Best Forgets Poems
Side to side in a flowing rhythm strides
rocking our enormous body and head,
like a pendulum our long trunk swings side to side.
My family and I walk for miles and miles
foraging, dusting, mud wallowing,
swimming and socializing along the Niles.
We encountered an obstacle in our path.
Humans have built a wall and blocked our path that we'll break.
They forgot that we never forget the path we always take.
We tense our enormous frame
flare our ears and in a trumpet rage
and charge head on onto the grounds to reclaim.
Side to side we walk across and melt into the bush.
5/7/2018
Our plump Santa did search in his pouch,
In the table, he searched, near the couch;
He searched there, he searched here,
But found not his specs dear -
"On your face" said his wife in a grouch!
I Need A Good Laugh: Xmas Limerick Contest Poetry Contest
Date: 12/16/2021
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Syllables: 9/9/6/6/9
Syllables checked in Syllable and Letter Counter
The heart never forgets when it first beat for that special friend
The moment it was ignored and the moment it was cared
The feeling of sadness when the lad was out of sight
When it felt no sympathy, it just shed its silent tears.
The heart never forgets the excitement that always comes
When the special friend is in sight, it’s as if everything is alright
How can it forgets if it begs silently for him to stay
The feeling of misery when he keeps himself away.
The heart never forgets the most exciting gift
When a simple smile to me was gave
The heart of mine then jump in joy
As if I had received a precious toy.
The heart never forgets the most longing and missing moment
When it wishes to be near him and of hugging him tight
The lonely moments spent by simply looking at the night
Saying in a self” I know, where looking at the same skies”
The heart never forgets, how could it ever forget
When his being imparted memories to me
The heart will remember the foolish things it does
Just to reach that someone, someone special in life.
The heart never forgets for it never did and it will never will….
The heart expects promise
Disappointment awaits the frail
The mind forgets
Born to learn love, quick to forget that others feel the same
Internal battles, unseen desires wishing to be unveiled
The heart expects promise
Childlike envisioning of a possible flame
In another world that prevails
The mind forgets
Unnoticed help, unfixed blame
Friends, friends, friendship run off the rails
The heart expects promise
Unanswered, awaited, sought after, misnamed
No one listens to the dreams of the young
The mind forgets
Who remembers my name
You, her, over there, pale
The heart expects promise
The mind forgets
Dear Humans
I like that some of you have family jewels and others
have fathers set seventeen minutes to slow.
The brothers will give sisters shiners
so the mothers will have a reason to put their daughters in makeup.
I like your faces
when you’re hovering over your own pudding
and reaching for the toilet paper that won’t be there
or when a sick man coughs on your horse and its tail goes swish.
I like how uncles put the milk in the refrigerator
when they feel they can win Forgetting the eggshells on the roof
doesn’t mean boys can’t make girls see many happy days.
Russet, Crimson and Golden colors adorn the spiraling
leaves that are falling so slowly and beautifully,
spreading over the landscape. They are making a natural
blanket, keeping the earth warmer, and covered for the
coming winter.
The sky colors are a less vibrant pale and gray, because
the sun has shorter daylight hours. The transition from
fall to winter is arriving, and less sunshine brings darker
days ahead... making you feel slightly melancholy.
The chipmunks have garnered their chestnuts and the
squirrels as well, as their preparation is finalized, for the
long freezing winter months to come. The Bears are
nestled in their dens, sleeping the cold winter away.
The Hummingbirds and Robins join the Geese, and bid
their farewells, as they start their migratory journey South.
You can hear the geese honking saying goodbye, as they
fly away in their V formation liked trained pilots in
formation.
The snow starts falling and the frost sets in. The wind
chill confirms it is winter, as the snow covers beautifully
the barren landscape. A glistening white overwhelms
your visual senses as far as you can see.
The running rivers flowing so free in the warmer months,
Mother Nature has reigned back. They are now motionless,
and frozen, and still.
Every living creature now seeks shelter from the cold, there
are no exceptions. Mother Nature is finished with winter,
now she is planning for Spring.
The Seasons will repeat themselves, and it will start all over
again.
