Age Memory Poems | Age Poems About Memory

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

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Details | Rhyme |

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 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"

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Iambic Pentameter |


She shuffled by our house, so slow and bent,
No second thought of where the lady went.
On her return, no one around to see.
A shaded path, she blended with the trees.

We children always giggled, as she passed.
A group emboldens others to harrass.
Our high pitched jeering from a hidden niche,
The frail, sunbonnet lady, we yelled "witch".

One day a fever kept me home from class.
I saw her weary shuffle down the path.
My over-active need to know convened.
I followed with excitement and unseen.

A house engulfed by weeds grown thick and tall,
As vines of every species claimed the walls.
Around the side, a window to peek in; 
A man in bed with twisted, throbbing limbs.
The lady rubbed a salve to ease his pain.
And hummed a long forgotten song's refrain.

I blurted all I'd seen to mom and dad.
He stood in shocked alert and mom grew sad.

How soon the path was plowed into a drive,
A grocer truck and red-light cops arrived.
I last recall a fancy bike, brand new.
Events seem blurred, with growing up to do.

Gene Bourne.


Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

Glass Memories

Glass Memories How fragile are the things we see so clear? With passing time, there is no dim of view. Its frank acuity often fraught with fear, these mind photos of faces we once knew. The looking glass of memory’s crystalline. Translucent veil from there and there to here. But it grows sharper with the stretch of time. Peer into the mirror, friend; it will appear. Glass memories are the prize of wizened eyes. The treasures that are owed for all the pain. At any time or place they call to comfort, and from their age-old truth is much to gain. Mind pictures from our memoirs please the soul, reflection's cherished by the heart like gold. 6/25/17

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Haiku |

- Haiku X 114 - Old Beauty -

                                    Mirror of the past
                                Appreciate the beauty
                                   History's language

                                   Ancient adventure
                                 Personality and style
                                  Forgotten summer

                                    A soul of the time
                            Do not need makeup to glow
                                  Threatened by decay

                                  Dark clouds in the sky
                           Tears are washed away by rain
                               Grief, pain, loss and love

- 31.05.2017
- Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
- Copyright © All Rights Reserved 
- - Haiku 5-7-5

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |

I Was Young When I Left Home

   t'was a splendid night and I'm feeling hopelessly unknown 
 had a good old time, just a reeling with stories to be told
          now the paint is running out if the frame
        with my pockets emptied of loose change 
     I was young when I left home 
   I was young when I left home

when the heart is great and the world proves itself too small
     n' when a stark ambition arises if only to fall
         the battlefield was left bloody and cold
      they all had knives but I came through alone 
    I was young when I left home 
   I was young when I left home 

                    may you find yourself
            a good someone to talk to
        and say to hell with these 
            errant waves of misfortune 

   then I hear your name from the darkness as I'm walking through the snow
  and a pleasant warmth embraces me, seeps deep into my bones
         there is no pretense in your sweet smile 
       and I find the strength to go the extra mile  
     I was young when I left home 
    I was young when I left home

                      y'must find yourself 
             a good someone to talk to
     and say to hell with these
             errant waves of misfortune
                      'young when I left home 
                I was young when I left home 

Copyright © Rightly Jennings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Tanka |


watching wild geese drift, old lady on porch sips tea as nightfall grows pale... thumbs browse sepia album flipping memories of youth 5 Lines Max Contest for Rick Parise

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

When Memories Fade

by Bob Moore

I’m sorry  I don’t remember all the times we’ve had
the living and the loving, the good things and the bad
as I slip into yesterday, I don’t know what I have lost
it’s the people that I leave behind, who have to bear the cost

We lived a life together, but remember I cannot
the things that happened yesterday, are the things I have forgot
as gradually into the past, my memories will fade
and slip away, as never been, from the sunlight into shade

Don’t be too sad, my world is mine, whatever I may see
I can’t remember things I’ve had, or things that used to be
but now and then, for a time too short, I will know your name
and for that time, it will seem, I am me again

Copyright © Bob Moore | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sonnet |

Five Words - The Story Teller

The Story Teller

She's happy in the winter of her years,
near ninety-five, but still so keen of mind.
Imagination is her gift that cheers
the visitors that come and are inclined
to stay a while and listen to her spin
her stories.  As an author, she once wrote
of kings and queens, the rulers they had been,
alive still in her memory to quote.

Forgotten soul she is; no next of kin
now left to visit her for quite a while.
But in that nursing home, she draws them in
with those great tales, she offers with a smile.

If only winter years for all could be
so happy with the gift of memory.

