Long Forgetfulness Poems
Long Forgetfulness Poems. Below are the most popular long Forgetfulness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Forgetfulness poems by poem length and keyword.
Chubby little dimpled hand’s reach up to stroke my face
Happy cowboy booted boy, with hair all out of place
Broken nose, stepped on shoes, doggies left behind,
These are the things as I grow old, is running through my mind.
It only took a dollar to win a skip bow game
And if you lost the first one, we would play again
The homemade pizza and the pop would add to all the fun.
If you won $2.00 you’d be the lucky one.
How precious do those days now seem with all the children gone
Their children grown and have their own. Where do I now belong?
Tiny children calling grandma, I look around to see,
But they are calling my child, no longer calling me.
Life’s gone so fast, what do I do with the days that’s left ahead?
How many book’s can I read or how long stay in the bed.
The years have taken toll on me, and bones within me ache
Forgetfulness encamps my mind of the pills that I should take.
They call these the golden years, they say they’ll come a time,
When I will say I’ll take my rest and life will be a rhyme,
Of words I put together, to say how I do feel,
Forgotten, Laid aside for now, Hey what is the deal?
I once was young but now I’m old and I can only see,
The path that’s laid before me and I shall walk with thee.
Oh gates now open wide for me, do you see me coming in?
The brightness of your being Lord has made me to live again.
The ones I’ve loved are waiting, their hands stretched out to me.
Mother’s, father’s, cherished ones I see oh now I see.
Rejoicing, laughing, loving ones, oh wait I hear my name
Grandma, Grandma comes the cry,I turn to see the same
Loving girls hand in hand as they rush forth for me
sunlight shining in their hair, death had set them free.
I catch them up close to me and I finally get to say
I am so glad to be with you, you'll brighten up my day.
Let me tell you of your mother's that have missed you very much
Who would have given everything to feel your baby touch
How fast life goes and very soon they will come here too
To share with you the beauty and their joy of loving you.
But now I will remember…dimpled hands upon my face,
Cowboy booted little boy with hair all out of place.
I look back and I can see how lucky I have been
To have those precious moments, that I relive again.
So booted boy and dimpled hand’s, so fair, so fair of face.
I put you back within my heart, till I have run the race.
> Walking into that bar
>
> That nefarious den of
> iniquity and evilness
>
> Twenty drinks too sober
> The scent of bad craziness
>
> Hung in the air
> Like an over ripe mango
> Desperately seeking to have
> sex
> With wild, dressed up bananas
> Running around with the Orange Man
> Down the Street
> The Moon looks out on the mad
> scene
> Sniffs the air
>
> Saying, "Man, this is
> bad craziness"
>
> And runs away to join her
> lover the Sun
>
> In an orgy of drunken
> forgetfulness
> The Planet Mars, not amused
> Chases after the maiden Venus
> Under the cold, calculating
> glances of the Planet Pluto
> The Moon and the Sun
>
> Rent a room in the Hotel
> Venus
>
> Across from the Jupiter All
> Night Diner
> Cosmic **** kickers
>
> Out for a night of Earth
> bashing
> The Earth trembles, shaken
> Moans with passion
> And I awake
>
> Saying, that was bad
> craziness
> Out there on the edge
>
> Between the inner me and the
> outer Zone
> I went on down the road
>
> And met a lady
>
> A outlaw lady on the far side
> Money, power, passion
> Rolled up in a bundle
>
> Electric chemistry
> Fills my head
>
> Zapping my brain
> Into demented muscles
> Paranoid, pulsating images
> Scream out
>
> With mad passion
> And demented noises
> The night turns ugly fast
>
> And very, very weird
>
> Weirdness in the air
> Scent of bad craziness
> The moon
> Is freaked out
>
> The Sun falls asleep in the
> gutter
>
> And I say to myself
>
> I'm just another cosmic Guy
> On the loose, on the edge,
> On the wild side of things
>
> Watching the show,
> Unfold,
> I wonder, is this all
> A drunken bum show?