Mother Nature Never Forgets
Michael Tor
Some friends willfully forget an unlucky heart
from whose trine flowed the richest waters
to soothe their qualms
as desert shady palms.
It gave them all it had, leaving nothing for itself;
hasn't forgetfulness replaced the warmth of that light?
Someone should remind them by writing on a wall:
that God never forgets a goodhearted soul
for the generous deeds it has done:
giving everything and receiving none!
" Shame " should be written on each face...
proclaiming to be righteous and favored by grace!
He lives in a shack built on wood poles shaken by cyclones,
and he survives on water and crackers,
a candle has replaced a light-bulb with thirty watts...
even tap water can't satiate his empty guts;
a slice of bread is a rare delicacy,
not mentioning cheap, tasteless coffee.
God never forgets a goodhearted soul,
the one that helped others face life with grit
and feeding their mouths by uplifting their spirit;
where are they now: distant as a cloud, looking down as a seagull?
Why can't they attend to his needs with generosity and wit?
No, he is not one of them anymore...only a disgraced destitute!
Rags clothe his body, but joy dwells in his faithful soul,
prayers keep him alive...he rejoices greeting the dazzling sunrise;
into the pristine river he bathes daily and sings with truthful and joyful eyes:
he will have tasted Paradise even before his death!
The poor man, so rich in faith, will sing until you runs out of breath;
the forgotten man, so weak, will reach Heaven having completed his earthly role!
In a world where time flows like a river that forgets its bed,
poets remain forever outside of time, a kind of travelers through the labyrinth
of thought, with eyes open to dreams that others have long closed
in the chest of forgetfulness. They are the shadows that dance on the walls of ancient
citadels of imagination, carrying with them the echo of eras that no longer believe
in the miracles whispered by the stars. In each verse, they hide
ancient secrets, like a summer rain that reminds us of childhood
lost among the tambourine sounds of hope.
Why do we hold on to the anchors that prevent us from drifting
in all directions? Why do we remain silent when our souls scream
to break free from the prison of our own fears?
Perhaps we are afraid to lose ourselves in the vastness of the unknown,
but perhaps only by truly losing ourselves will we find the way
to ourselves. In the abyss of uncertainty, where light
meets darkness, we can be reborn from the ashes
of our own doubts, like Phoenix birds carrying in
their wings the burden and beauty of eternity.
Poets are thus always anachronistic, always absurd,
but through their absurdity, they become the most contemporary,
for they understand that time is nothing but a circle that encompasses
us all, and in the heart of this circle, we live, love, and lose ourselves
to find ourselves again in a world that no longer knows how to dream.
I lie awake, engulfed in your memories
Drunk in bliss that only my fancy creates
It's vivid in my mind how your presence made me grin,
How your hackneyed jokes still rolled me laughing.
How we waited for the full moon,
And gazed at the stars begging for them to fall.
Even listened to the thunder roaring, found the lightning amazing.
How we kissed as we danced in the rain
But here in my reality
Thoughts of you bring me joy,
Yet pound my brooding heart to bleed.
There's no more joke for me to laugh
No more stars to fall
No moon that waxes, only wanes
And thunder sounds like my loudest cry
As I am being deluged in my own rain of tears
My mind thinks I am brave, but my heart believes otherwise
The pain is pierced, like the sharpest spear
Deep into my heart, down into my soul,
But I have to heal
Heal myself from my desolation
I will get through,
I'll get over you
And when I do
My mind may still vividly remember,
But my heart will surely forget.
I held my sweet baby close to my heart,
and when it was time, I placed him in his coffin bed.
An odd bed for a baby, perfect in every way,
except he was born still and lifeless.
I only need to close my eyes to see him,
dressed in a christening gown and blue bonnet.
He wore blue booties and held a tiny blue teddy,
to stay with him forever, ever.
What the eye sees, the heart can never forget,
I visit him often and bring him a blue rose,
and each time, I leave a piece of my heart behind,
I think soon, my heart will be completely empty.
I like to imagine that the Lord is holding him,
and he has little wings fluttering,
that my beloved surround him always,
and one fine day, I will have him in my arms again.