Sandra M. Haight

~12th Place~
Contest: The Five Word Challenge
Sponsor: Timothy Hicks
Judged: 06/09/2016

Below are my five Best Poems listed on PS, and the 
longest words are capitalized. The capitalized words 
were used in my poem.

We RULERS of the Earth
The GIFT of Time

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |



There is a place that’s soft and warm
where memories dwell awhile from harm.
A sacred keep in our mind’s eye
The picture page of days gone by

So sweet to visit now and then,
to glance at old days and past friends,
and linger in the afterglow
before time dims the replay show.

Birthday, 10/26

Any Poem Written On Your Birthday
Sponsored by: Laura Loo

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Imagism |

Gossamer Labyrinths' Agone Opulence

Once agone moments in time she was poetry in motion, 'til she pirouetted herself onto dusty versed shelves midst old clouded rhymes & recollected love notes yet, there lingered echoes glistening 'tween strands of web's interlacing design, meshing her finessed past within gossamer's complexed entanglements beyond labyrinths of anciently grand symphonies she dances, still ~ silently in her head flirting with destiny albeit, not quite as opulently

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

The Hours of Alzheimer

The Hours of Alzheimer 

It starts ticking away slowly
Longer needed to search what’s  known.
Watching the hand jerk 
Minutes passing
“Twelve is for noon, then?”
“Yes.  Yes, Daddy!  Just like that. 
  Twelve noon is lunch.” 

Very gently, oh so sweetly,
Out of love and kindest thought
Offering words and filling fissures
Keeping pace and instant beating
“The,     oh, you know, the       oh how silly, the     the box thing”
“Yes, the box thing, the clock,  Daddy.  Says it’s 3 and time for tea.”  

Now impatience starts its tapping
Chasms stretching longer still
Wanting this moment
 to stop its running
“I       I       please      fork       I     I   food”
“Oh, of course, dear Daddy.  Dinner time.  
  Here, your fork. ”          

Interval waxing
Memory waning
Lingering in the distance
This cavity expanding 
“ I                   I       I            I”
“Oh it’s last course time Daddy.  Some dessert, then time for bed.”

Midnight falling
Thoughts abandoned
Cadence silent
Dead of night

First published: Poetry Quarterly

Copyright © Heather Browne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

Fake Words

Fake Words – Zamreen Zarook

God have given us mouth,
Not to speak to north and south,
Tongue is given under an oath,
So it’s our duty to protect them both.

Girls chat fake with boys,
Having a notion that the boys are toys,
They often make varied noise,
Thinking to keep a trap on handsome guys.

Boys are also human being,
So it’s not possible being clean,
Things varies in the way they are seen,
So positive thinking will make you keen.

Boys’ minds are pure,
As it is pure bio,
So don’t try to pour vino,
Which will take decades to get cure.

Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Land of the free

Land of the free???

Give me your tired, your poor
Your huddled masses, yearning to breath free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shores,
Send those, the homeless,
Tempest-toss to me,
I lift my lamp besides the golden door
Enter welcome to liberty
Come enjoy this land
A nation built by the sweat and blood of immigrates
A chance for freedom
A chance for the American dream
We come along a way from that statement
From embracing arms to protest rallies
Hate spells from the top down
Laws passed to shut down the boarders
If the dream is to live America
Like those who came many years ago
Why is it now
That we do no longer want 
The tired, the poor, the homeless
The children who suffer the most
Scared of the mob formed
Chatting slogans on hate
It is the norm to make fun of this situation 
Who will do the work Americans will not do?
They are stealing jobs from Americans 
God’s presence is sprinkled over the founding fathers
From their beliefs 
To our constitution
Where has the love gone?
Why do we now not practice what god taught us
Love thy neighbor as you would love thy self
Are we now a loveless nation?
Are we now a Godless nation?
Here in America you must speak English first
If that is the case 
Then why do I not hear us speaking the language of Native American 
Go back where you come from
We do not want you here
Send back lady liberty
We seemed to have forgot her message
We have Forgot the nation that embraced the lost. 

Copyright © Honcho Mars | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Smile in your sleep

                                           Smile in your sleep 

A midnight temptation is in the midst of the stars.
Brightness feeds and eventually consumes the eclipse.
Individuals described as both boy, and female acting very young.
Both separated at birth, yet they roam every night while they sleep.
Yet, one day they met for the first time at North Eastern Heights;
An academic learning center, a school where everyone made memories.
There were plenty of times where Nick had football memories.
Niki was dreaming of one day becoming one of those famous movie stars.
Both would have been fabulous careers, but neither climbed the heights.
Thursday, the day Nick and Niki had both looked at each other like an eclipse.
Tossing, turning all night, the two wish to dream of each other, but cant sleep.
Both wanted love, both wanted money, both wanted to be forever young.