>
> Who is the star, who is she
>
> The maiden up there in the
> bar
> Black, leather jackets
>
> On stage naked visions of
> nightly lust
> Dancing with an attitude that
> could kill
> An elephant in heat
>
> And the Moon
>
> Continues to dance across the
> evening sky
>
> Satisfied, allows mankind to
> sleep it off
\ Yet another night in the City
> of demented Angels
>
> Finally rest as the sun comes
> up
>
> The masks come back on
>
> And I walk down the road
>
> Putting everything back into
> the box
> Until the next night
>
> Of bad craziness
> Lets the wild beast within
> Escape its leash.
>
> Bad Craziness rising yet
> again
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
In the thicket forgotten of deeply anchored thoughts,
Where ideas nest, across time and tailored spaces,
There I stand, guardian of the undimmed realm, the archivist of the flame
That knows not extinguishing in the beating winds of history,
Guarding the pure light that does not fracture from darkness.
Shadow does not frighten me, in the tumultuous whirl of the ephemeral moment,
The virility of my pen is the bastion safe from political venom,
In my fortress of books, ideas, and eternally glimpsed dreams,
A candle of knowledge, a lighthouse piercing the fog of despair,
And my intellect, a fleet that can quench the thirst of the abyss.
I am the knight battling the windmills of forgetfulness and ignorance,
At war with the shadows that attempt to speak of present suppression,
A country does not parade its grandeur in the fleeting plays of political stages,
But in the echo it leaves through a waltz of creative genius in the world's libraries,
Through art, science, and the poetry whispered by blossoming briar circles.
A nation does not stretch into the arms of death when it is defeated,
Nor embraces the poison when lords change or thrones waver,
But on the wings of those who walked through the subtle circles of thought,
They leave an endless imprint of the dream in the springs of eternity,
Weaving its chronicles, over centuries and wisdom its people grow.
And I, amongst waves of misunderstanding and barriers of indifference,
Submerged in creations that speak in languages only the stars comprehend,
I traverse the fine line between present and dreaming eternity,
I build from words a wall that no terrestrial battle can crumble.
I watch how politics spins like an old mill in the fickle wind,
But I keep my distance, with my quill dipped in eternal ink,
Agony and ecstasy, in a wondrous dance of knowledge,
Never forgetting that the sunrise from my mind is the rebirth of the world.
Beneath my intellectual hoard, with its invincible nature,
I warm centuries, illuminate unfoldings, and cultivate hope,
For, regardless of the whirlwind that beats at my gate,
I am master of my counsel and the dream I embrace.
Politics may haunt the streets and squares,
But the eternal plays in the laboratories of my tranquil mind,
Where I, the architect of this human sanctuary, undefeated,
Weaving eternity with my intellect, remain.
Hush, the world will never know the mystery hidden in silences,
Paper bird feathers, drifting like the specters of unspoken dreams,
From my heart, scattering like stardust on angel wings,
Grains of dreams carried by infinity, suspended in the universe of an unwary thought.
Neither the reddish breeze of autumn, caressing the leaves like a messenger of sacred shadows,
Nor the melancholic rain enveloping our souls in mantles of endless longing,
Cups of dreams and wishes, scattering like petals in the ocean of destiny,
As I, like a wandering wind, lose myself among the falling leaves like dreaming tombs.
And no star in the opal sky, will ever know how its gaze captivates me,
How it embraces me in its blinding blue, like a wave crashing on the shores of solitude,
In cold and painful velvet, touching my heart like a shadow's caress,
In opulent silver masks, playing their roles in the theater of the night.
How I lost my heart, on an undiscovered realm, hidden under the cosmic blanket,
I gathered in my palms your poison, like an elixir of forgetfulness,
And I savored you slowly, tearing the eardrums of my soul with sweet-bitter pain,
Now you are just a deep wound, shining like a falling star among shadows.
