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New Memory Poems

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Memory by Kshetrimayum, Ibohal
CAPTURE A MEMORY by Yerman, Jim
Lost sounds that call a memory to life by lawless, John
Memory by Sinha-Roy, Subimal
In loveing memory by Jones , Shawn
In Memory of November by Johnson, Rose
nothing but a memory by plunkett, Johanna
Quirkiness Of My Memory by harris, matthew
MEMORY by Enriquez, Leon
Death By Memory by French, Jonathan

View all new Memory Poems

The Best Memory Poems

Details | Memory Poem |

It's quiet here - quiet in a way that catches me off guard. The tranquility is almost tangible, something I can touch and hold and wrap around myself. I can hear the pulse of faraway waves, the faint hum of the wind, the nonsensical call of distant seagulls. I can hear my own heartbeat, pounding along with the waves.

As I kick off my sandals, my spirit steps out of my body, leaving behind the material baggage of city life. The sand is soggy beneath my feet and I know my footprints will disappear when the sea rises, as if I were never here at all.

It's low tide, that magical time when the sea recedes to reveal the ocean floor. Grooves of sand catch pockets of water that are half-buried mirrors, reflecting pale blue sky and slices of violet sunlight that glitter like chipped diamond.

a vocal seagull
descends toward liquid skies –
reflections ripple

At low tide, a second beach emerges, stretching all the way across the bay to the opposite shore. I walk slowly, tasting salt on the breeze as it runs invisible fingers through my hair. Strands sweep across my face, catching in my eyelashes before fluttering free once more.

The beach is a dream catcher, snagging small treasures when the sea withdraws. And I am a child again, fascinated by the hermit crab retreating into his shell as I approach. I spot the dimpled surface of an urchin’s shell peeking out from wrinkled sand. Other shells are scattered across the beach, some upside down, exposing smooth, pearly souls.

a tiny starfish
drifts beneath placid water –
lost constellation

When I find a sand dollar, my breath catches. It’s perfectly whole, with smooth, rounded edges and clean, ivory skin. It’s heavy and light all at once, the flawless design at its center subtle and brilliant, like a delicate floral tattoo. How many hours had I spent here as a child, searching for this transitory coin?

My eyes fill with unexpected tears as my vision wavers behind distorted pools of grief. I’m half-blind until I blink, releasing salty rivers down my cheeks. Even then, my sight is murky.

My tears taste like the ocean and I think, suddenly: Whose tears fill the sea?

Written: November 4, 2015
For Charlotte's "Creative Haibuns" Contest

Details | Memory Poem |

The Bard of Gort

Springing free from glistening 
Fronds
The summers heat leaps for 
Height;
Whilst drifting obscurely far
Above 
A distant lark now hangs in 
Flight.

Floats down his sweet trill,
Accompanied by joyous and
Uplifting revelry,
Over the black crows nasal 
Calls;
Whose draped shadow,
contemplating devilry,
Flaps and furtively falls 
Into ripening bean fields 
Planted in neatly sowed rows:
Nourished in darkest till,
Enriched by pedantic verse of
Gaelic odes.

Do now these gentle Slopes 
Pause to yield
Where secretive song,
Bursting forth, is much concealed 
inside the plain of Aidhne;
For here the great rock of the 
Burren,
Whereby so implored upon,
Revealed its grey stones...
To rebuild ancient and deserted 
Thoor Ballylee.

Sweeping briskly past a tors 
Grassy island busy in bloom,
Eagerly cramming under four
Crouched arches,
Skim the borrowed waters of 
Thee immortal Cloone;
Dappling currents
Dawdling around squat stanchions -
Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge 
Over the old concourse:
Momentarily loitering -
Wantonly begging to coyly swoon...

Now, joyfully sporting in gushing 
Discourse,
Gleefully courting elusive and
Glimmering enchantments:
Mirrored reflections enticed to
Enter -
To be forever trapped within a 
Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and
Tune.

Higher and higher the spiraling
Stairs of de Burgo
When through airy woodland 
Glades
The towering shadow sought;
And higher and higher the spirit 
Of an ageing poet...
His crowding thoughts
Roaming freely amidst these
Fabled legends of Gort.

Harken then to the feathered 
Herald -
Tis Gods design that calls on 
Ye!
For few men know of what he 
Sings...
He sings of the forgotten paths 
Forever lost within Innisfree.