Smiling at both their baby pictures, Nick and Niki looked oh so young.
Nick asked Niki to be his homecoming date and one of his fondest memories.
Both looked at each other, gazing in their eyes, so boring one could sleep.
That night at the dance, the two acted as if they were dancing with the stars.
Boys and girls attending the dance made up a color wheel of a shining eclipse.
Nick and Niki were on top of the world; they couldn’t fall off the heights. 

At the end of their senior year, it was graduation at North Eastern Heights.
These were the days they realized that they couldn’t be forever	young.
That no parts of all life are going to be as shining as an Eclipse. 
Even they, remember the things we hate too keep as part of our memories.
The only thing of there young adulthood that didn’t change was the stars.
Nick and Nicki gazed upon stars all-night, and smiled in their sleep.

Both they lay, laying down on the comfort mattress, smiling in their sleep. 
Dreaming they both do, climbing the Appalachian mountain heights.
Camping by a fire in the mountain range the only thing present was stars;
One of the last things they saw was an owl, it’s cooing as a young.
The two lovers will always be remembered just as memories.
And suddenly it was all gone; the dream went away as fast as an eclipse. 

A looming eclipse- 
All alone, how can I sleep?
She’s gone, my erased memories.
I fell off the heights.
We were so perfect and young.
We were a pair, just like stars.
Forever the stars-
They enjoyed being so young
Sometimes we all fall off heights.

Copyright © Trent Turney | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |

Bio in Short

It's been a good run
To the back side of sixty,
The short side of time.

First Hollywood kiss
Behind a pink crepe myrtle.
Thanks, Patsy Werner.

High school was okay.
Didn't help me to focus;
So, my mind wandered.

Surfed Bonzai Pipeline,
Big waves break into lava.
What made me do it?

Vietnam jungles.
I wondered why I was there.
America lost.

Smoking pot. Stereo.
Good fun in the seventies.
Psychedelics too.

And three wives later,
I finally found true love.
We're still together.

My destitute heart,
Saved by the sweetest angel.
I love you, Sandy.

Sooners are my team.
Most winning football program
In the Modern Era.

I am retired now.
But I have plenty to do.
Golf, primarily.

I've been writing more.
Perhaps I will write a book.
I have many tales.

I'd chase young girls; but,
Girls with a "grampa" fetish
Are so hard to find.

If I am lucky,
I will just drop dead one day.
With my peace of mind.

Yes, made a good run
To the back side of sixty,
The short side of time.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |

- Old Age -

Write down your memories today
             ~ tomorrow you may have totally forgotten them

One thing is certain, you are about getting old 
when you get the same sensation in a rocking chair 
that you once got into a luxurious sports car

I wish I had one ......

A-L Andresen :)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

Eyes of Seminary

Eyes of Seminary – Zamreen Zarook

Every day in our lives has different fragrance,
God give us various things in abundance,
Day by day knowledge is gained in accordance,
Things depend according to the attendance.

Two years of studies,
Helped us to come out with various abilities,
Extremely joyful moments with buddies,
But life said every aspect has its boundaries.

Teachers become very friendly,
They approach us very kindly,
They speak on us exaggeratedly,
Because they know, if not we might behave badly.

Big shots in the school boundary,
These are years of foundry,
It helped us to find and go for laundry,
Marvelous days, fully packed with sundry.

Various angles the kith and kins are civilized,
It’s because our knowledge is enhanced,
Guys and girls turned well experienced,
That’s why we call it levels of advanced.

Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

Brand New Year

The year has passed,
so long ago,
And now its time for us to go
We've said or prayers,
and goodbyes
So spread your wings,
its time to fly
We wont forget our childhood here
But now its time for
A Brand New Year.

Copyright © Mariam Traore | Year Posted 2014

Details | Blitz |

90's Grunge blitz

Thrift shop miracles of multi-
layered mysteries,insomniac-
drifters stumbling up the highway to
a water-logged Nirvana.
Stuttering hymns to flannel saints 
who have not yet; joined the cult of
Midwest slackers distressed in jeans
and in mind blood slowly becoming thick
black-tar, seeking release from big-haired-
bards &synth-pop-psychiatrist.
seeking freedom from German-hammers
& London-fog,
searching with work boots unsalted;
For a new kind of weather.

Earth-sister-pixie over caffenated 
Balarina dancing rythm-less to a new
discorded blues dreaming of jazz and
feminist revolution; building a new alternative-
nation a new president Kennedy, 
Shouting rain soaked rebellion in Starbucks 
Between vicodin and shots of expresso.