Hush, no one will know the story woven in golden sunsets,
With how much love you, my specter, enchanted me among bleeding roses,
Seduced me in secret gardens, under the shadows of solitary trees.
Not even you know how profoundly I loved you, in the silent evening of farewell.
Moments passed like the waves of an ocean of suspended dreams,
We, eternal prisoners of a love buried in twilight,
Danced in the cold halls of the castle of oblivion, under the gaze of the pale moon,
Stars of old sighs, silent witnesses of our lost longing.
The paper bird, bearer of our hidden messages,
Flies into infinity, carrying with it the echoes of a mystic love,
We, eternal travelers through the lands of memory, remain chained by unfulfilled desires,
Your poison is now the source of melancholy, a dance of strange shadows and lights.
Hush, let's stay silent, the world doesn't need to know our secret trill,
Our love was a melancholic waltz on the edge of eternity,
An enchanted painting, painted in shades of silver and tears,
On the canvas of a life that knew how to love and to lose in a harmony of stars and dreams.
The older I get, the more I forget the names of colors.
Would you call this paint amber, burnt ochre, or clay?
Would it were the same with all of my dolors.
But age hasn’t washed any of my dolors away.
I finally saw hills as old as me,
and it was a pitiful sight to see,
with many a crevice and facial scar,
and so, pointing at the hills,
I asked my dearest wife, Shar,
"Is that what I look like?"
She said, “No, that's is not what you look like.
That’s what you are."
Only two o'clock ~ still an hour till it's three.
Time's passing slower than eternity.
Now it's four, and as even the clock's cuckoo can see ~
I'm having trouble with this end-of-life monotony.
How much longer till it's five o'clock ~
and I can put this head of lettuce on the chopping block?
Tick ~ tock ~
tick ~ tock ~
tick~ tock...
That's life ~ in a game with grandpa ~
running down the clock.
As I reflect on my old body’s daily decay,
I wonder ~ did God really mean to do it this way?
Couldn't He have let me journey to life's end, whole and entire,
instead of having part after part of me periodically misfire?
You assert emphatically, "Yes! He really meant to do it this way!"
Okay.
When you're old, you know what's really insane?
It's when you're going down memory lane,
but you find nobody there
with whom a memory to share.
And you wonder ~ am I in the right brain?
My route home seems to have been mislaid.
I have a feeling I've walked way past the Fire Brigade.
And where's that street
where the park and the bicycle path meet?
I'm completely lost! ~ My God!
I'm so afraid.
One thing when you get this old
is that your body can get so unbearably cold,
because your skin gets so thin,
it lets all the iciness in,
and then a hot partner is worth their weight in gold.
You know how it is
when cola loses its fizz.
That's kinda what happened here.
And what can I say but, 'Sorry, my dear?'
I kinda feel like I've flunked the pop quiz.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead.
Rather have everyone don a motley party hat.
And if anyone's inclined to cry,
please say, "Don't shed a tear for this old guy,
cuz he's gonna live it up ~ in the sweet bye and bye.
No one ever asks for what everything is, a cosmic cycle of shadows and lost light,
You will be buried in the clothes of unfulfilled dreams, mantles of light and throbbing illusions,
Or, like all of us, modest souls who cannot pay for grand transitions, we will spin
On the eternal winds, freed from our earthly forms, an ethereal thought in the dance of the stars,
The crematorium opens like a star gate, a dragon of fire and change,
Refining us, our skin melts into the sacred steam of purification, we burn like stars
In a starry night, transforming into the magic dust of eternity, ash
Scattered in the mysterious landscapes of forgetfulness, as if sprinkling an ashtray
In a millennial breeze with a forgotten name.
Every dream, a spark in the infinite universe, silver butterflies
Losing their wings in the dance of eternity. We hide in the rainbow of days gone by,
Too poor for marble altars, silence is our silent witness,
An ethereal echo in the vastness of the universe, we get lost among the enchanted leaves of trees,
Our ashes nourish the earth, returning to the cosmic beginnings,
In the blessed arms of mother Gaia, nameless, formless,
A luminous dust rising in a beam of light, dancing in the cosmic silence.
