Years ago, when my friends and I were just boys;
A nearby place provided such simple joys.
To us, it was one of the best local ‘finds’;
“Let’s go to the creek,” never far from our minds.
We usually rode bikes, although sometimes we’d run;
To be first to arrive was part of the fun.
Visiting each favorite spot with made-up names;
Racing leaf and twig boats, playing other games.
Covering stones with mud, shouting “Bombs away!”
Vying for biggest ‘explosion’ of the day.
Pretending that large rocks were islands mid stream;
For hours we’d play in a quasi day dream.
Imagining that millimeters were miles;
Jumping from the creek’s banks to ‘fly’ to warm isles.
When dusk called us home as it did way too fast;
We knew today’s trip here would not be our last.
I was never worth for living on this earth,
I was just a dust particle made to be thrown in the dirt.
I wonder why God would have made such an ugly face and broken Soul,
He must have thought, "Oh, that's the person everyone should ignore".
I genuinely don't know if I'll be alive till I'm 20,
Even if I am my soul would be already empty.
I Really wish I could die soon,I don't want to be a burden on anyone on this earth.
I never really got anyone who can love me,
It felt like an act everyone had to show me .
I hope i die with my thoughts of being happy for once in my lifetime, hoping they contain his little smile.
I don't want anything, I'm just trying to survive.
I live for the days,hoping I'll see his damn smile.
His voice is no longer in my ears, his face is like fading shadow haunting my memories.
Unfortunately I will forget his soul.
I will go back to my younger self again try to be happy in my empty void hole.
Holidays are good at the start
you look forward to them beforehand
counting down weeks and days till you go
getting the cases packed for the trip
Then you arrive at the destination
unpacking your stuff, getting ready
the weather decides your enjoyment
rain or sun, whatever it may be
But the day arrives when it's time to go home
you really dread it coming, but it's here
the thought of the end of this place
makes one ponder, to think, even shed a tear
Could you live here for the rest of your days?
you wish it could be, but deep down, no
reality has to set in for when you get home
it's old clothes and porridge, as we say here
Look back on holiday past now memories
enjoyed it back then, but now it's old routine
then once over, wish for next one
life affects us like this; so ever has been
What is a ripple
without its rhythm?
a ripple is an echo seen,
an echo is a ripple heard,
a scent is an echo breathed,
a taste is an echo swallowed,
a crease is an echo touched,
a shimmer is an echo lit,
a shadow is an echo left,
a tremor is an echo felt.
strings hum when plucked,
bells ring when struck,
silence quivers
to reveal its glimmers
want listens for faint echoes of memories
pulsing in the hollow spiral chamber
of an empty conch shell.
The memories of autumn
when the leaves change
and the cool wind blows
often evolve around family
Picking apples, pumpkin patches,
colors of leaves combining
as my boys jumped in piles raked
together just for that purpose
Before they reached adulthood
and went their own ways
and illness settled in our midst
Autumn represented closeness and hope
While hope still exists, the autumn
breeze doesn't smell like it anymore,
and piles of leaves don't bring laughter
as the empty nest empties the festivities
Independence and death have separated
us from our boys, yet we still have each other
Autumn looks and feels so different, but this
is where hope and love rewrite the script
But the loneliness of Autumns past and joy
that will never come again in those ways
leaves a scar but beautiful memories,
that I choose to embrace and enjoy
CITROEN
The car of Four Door
Ahead of its time
Back in the day
My Grandfather had purchased one
He wanted a different ride
Sophistication the car would provide
Components of its own
Push Button Start
Waiting for the back of the car to rise before maneuver
Some might think of it being clever
Wait in move
As years passed, my Grandfather decided to upgrade to a Citroen station wagon
Same process only bigger
Upon trading in the Four Door Citroen
For a while it was great
It wasn’t until one of the back wheels fell off in transport of the Citroen station wagon while on the road
Pitch black at night
A Citroen became a stand still
My Grandmother stated to my Grandfather being the next time he purchases a new car, let it be get in, start and depart
No more push the button to start, waiting for rise then ride
Memory of a vintage of the Citroen family
France sensation
A car being a creation.
I'm just living a life of an one-eyed AuDHD dude,
Always repeating the cycle every single day
As folks think I'm acting like a robot,
And always having an undisciplined heart.
They say it's not always seen from the outside,
With history and video games is all I think of
Yet they see me as a young Sheldon,
Thinking being smart is a big blessing.