Souls coming together in mosh-pits of 
Discontent everclear-mud and hormone-
laced sweat coming down together; 
Drinking rivers to drench the fires of MDMA.
Indian outlaws lost in the dextroverse,
Seeking the pain of country music, but
the Appalachian's were lost bathed in 
black-lights&neon the coal miners daughter,
left the hollers for the Seattle fog&adderall .

O' lomo tinted cherubs that filled the 90's
morgues screaming love songs to familiar spirits
Of delta-blues my girls & boys here's where 
You sleep tonight put to rest by your own 
Divine-hands seeking Nirvana, and all
You ever wanted was there in your arms but
The man in the box would tell you otherwise,
And still nothing else mattered. 

Copyright © Charles Pullen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lyric |

Debutant's Lament

Summertime…they say the livin’ is easy,                                                
Flowers growin’ and the sun’s sittin’ high.                                    
They say your Daddy’s rich and your Momma’s so good lookin’;               
So hush now pretty baby…there's no reason to cry. 

One of these days, you’re gonna rise up smilin’.
Take a look around and think you’ve got it all.
You’ll have your Momma’s looks, all your Daddy’s money,
And all the boys in town at your beck and call.

Summertime…Yes, the livin’ is so easy,
Laughin’, singin’, havin’ so much fun.
No time to stop and think about your future
And what life will bring when Summer’s done.

‘Cause Summertime, it don’t last forever.
Breezes cool and the leaves begin to fall;
And in your quiet moments, you'll sit and wonder
How you came so far, but have no love at all.

Summertime....They said the livin’ was easy; 
Ain’t it sad how fast the good times fly; 
And now, your Momma’s looks and all your Daddy’s money
Another sweet, warm Summer’s day they cannot buy. 

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

To Where it All Began

Mother Nature has all but consumed 
Their little graveyard by the sea, where
Sands bleached white, slide 
Across the cemetery floor
Drifting like pale capsized hulls
Floating between tablets marking
The long forgotten dead

It was here, fifty two years ago that
I held my Grandfathers weathered hand, 
More so for the want of a brace
Than the sympathetic touch of a Grandchild
My little hand lost to the wrist, gripped
By a generation lost to the elements

I watched him kneeling by their angled stones
Tracing their names; first his father’s father, then
The mothers, with a finger crooked by age 
The sandstone letters crumbling in the wake of his trace
Grit sifting through his heavy fingers; history, being erased
Returning it back – to where it all began

I followed behind his shuffling shoes
Kicking up dust that settles on the bones of ghosts
My Grandfather’s voice lost to an ocean breeze 
Is he speaking to the dead?
Whilst our shadows lengthen, then dwindle into dusk

I imagined, back then as I do now
Of a graveyard full of pirates and thieves 
With their ship resting - just out there
~	At sea
But for the stout chimney and hearth, beyond the grounds
Baring testimony to pioneers that
Once toiled this barren coast and now
Standing defiant, resolute against the 
Advancing flotilla of sand

He is buried just beyond the little graveyard
My Grandfather, next to my Grandmother
On his farm; or
His father’s farm before that
My farm now…
On a hill
Overlooking the sea, where it all began

8 Dec. 2014

Copyright © Mark Trichet | Year Posted 2014

Details | Senryu |

The Old Times

watching the sunset,
rocking chair moves so slow,
I miss the old times.

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

In Loving Memory Of My Grandma

 Hold your head up, Grandma would say
 and let me pull your hair from your face.
 Stand up tall and properly, for a lady
 it should look as though it comes naturally.

 Oh Grandma, I would say. I just want to go
 and with the boys play. I want to fish and 
 shoot marbles too and maybe some baseball,
 if Bobby doesn't come too.
 Who is Bobby, she said. Just a boy who doesn't 
 like girls who with their brothers hang. 
 Well maybe Bobby is right and a lovely girl
 such as you, shouldn't be talking such slang.

 I long to be where the boys are for they have
 so much fun, it beats cooking and knitting
 silly hats and gloves. Give it time and you
 will see, she said, that being a lady is what
 God has meant for you to be.

 I would lay awake each night as I grew and I
 dreamed of the places my brothers seen
 and Bobby too. I always knew when they were
 to return home for most often it was when the
 cherry blossoms scented the lawn.

 Then there came that Spring day when all of them
 came home late, but all I could see was
 Bobby standing at gate.
 My heart did flutter and my cheeks, I knew were
 flushed. I never knew I had also missed Bobby
 just as much.