No one remembers us anymore, enchanted stories lost in the untouched magic books,
Buried in white pages and incantation verses, ethereal spirits
Wandering the infinite corridors of the universe. Better to burn in the strong winds of desire,
Than to wither under the weight of earthly years, prisoners of stellar oblivion.
The fires dance in the eternal night, a mysterious and extraordinary spectacle,
Burning our desires, purifying our dreams, leaving behind the dust of dreams,
A luminous trace that is lost in the galactic depths of time.
Memories, our falling comets, scattered in the cold wind of infinity,
Embracing the earth like a wave of magic and nostalgia,
Better to be ethereal voices echoing in the cosmic silence,
To be ghosts singing their own rebirth,
In a universe that does not ask, does not seek, only eternally transforms.
Our ashes, enchanted dust, scattered in the forests
Of eternal forgetfulness, where trees embrace the sky and rivers always flow towards the stellar seas,
Without regrets, without complaints, just a magical equation revealed by eternity.
1#
Brewed tea
Wife and myself
Nothing between us
2#
He was metamorphosed
Into a frog
When his wife had left him
3#
I needed
A lonely woman
Thousand years back
4#
She shivered
In yellow sun
Struck by her coyness
5#
God travels
With three suitcases
One for me
6#
I kissed
Her frostiness
And my lips turned icebergs
7#
The bed
Gets embarrassed
At our nakedness
8#
Her hands
Stopped me
To pick evenings
9#
We two rested
In a cave of Kundalini
Behind the waterfall
10#
The alien woman
Travelled six moons
To deliver her baby in a burial ground
11#
An eagle swoops
On a field –mouse
Tables of wedding
12#
The woman kissed me
I felt her hollow ribs
As if in a spring dream
13#
The woman’s hair
Struck by a gale
Made waterfalls
14#
My wife locked
Me one fine evening
In my neighbour’s hole
15#
The rats are away
When mice take in
My wife’s clammy face
16#
The summer rain
In exasperation
Took wings to raid the moon
17#
Lolo my wife
Her green sleek steps
Thundered an innocent fly
18#
In the dead of night
God made two wives
One for me one for my neighbour
19#
My neighbour’s wife
Delivered a child
When I was asleep
20#
The woman said goodbye
And I took a fish for dinner
I mistook it for my wife
21#
My wife is a canvas
Where I paint
My forebodings
22#
A painter’s apprentice
In sheer foolishness
daubed in red my wife’s rear-view
23#
A squirrel saw my wife
And in haste
Lost her guava
24#
I was caught in neighbour’s bedroom
By my wife last summer
I lost my glasses
25#
A wolf entered the graveyard
Unannounced
And annoyed my wife
26#
Sarah my wife
Lumbering
Dizzy commuters
27#
Sarah wed me
And in brief forgetfulness
Greeted my neighbour
28#
A tiger ate Sarah my wife
It happened by accident
The tiger knows
29#
Morning bell
Wake up call
I want to sleep
30#
Pola my pet fly
Fouled things up
She ate my wife’s breakfast
31#
My dog Pintu
Hydrophobia
I set him free on my wife’s posterior
32#
Eons ago a butterfly
Gave birth to my wife
Now, a caterpillar
33#
A hard slap
Stammering
Hurricane Sarah will win
34#
You have gathered enough winters
Woman sighs
Leave one for me
35#
The woman flapped her wings
To clouded mountaintops
Silky as white
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Under the dark sky of 2025, where the Genetic Basin pulses
like an overloaded server beneath the shadows of a Sulimi,
my thoughts flow like a faulty algorithm through 6G networks,
whistling beneath faces lit by screens, with AirPods in ears,
running through Amazon Go, crushing biodegradable packaging,
in a digital chaos colder than the melted ice of the Arctic.