_________________
February 23, 2017
Poetry/Verse/The Heart Never Forgets
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 879-614-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
What is love that neglects to share
one final glance when parting or
a peck upon a furrowed worried brow or
simply a hint of a goodbye tear
so dearly needed.
What is love that even at its least,
has no gentle caress to say hello or
even a squeeze of hand or
perhaps a smile.
What is emotion that never stops to
ask why sadness leeks through every hello
and screams from silences
too often, no, always ignored.
What is love that forgets
all these things?
Kussmaul
a german man
for which a pattern
of breathing was named
breathing that is a reflex
which the body uses
to correct a sickness
at first shallow
then deep and fast
Cheyne-Stokes
a pair of men
which coined death breathing
breathing which in its
irregular pattern
sometimes even stops
as death knocks
I am not a pillar physician
for which my breathing
can be named
but what do I call
the breathing which
overtakes me when you near
no pattern at all in fact
sometimes I just forget
forget to take a breath
until my body realizes
I am starving and gasps
and even then I wince
with each breath
as if all my energy
concentrated on loving you
burns away and my lungs
can't quite reserve
enough to breath
in the times you
come close to me
When love forgets, you wait at the door/
wearing the lingerie he bought you before/
when love forgets, you wait for the nice words/
but the words never come and you never get heard/
when love forgets, he changes your views/
and looks at the women in their high heeled shoes/
he dosent respond in the way that he should/
together for years, but this doesn't feel good/
His eyes wander fast to every next cleavage/
your small breasts no contest, you feel you're not needed/
you're just a bit part now, he takes you for granted/
should you move on, the seed has been planted/
you want to be loved and cherished and adored/
not to stay at home washing plates, being bored/
you want to go back when he very first knew you/
in a passionate way his eyes used to view you/
relegated now to a place you don't recognise/
when you laugh the smile does not reach your eyes/
the only affection you gets from the cat/
your still a young woman, how sad is that?
but what you don't notice when you leave the house/
are so many suitors waiting to pounce/
they notice your hair and your eyes and your spirit/
your old man at home does not think to fear it/
He's got you where he wants you, a dutiful housewife/
he thinks your happy with your stepford wives life/
But be warned Mr. conceited, while you lie to yourself/
She will be the muse of a handsome someone else/
He will love her and cherish her and fulfill her every need/
show her the good things and devour her with greed/
while they lie naked entangled debating her dull life/
you should have been loving your stay at home housewife/
A narrow muddy creek,
beyond the creek
a new housing lot.
Further on
a small stand of wood
where a large woodland once spread all the way
to the highway.
Beyond the highway a farm
clings to fifty acres
but not much thrives and much is failing.
Then you arrive at the only hill for miles around
I sometimes go there in the snow
when all the displacement and sully
are covered over.
Occasionally, on a fresh morning when the sun is up
and shining like the first day of creation;
when the snow sparkles its blue diamonds
I forget the muddy work-boots
that kicked over the native and natural.
The land forgets its wounds and heals
momentarily,
but for a little while.
She still hears the iron door closing
She still hears it clearly
She hears it like it was yesterday
She stands with a heavy heart, realizing what she’s done, but it’s too late
Her precious gift has been returned
Returned to the Sender
So begins a life of regret and bouts of depression
A mother who can’t make something right
Cries out for forgiveness
God says I’m here; I’m here my child
He loves her
He forgives her
He gives her His grace and His peace
He gives her what she doesn’t deserve
He knows, so well, that heart of hers
A mother never forgets
No gift can replace another
She still hears the iron door closing
A constant reminder of the precious gift she didn’t accept
A precious gift she will always long for and miss
A mother never forgets
Never forgets such a choice
Many years pass, but her choice is ever before her
Her life’s puzzle incomplete
Missing a precious piece
A mother never forgets
Never forgets such a choice, but Jesus
Jesus stepped in
Said, "I'm here!"
And she knew
She knew everything would be okay
Her precious gift was in Jesus hands
Her days of battling depression ceased to be
Her precious gift she would one day see