Living consists
in realizing futures,
with anamnesis of the past
and proficiency in the present
Oh! The joy of life when one it seems
wants to climb into a portrait of sentiment,
only then to create a trembling emotion
that completes an insatiable mind,
when one’s image blending with nostalgia
ferments for a moment like a perpetual habit
served up as vintage wine.
To be reconciled with one’s inner self,
the body here now, yet, a mind
locked in another dimension reliving
a fading monochrome print, brought
to life with one’s own vivid anamnesis.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
When I closed my eyes
in the dead of night,
my mind recalled
the lonely memories
of yesterday.
Even up until my deep sleep,
the tearful past visited
me in my dream.
To let the beat
of my heart feel
the melancholy.
When I opened my eyes,
the visiting days of yore
had yet to say goodbye;
for me to reminisce
the bittersweet time
when you were here with me.
I sabotaged my eight-millimeter childhood.
I never knew Sartre
But I contorted my latex face,
Burying my nothingness in family films.
My child was scripted to be ugly, skipped over
In comic relief.
Only recognizable as Menoetius,
My only animation was insolence.
I believed nothing in myself,
I knew nothing.
I sought my masquerade in
Metaverse avatars,
Really just 2D analog shadows,
Swaying waves of gray on ashen tv tubes.
Without convictions, I was convicted.
My craven rudeness landed me
In squalid wreckage,
The debris of my dormant sea,
Forsaken a million or more times,
Rebuffed and scorned,
I succumbed to my dense exhaustion.
I shut down where sleep had no form,
Where space-time is an illusion.
Some hint of dream touched and aroused me.
Some anamnesis so much greater than any containment!
I awakened sweaty, wretched, and authentically flawed,
savoring the sudden phenomenal enigma,
Ready to learn the endless patterns
of all the passions and sciences.
I do not
I deny me,
but i do not
I explain myself...
my anamnesis
I do it with gestures
words and mine
live verb.
In all
circumstances where
there is hope,
i live...as well as
it does not fit...
I say, I affirm
and not
contradict me:
i am summary
of everything that in
memory wall
was written..!
DOSAGES AND PROCEDURES
We should not hepatize
the situation...
We should not sulfatize
in vain...
We cannot intoxicate
the reality...
The truth, however
poisonous whatever,
is therapeutics ...
The lie, yes clog
veins and thoughts ...
Pain and exaltation
are not synonymous and
if one can be a cure,
the other does not serve
as therapy ...
Let's do more anamnesis
of our mistakes and successes,
suture and cauterize
the wounds, the inconsistencies ...
Prescribe the elixir
of resilience and the serum
ethereal hope,
and we sipped the love
drop by drop to
make sure
of cure... !
hints of days gone by
fly away “Space Oddity”
Bowe sings my world
09/01/2019
MOONLIGHTING
swaddled by the stars,
moonlight swaying.
obeying sandswept eyes
and yawns of sleep.
dreams appearing
in seraphic shadows,
lighting up the inner room —
anamnesis of sunlight breadth.
drilling of the hands
and feet in repetition —
knitting needles syncing, lips
rehearsing the alphabet.
dot to dot of neuron hours
handsomely pieced
in gigantic looms. pillow
cosseting psychic depth.
5/13/2018
Siren Song
“My aching bones protruding desire;
My mind overtaken by time immemorial.
A wasteland of dissociation, barren yet flourishing
With fruitful anamnesis of a necromantic epoch;
Oh Poseidon- how I long for home.
To endure the Fateful death song that spills from these lips,
Our sweet entanglement transforms to unity;
Sweet Liberation! My deliverance is in your aqueous grasp!
Dulcis Mortem- liberare eos de vincula vitae.”
~ NC
Is there no alcove of the mind,
Nor chamber of the heart,
No apartment of the soul,
Which does not remain in province to your intoxicating presence after you leave?
Long hours and days,
After you grace the theater of my day,
Its stage remains set in your graceful anamnesis.
Mine eyes remain drunk in having looked into yours.
The warmth of your body still conquers the cold.
The taste of your lips still remain on my tongue.
The fragrance of your hair still fill my senses.
My memory replays the hymn of your voice.
Even my pillow, a once simple object now made to a jewel of beauty,
When ornamented with a single strand of golden hair you left behind.
Hello, World
I dream to someday
Escape, evade, emerge
from this rock I call
'Home'
To leave those who
are narrow-minded,
intolerant, and ignorant
The beach was never
my backyard
Lying in a hammock,
shaded by palm trees
was never an anamnesis
Nor do I recall
swimming with dolphins
in the crystal blue brine
When I come of age ,
I will getaway
pack my bags in a heartbeat
And before you shed
a tear, remember
that I was never
a part of this island
The Noble Star
The name a gen randomly chose
The Noble Star
A poet’s dreams from worlds afar
It isn’t me so I propose
Anamnesis the one I chose
The Noble Star
A whispered past
A memory I can recall
A whispered past
I think the runes have thus been cast
Anamnesis, a thought so small
Reflecting dreams from spring to fall
A whispered past
A memory
Once known in a vague sort of way
A memory
Déjà vu – well, yes it could be
A silent thought of yesterday
Is heard as roaming dreams replay
A memory.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.