Details | Memory Poem |

A Purple Ribbon

Mementos in a box, from years gone by
Thought to have been disposed of long ago
A glance, when something purple caught my eye
A ribbon from someone I used to know

I gently gave a tug like way back when
It slipped from it's confines just like before
Then instantly relived it all again
And just like her, it leaves me wanting more

But even though it was so delicate
This ribbon in it's femininity
Tied in her hair it looked so elegant
Yet strong enough to bind her memory

This ribbon with it's strength beyond compare
Ties fifty years to my first love affair   


         By Daniel Turner

Details | Memory Poem |

Sleepwalking


I long to fold my eyes and softly creep

                    Beside the brook of fancy, as it flows ...

          To tumble off my trundle bed and sleep,

                              And dip the stardust with my drowsy toes.



Within the world of reverie and dreams,

                    I cast my cares, like nets, upon the sea,

          So woven as the moon, within its beams ...

                              Imagination's breadth, now comes to be.



With all the dreamy pathways that I stroll,

                    The routes are always varied, always new,

          And still, each destination brings its toll,

                              As all my sojourns find their way ... to you.



But I would ne'er deny my heart that ache ...

                    If only you'd come with me ... when I wake.




~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Most Comments Received Poem 2018" Poetry Contest, July Morning, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Sleepwalking" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Sponsor & Judge.

~ 5th Place ~  in the "Contest Number 470 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor & Judge.

Details | Memory Poem |

Watercolor Afternoon

The rain set me adrift inside a dream
My mind was on a painting miles upstream
An unforgotten "en plein" I once viewed
A light pastoral springtime interlude

Two horses, one snow white, one shiny black
Two barefoot boys in blue jeans ride bareback
Through pasture weeds bloomed orange almost red
White fluffy mountains loomed as thunderheads

A lightning bolt sends thunder through gray skies
The vivid colors blend in teary eyes
One brother's love becomes a blurry stain
Through windows streaked with rivulets of rain

From inside looking out my hourglass
I watched as nature painted winter's grass
Entranced from listening to her rhythmic rune
One April watercolor afternoon
 


     by Daniel turner

Details | Memory Poem |

When I Dream Deep

As the mornings sun - begins to shine 
And memories of yesterday - I leave behind 
I get to see - another rising sun 
And store more memories - when the day is done
 
Thoughts in my mind- Which I hold true 
My life - what I've been through 
All those nights - when I dreamed deep 
My all-nighter's - I couldn't sleep
 
Remembering thoughts - from new, from old 
Good times, bad times - I still hold 
But tomorrow's sun - again will rise 
I may not see it - with my own eyes
 
For if I don't - and I... not awake 
I hope the sun - is yours to take 
To let you dream - into the night 
Savour memories - see the light
 
That will rise again - with tomorrow's sun 
And leave you memories - when the day is done 
Your thoughts in mind - that you hold true 
Your life - what you've been through
 
But if you don't - your eyes...not awake 
I hope the sun - is mine to take 
So that I can remember you - memories I'll keep 
All those nights - when I dream deep

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.

The house my children grew up in.

Iambic Pentameter  
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.02.2014
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III
2nd
Best of 2014  1st place

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.''

Details | Memory Poem |

HIDDEN MEMORIES

I reach onto the bookshelf 
Carefully removing the photograph album from the top shelf

We nestle together on the sofa
I slowly turn over the pages
Yellowing photographs that capture precious moments frozen in time

Suddenly you become animated
Hidden memories begin to return …
We laugh as you recall stories from the past

You lovingly stroke the faces of those now long gone
Wishing they were there by your side for real
Tears fill your green eyes as you reach out and gently squeeze my hand

Nostalgia Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron

11~25~16

Details | Memory Poem |

Memories - Episode 1

It is said that eyes are the windows into ones soul
If truth be told they reflect ones innermost feelings
The girl observes her with earnest inquisitive eyes
Her most striking feature - green eyes flecked with gold.

Braided neatly is her long thick brown hair
She has a smattering of freckles on her upturned nose
Just enough to give her a somewhat cute look
But the most fascinating is her impenetrable stare

A stare, which makes her feel awkward - in this sickly blue room
Drab and clinical like most hospital rooms are
She wears a hospital gown and was brought in here they tell her
By some kindly soul who found her wandering
Not knowing who she is - nor from where she came
She doesn’t have a clue of what her name is
A girl without a past, is a girl without a future

The images she has swirling in her head
Roll in and out like the endless waves
That she would like to keep at bay
That a part of her wants to resist instead

But they merge one with the other
Like the wind and the surf
Again and again lapping the shore
Sounds trying to break through a blur

Waves of emotion wash over her
Her past memories - hers to keep - hers to hold
Like deep rooted trees - roots lodged in
Are now hidden secrets from her past?
She feels that some things can never be cast into oblivion
Yet some nets no matter how far cast out to sea
Do not bring back answers blowing in the whisper of the wind

Whispers in her ears that fade into lurking silhouettes
Into her subconscious seeming familiar faces slink back into regress

Aren’t some memories best to be forgotten?
Connected to these shadows that remain to haunt?
Will tomorrow’s sunrise bring them back?
The self-destructive memories so misbegotten

When memories from ones past are all wiped clean
How can emotions remain behind to torment?
Why does she feel an unaccountable sense?
Of déjà vu combined with futility and fear between?