But I still look like a nerd
As if they see me as a nobody,
I'm still a spud in my eyes
As I'm too different for anything.
Some problems
Cannot be solved with money
Do not have a clear cause
Do not hide behind words
Some problems
Appear out of nowhere
They live right where we do
Like furniture or crockery
On the table or in the sideboard
Or like the view from the window
On a clear day, or at dawn
When winter sets in
Summer days will be frozen
In the photo archive of years gone by
Memories will flood back
And there are no problems
Some problems, fortunately
Disappear of their own accord
Without anyone’s involvement
Like snowflakes melting in the air.
My mind a cave of favorite characters
And greatest hits
A life time of connections and sidekicks
Frank Zappa plays the soundtrack
In a tumble of tightly compressed acoustic riffs
A genius long gone, but ever present.
When he’s done he says,
In tightly compressed electronic bytes
“May we burn it all down.”
And I wake refreshed
To another day, another dawn.
(9/17/26)
There are days when my capacity for anguish runs thin
I can’t grok suffering as deeply as once I did,
In those carefree days of work and timelessness
Lacking the necessary sense of direction to ask
Is this place where I find myself truly mine?
I’d gladly rehash now this desultory vision
To fill the desperate need of balance and calmness
But it always occurs too late to be changed.
Who can tell why the autumn brings this anxiety
In a hindsight, what looks like a budget movie, poorly directed
As if I’m passing some young guy
On a shady street, in a lunch hour
In whom I would never recognize myself
With whom I don't have a word to share.
The sun shyly peeked over the hill
as the cold air made whispers audible
and the dissipation began to rise from the dunes.
The morning breeze stirred flurries of sand from dunes
where shadows stubbornly clung to the face of the hill.
A susurrus from the cops barely audible.
Upon the bench in the lee of fickle dunes
the old brass plaque gleamed in rays cresting the hill:
an inscription of grief no longer audible.
Ridged hill of letters, promises audible among dunes.
I wander on a journey that may fail
The compass heading points me to true blue
Late Summer is the time I know so well
Accentuated by my thoughts of you
I wonder as I wander through the maze
What separated us as years sped by?
My love for you displaced by cruel malaise
Still on the journey asking myself why
Acceptance is the price I have to pay
I’ll try my best to take the good with bad
Accepting our relationship’s decay
Your absence from my life makes me so sad
To make the best of life remains the goal
My thoughts of you are balsam for my soul
leaf-peeping pastime panorama
the deeper the colors, the better the view
superior to any artificial diorama
a lovely excuse to spend time with you
wrinkled leaves fallen from trees
stare long enough, you will see faces
my heart of hearts truly believes
each loved one leaves memory traces
Strange, arriving here
The birthplace of thought
All movement ceased
Feeling, nonexistent
How does one live
....I can't be here
how do I leave
Like an abused child
Whose soul has retreated
All humanity encased
In a flat affect
No seeing in, no going out
...just safety
my soul cries to leave
The body continues
To grow into adult form
Without knowledge
Without present consent
Like a plane on auto pilot
...flying high
my soul MUST leave
...Ground Zero
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-16-2026
Misplaced
Not forgotten.
Not lost.
Not gone.
Just misplaced
Blurred between the lines of his memory
A little girl he no longer sees in me
But I will always be with him
And him with me
I am misplaced in his past
A mistake no person could fix
A detail added by God to cherish time
Memories are no longer shared; they're just mine
As he rises to heaven, he will find the pieces falling into place
He’ll feel the sun on his face
He will remember the moments he'd seen but let slip away
And his feeling of misplacement will fade
I do not believe that I, nor anyone who knows him, is forgotten or lost or gone
We were simply misplaced.
And now that he can see clearly from above
He is waiting for each and every one of us
To pull us into a big papa bear hug
His heart full of love.
Memory Categories
Read wonderful memory poetry on the following sub-topics:
christmas, dad, daughter, death, funeral, in loving, loss of, mom, quilt, son,
and more.
Definition | What is Memory in Poetry?
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Related Poetry Forms
thought, remembrance, recollection, mind, consciousness, reflection, mindfulness, recall, awareness, reminiscence, cognizance, recapture, flashback, recognition, retention, retrospection, anamnesis, retentiveness, subconsciousness, memorization, camera eye, dead eye, mind's eye, picture, image, thought, fantasy, reminder, memoir, vision, concept, prompt, hint, memo, cue, suggestion, jog, representation, prod, mnemonic,