 It has been 4 years now and I still wear Bobby's ring and
 two beautiful children that in cherry blossoms we play.
 I often think back to what Grandma said and I understand
 now every word that still echo's in my head . 
 I think Grandma's have an inside tip
 for she already knew the plan, before I did.

 I will always love you Grandma.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Iambic Pentameter |

The Rememberer

She sits and glances out the window gray
The glass just mocks and fogs her weary eyes.
The dancing candle fails to light her way
As darkness causes heavy, weary sighs.

But memory just shades her vision more.
A cloak of lies, like ice, then stuns her heart.
Her weak and weary feet won't leave the floor,
The window tears her wilting soul apart.

The sun once lit her flowing, golden hair,
And moon once filled her eyes with silver light,
But past has killed the gold that once was there
And now, her eyes are darker than the night.

The days, we say, have worn away her life.
But she doth know that t'was her foolish strife.

Copyright © Emily Goodreau | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Who Am I

A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment 
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.

One after another they arrive
Single file,
Steeping my eyes in the world 
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering 
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.

My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?

Jacob Reinhardt

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose |

Memorial Day And Memories

Today was a memorial day to remember. It was the first day… of our last days. A quiet,  empty house . A beginning of the end. The end of happy, carefree family gatherings. The easy camaraderie, friendliness and accord that is a Hallmark of an extended family, now no more than an echo from the past. It is a memorable era to me in that it lasted so long, so pleasantly. The beer, the banter, the B.S, the feel of family… now no more than a warm memory. Families get extended, grow large and grow apart. Egos and petty differences, hurts… real and imagined creep in and the family structure weakens as all things must do with age. 

But the memories of So many happy times will never be lost or forgotten. My wife and I have been blessed to have had so many treasured family gatherings in our lives and wish to thank all who have contributed to such a treasure trove of memories. Everyone’s time is measured, but ours with age is measured perhaps a little less, so that both time and memories grow more precious with each passing day. Everyday now is Memorial day.  Numbers on calendars have lost their meaning. Memorial day today is a milestone. Another benchmark and a turning point in my wife’s and my life. So thanks, my family, for the memories and thanks for making them truly memorable. 

Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Fade to Black


My life it seems has had its share
of shining moments, recalled with
fondness when some achievement
let me stand awhile inside the light.

But when the bulb more faintly burned,
and shadows ruled the day instead.
Then it was that I have seen the rabid horde
rush to steal the fading rays and claim
that it was they who once before had
kindled the amazing spark and
more than once obtained the praise.

And so my trophies gather dust
and tarnish high upon my victory shelf— 
wilted blooms of a forget-me-not life,
which no one seems to remember.

Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |


Though a delicate fever reeled on, with zest, I stood up from the bedside and prepared a racy jiggle of dance steps, beneath a dappled Capricorn morn rising. Like a young pixie in dreamy wonderland guided by notes of a band’s entranced songs; my hands trailed away around the room, while male escorts gracefully led the pace. Eighteen roses and more adorned a hall enlivening my cheeks reddened by bliss, while velvet toes regaled in eased motion unmindful of a high fever which lingered on . Radiant in a crimson gown sewn by Mom, O joyous Dad grasped me for a slow waltz to highlight a crossing unto adulthood as new moon flashes a debutante's snapshots! Judy Konos' Contest:Let's Hear It 2/8/2016 ~ Memoirs of my debut at age 18, sophomore college

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haiku |

Glowing Reminiscence

Basking in moonlight,
Old birds remember the nest.
Ruffles my feathers.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

No Remembrance

My doctor says, as we grow older,
and keep cramming stuff into our brain,
sooner or later, it has to dump.

Is this really true?
Or, is it simply a doctor's excuse
for something to which he has no answer?

Somewhere along the way, I've lost
complete blocks of time, entire days or nights,
pleasant events which others remember,
but I cannot recall, at all.

Some episodes have staying power,
like the time I fell off the ladder,
flipped, and slid down the stairs
to the basement, head first. Who
could forget those raccoon eyes
I wore for weeks afterward?

Before you reminded me of the lunch
we shared, on the way to Wyoming,
with rain pelting the windowpane,
it had been erased from my memory bank.

That murder mystery I read last year,
is new again, a rediscovered story
to be enjoyed once more.

Yet, in all the moves we've made,
all the churches you've served as Pastor,
the conferences/workshops we've attended,
the companies we've worked for,
it's the people I remember -

the names, the faces, the smiles,
the friendships, these are the things
I treasure, and these memories will linger,
these memories will never erase.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014