Trying to trigger a response they ask a thousand questions
Making her brain hurt trying to remember Who? What? Why? Where?
She looks across at the girl, does she know things about her?
Could she tell her if she’s some mother’s daughter? Is she some man’s love?
A sensory overload of emotions drives her to anguish

The nurse gently puts the mirror back in her hand
Urging her to keep looking,
She tells her that sometimes it triggers a memory
She looks at the mirror 
The girl with the green eyes 
Looks back at her

Braided neatly is her long thick brown hair
She has a smattering of freckles on her upturned nose
Just enough to give her a somewhat cute look
She looks disenchanted - gone is her penetrating stare

Memory is not just where she left the keys
It is the essence of who she is
But the silence is still unbroken
And only stillness remains

Midnight - and she finds herself at the window
Gazing at a moon that no doubt reflects her feelings
Did she experience love in a man’s arms
Did she dance in happiness beneath the glow?

Perhaps sunrise will bring a new morning
Perhaps with it her memories
And she knows she must not give in
To fears of a fatalistic warning

Because from midnight to the morning’s sun
Is after all when new memories will begin
Unlocking a new Life and Hope renewed?
Look! A New Day has already begun!

Stay tuned for next Episode
Continued in ... 'Blind Terror' - (Memories Episode 2)

Episode list in consecutive order:
Memories - Episode 1
Blind Terror - (Memories Episode 2)
Wistful Expectations - (Memories Episode 3)
Deception - (Memories Episode 4)
Run Run As Fast As You Can - (Memories Episode 5)
Running - (Memories Episode 6)

Music Video Clip Published on Oct 21, 2016
'Memory' by Gheorghe Zamfir

Details | Memory Poem |

A Nook and a Storybook

Oh, give me a nook and a storybook
there at my mother’s knee.
Or tucked in bed, a pillow at my head
as father reads to me.

To hear nursery rhymes - wonderful times
when Mother used my name
inside a rhyme. Oh, for childhood sublime!
Old age is not the same!

Of Cinderella and a cute fella
I used to listen to.
Romantic the tale where all ended well,
and love they said was true.

But I’d  graduate from my childlike state.
Alone I soon would read
less beautiful things, in which a prince brings
no rose; instead, a weed.

Oh, to return to before I could learn
of life’s realities!
Where endings were good I’d go if I could
reliving memories.

In that nook I’d be, my mother with me
where books I’d  learned to love.
That would be enough because it’s the stuff
fairy tales are made of!


April 26, 2016 
Now for Line Gauthier's 'ANY RHYME FORM - AN EARLY CHILDHOOD MEMORY' Poetry Contest

Details | Memory Poem |

Remembered In Thy Full Bloom - End - A Collaboration With Robert Lindley And Teppo Gren

And now doth come my end, I see death's light, 
death doth touch my heart, now eternal love. 
My beloved, I see thee shining bright, 
I now praise death as I ascend above. 

As my life's last shadow so swiftly falls, 
pray I, this aching soul hears thy dear voice. 
Ancient echoes whisper love words, thy calls, 
now dear wife, I fly forth, your love my choice. 

In heaven‘s garden thy rose blooms in trine, 
as love’s eternal bond in sacred love 
is cast beyond the faith of God’s design, 
and prayers of truth are whispered up above.  


Notes:

This poem was written to try and find the sadness of a man lost in deep despair. His only escape are those small moments when his memories sigh his beloved to him. He is ready to welcome death so he can be with and hold his beloved again. Death will be a release.

Poem started 20. 03. 2017.
Poem finished 08. 04. 2017.
Poem posted 10. 04. 2017.


Syllable count..........400
Word count.............464
Line count ..............60


It has been both an honour and a pleasure to work on this piece with Robert and Teppo. They did make it so easy for me with their wonderful words to play off. The journey through words with my two friends was well worth the taking. 

Your Friend always....Mike.

