-pinned people in their primaries and pastels,
on canvas, under glass; stopped heartbeats of the past.
Trapped moments on paper and boards.

I close my eyes and see the sun in her smile,
recall how, since her passing, life has become a free fall,
a parapet leap without parachute.

And the smudged charcoal lines of memory
are beginning to blur, fading like her watercolours. . .





in memory of my grandmother

Premium Member Poem | 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.

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