Faces of extinguished moons, scrolling TikTok under artificial neon,
with quantum phones vibrating in pockets, lost AI messages,
in the metaverses of a world forgetting to breathe under the gray sky.
Baneasa Mall, now an NFT hub, with free tokens fluttering,
like false stars, bots from online marketplaces invading,
shouting "IT'S FREE!", grabbing synthetic meat, solar energy by the box.
The autonomous bus rattles like a faulty drone, shaken,
where the Suleni virtually trample each other to be the first to board in AR,
to be the first to descend, to sit, crawling slowly through VR, but dashing,
like panthers at the "drop" of a rare NFT—a grotesque dance under the sky,
gray with climate change, under lost AI rhythms.
The Church of the "Holy Sepulchre", a 4K live stream, with digital bags,
sprinting at bayonet, ready to overturn a sanctified NFT, shouting,
"Sirrr, we're in line too!"—a knowing but blind mob,
under pixelated vaults of forgetfulness, under the heavy sky of 2025.
On graphene slabs, between cleaning robots and 3D printers,
I ask: those who built Opera, Roman baths, divine statues,
would they have crawled on nanotube floors for virtual energy?
The master whispers: "These were brought, heating with biofuel,
on trodden floors, with straw under the gray sky!" Today, assistance,
robotic parking, digital muddle, quantum discord, discipline,
under AI sanctions, like Pavlov's algorithm—a metaverse of oblivion.
Under the dim light of a holographic screen, I see the Sulimea as a shadow,
hybrid, with neural implants, unsporty digital fauns, lost.
In quantified globalization, wings broken by AI, stars melted in carbon clouds,
a drained Genetic Basin under the rhythms of an AI mimicking
Inna's voice—my melancholy is a lost code, an eternal bug, a dream,
magic under silent slabs, where Chess Pieces no longer see, and I remain, blind,
under the sky of 2025, an echo of a millennium shattered into ashes.
Beneath the burdens of countless nights,
In the cursed silence of the soul's waiting room,
I sat, the last one, loneliness carved by the chisel of forgetfulness into the stone of my heart,
Blocking him - he who left without looking back,
Left with longing, a heavy bracelet on a wrist of air.
In vain, I sipped from digital expectations,
Eyes thirsty for a phantom letter in the box of echoes,
The pain of seeing his connection without words for me,
The feeling of being lost with soles burning on carpets of illusions,
His indifference - a shroud that wraps me in night.
I say stop to this waltz drowned in tears - from now on,
The ties buried under the heap of forgetfulness,
What strange hurt to be silent when your whole universe spoke through him,
It wasn't so hard when he pushed me into the chasm of estrangement.
Once the image of him as a hero was sown in my soul, now the shadow of a stranger,
I wonder how small I can be in the mirror of disappointment,
Do I deserve this harsh forgetfulness after I gave my all?
Did success grow like a weed between us, or was it all just a lost game?
He pushed me away - far into the cold, bitter ocean,
Feeling only the foam of his indifference, a wave suffocating my love.
And now his once-adored shadow haunts,
The forgotten stranger walks free, and my heart is filled with cold.
They thought I watched for his newfound fame from beneath heavy lids,
But what I hunted was a love, one before any tally.
His once vibrant call now just an echo,
In my chest, the pyre's flame burns beneath the ash of his 'all is well.'
What a silent battle between what I was and what is expected of me,
A heart-ping-pong between guilts and a promise of the new.
This prosperity that seems to grind down the natural in people,
I turned to ask myself: Was I just a reflection in the mirror of his pride?
Reflecting on love, what it means, I find myself setting boundaries,
Limits enforced by the heart, known only to me,
I deserve respect, attention, and true care,
In love and life, there I will find my sanctuary for my soul.
Worthy of love, happiness, and light,
I will rise from this abyss, embracing the power that is mine.
Amid the echoes of pain, I will carve my path,
Turning wounds into newfound strength day by day, month by month, and year by year.