Details | Memory Poem |

Avi, oh Avi

Oh Avi, Avi
  Sometimes, with my eyes closed
    I see you dance
      A dervish, whirling, like me
        And I wished
          Oh how I wished you would
            pirouette into my arms
              You would hold me
                How I would hold you

                  But my arms and yours
                caught girls, alluring and delicate
              Oh Avi, Avi
            When you laughed
                                          My stomach turned
                             And multi-coloured butterflies
             And small flying kites
danced into the air

     Occasionally you glanced at me
       the way I did at you
       I think you did
Oh Avi, Avi
        We were so young
                Just boys, small boys
Thinking about you still
  makes my day smile

             I wheel my chair
        With light rhythmic movements
   Dreaming about a time
  Where I still had dreams
     And you were in them
          With our tights and muscular
               Frames and our *****
             Avi, oh Avi.

***

March 7, 2017
© Darren White

Details | Memory Poem |

The red wheelbarrow

The old red wheelbarrow is still standing there
right next to my Grandfather’s fixed rocking chair.
Though neither has moved in a good many years
their presence revives former  laughter and tears.

As children, my Grandfather placed us inside
the bright red wheelbarrow and off we would ride.
Down rough country tracks to the orchard we’d go
returning with plentiful apples in tow.

I once asked my Grandfather why it was red,
‘That was your Gran's favourite colour’ he said.
And red were the roses he laid by the side
of the grave where he mourned for his beautiful bride.

When Grandfather died, I just hadn't the heart
to cast on the scrap heap his rusty red cart.
And so by his rocking chair it shall remain
to take me on journeys down memory lane.




06/08/18

For Your Poetry Journal 	Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings

Details | Memory Poem |

A Beautiful Day

Bright eyes,
blue skies,
it's a beautiful day!

"Let's go, Mama!" her cheer,
down the tall slide, no fear.
Twisting, bumping, "this is fun"
one more bend then it's done.
from the bottom goofy laughter.
One more go, another after.

"Come on, Mama!" she tugs
off to the swings after hugs.
back and forth, smiles soar
keep on going, swing some more!
Chain rattles with gaining speed,
she kicks her legs with excited need.
"Look at me Mama, I'm going high!
Look Mama, look Mama, I caught the sky!"

"There Mama, let's play in the sand"
off the swing in a quick demand.
Castle made with stick flags on top,
another bucket and we don't stop.
Laying back she buries her toes
and wiggles when sand gets in her nose.
Shake it off she says "I'm hungry"
it's time for a picnic, her and me.

Days like this, so fun and sweet.
Mama and daughter, summer heat.
True smiles of discovery
always to be cherished... my girl and me.
 

Blue skies,
Bright eyes,
it's a beautiful day!

Details | Memory Poem |

Who I Would Bring Back

Who would I bring back, if I had only one
Perhaps a great leader, Kennedy or Lincoln

Or I could choose a musical icon
Such as John Lennon or Michael Jackson

Maybe a legend of the silver screen
Maybe Marilyn Monroe or James Dean

All gifts to the world, but the selfish truth
I would bring back the mother of my youth

The mother who, with sublime grace,
Applied lipstick and blush to her ivory face

The mother whose delicate jasmine perfume
Filled my childhood's every room

Whose all-day-long-to-cook beef stew
Was the first comfort food I knew

Her dancing steps, so full of ease
Until the claws of arthritis seized

Her laughter so free, her hugs so giving
Before these days of assisted living

I would return the fire to her hair
And raise her from the wheelchair

And, as I used to, watch her choose
Her dress, earrings, necklace and shoes

Then she'll softly kiss my cheek
Before going out, coiffed and sleek

To her I would give my own energy
To be, again, the woman in my memory...

10/09/18
for Caren Krutsinger's 'Who Would You Bring Back' contest

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 |

In Memory Leonard Cohen

The End of Love

A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools


Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too

Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose

The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame

Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time

Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
Hearts
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins

Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
Hallelujah



In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.

Best Memory Poems | Poetry

New Memory Poems

The Best Memory Poems

Sleepless Night

Leaf

Coffee Colored Memories

The Ride

Once Upon a Purple Sunrise

White Cane

Recalling Her

Sand Dollar Dreams

The Bard of Gort

A Purple Ribbon

Sleepwalking

Watercolor Afternoon

When I Dream Deep

The Old House

A Night At The Desolate Harbor

HIDDEN MEMORIES

Memories - Episode 1

A Nook and a Storybook

Remembered In Thy Full Bloom - End - A Collaboration With Robert Lindley And Teppo Gren

Avi, oh Avi

The red wheelbarrow

A Beautiful Day

Who I Would Bring Back

Soul mates solace

In Memory Leonard Cohen