Long Memory loss Poems
Long Memory loss Poems. Below are the most popular long Memory loss by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Memory loss poems by poem length and keyword.
"Memories buried in the wavering wash of time."
I write you now with trembling hand,
The ink runs like the river sand,
Where once we laughed, side by side—
Now silence stands where you had died.
Your dog tags hang from rusted steel,
A ghost’s reminder I still feel.
Your voice just echoes in my chest,
A joke, a shout, your final rest.
We stormed the gates, we cursed the sky,
Shared cigarettes and questioned why
We made it home, but not as whole—
A folded flag, a shattered soul.
The days blur past, like boots in mud,
But time can’t rinse away your blood.
You haunt the dawn, the mess hall haze,
Each mile I march, each prayer I phrase.
"Memories buried in the wavering wash of time,"
But I still hear your voice in mine.
Sometimes I dream we're back again,
You throw a grin, my closest friend.
I held your hand as you grew cold,
So many truths I never told.
The guilt, it clings like desert dust,
And in my chest, that ache won't rust.
But here's the part I need to say,
The part that helps me breathe today:
I’ll live the life you couldn’t claim,
I'll light the dark that knew your name.
Each morning now, I stand and shave,
Salute the mirror, not the grave.
Your memory fuels each breath I take,
A sacred debt I won't forsake.
So rest, old friend. Your war is done.
I’ll carry both our shadows in the sun.
And when the silence takes my time,
We’ll meet again, past blood and grime.
Till then, your name's my marching song—
In heart and boots, I carry on.
Doors: Psycho-history 101
by Odin Roark
Doors absorb history
Whether by knocks
Slams
Shuts
Or slides
Doors have felt it all
Boulder
Metal
Wood
Plexiglas
Steel bars
Making different walls
Fences
Entrances
Exits
We are the users
Without us
There’d be no need for doors
Animals would run free
Without us
Nature’s light would permeate
Without mediation
Without welcome mats needed
How oximoronic this structure
To keep out
To keep in
Because we can’t handle what…?
The innate hard-wired thing called right and wrong choice?
Perhaps
Some would argue we are victims of circumstances
Ever take notice of the happenstance
Making up the most inventive
Resourceful
And permanent life on earth
Those pesky ants
Roaches
Rats
And lest we forget
The tribal depths of the Amazon
Where doors don’t exist
Where the uncivilized
Understanding of psycho-history 101
Grins no memory loss
Maybe something to think about
Next time you confront a wall
Without doors
Ask how you’d survive
There is an emptiness
between Hemingway’s words
A hollow sound
that slides off the page
The space creates distance
as the Old Man wanted
From the reader
and voyeurs of pain
“Distance between himself and the day
he hauled in that great fish
“Distance from that last great battle
calling out from beyond his reach
“Distance from the arena, where the
horns got close but death got closer
“And distance from the many women
he tried to love and failed”
No matter how far he lived afield,
be it Paris, Havana, or Ketchum
In no place was there distance enough
or where his words could be safe
The separation and memory loss
became deafening and finally too much
As he gave in to the distance
—one last and final time.
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
The daughter suspected there was something wrong…she found it most upsetting…when she began to notice all the little things her mother was forgetting.
And the more she saw her mother falter…her misplaced keys…her lost glasses…her forgotten shoes…The more confusion she saw on her mother’s face…the more and more she knew…
It made her want to throw something…to stomp her feet…to shout…
It was as if a hole had opened in her mother’s mind…and her memories were leaking out.
As she witnessed her mother’s increasing puzzlement…saw more memories fade into a blur…she secretly hoped her mom would never realize exactly what was happening to her.
Until the day she found her mother surrounded by old photos…old family albums too…the day she saw tears streaming down her mothers face…is they day she knew…she knew.
It took a moment for her mom to recognize her…both faces showing their strain…for how does a face reveal its love while trying to conceal its pain?
“So, Momma. What are you doing?” She asked…her worst fears playing out…Surrounded by all these albums…with these old photos strewn about?”
“I don’t quite understand.” Her mom cried. “It’s all just so bizarre…but when I look at some of the people in these photos…I can’t remember who they are.”
And so the daughter sat down with her mother…hoping for one more moment the inevitable to defer…and as they picked up and held each picture…she helped her remember who they were.
Despite doing everything in her power, however, everything she could think to do…the hole in her mother’s mind grew larger…and eventually…all of her memories fell through.
“Do you think Nana knew how much we loved her?” Her own daughter asked the day of her funeral…tears falling from her eyes of blue.
“Love is a feeling…not a memory.” She said hugging her daughter close…
And although Nana might not have shown it…
“She knew…
I’m sure she knew.”
Who Would Have Thought It!
Only Forty?
By: Tom Wright
9/98
Our lives are like and opened book,
from which we all read and learn.
We must always take a serious look,
before allowing It's pages to turn.
For as surely as each day will slip,
we'll become wiser along with age.
It seems our past is a blurry blip,
until we're turning our fortieth page.
As our body ages we may show wear,
like a book that the dog half ate.
We've lost teeth and some even hair,
with most all "Packin" extra weight.
Most past forty need glasses to see,
seems our arms have gotten shorter,
In a recliner, you'll be content to be,
though once considered a sporter.
My intent hasn't been to make you sad,
its just that I thought this was nifty.
And should you at forty think Its bad,
memory loss occurs around fifty.
At times in our past we were down,
with a feeling we couldn't keep pace.
God so gently removed our frown,
while placing us back in life's race.
I keep blossoms under my tongue
like contraband prayer, wet, bruised
a broken smile slides past me
sinister, undone, almost familiar
like contraband prayer, wet, bruised
a fallen guide drowns in mind rain
sinister, undone, almost familiar
seeking the now, an endless present
a fallen guide drowns in mind rain
a door to the cage named life
seeking the now, an endless present
it was never locked, not once
a door to the cage named life
bent, twisted by our hands
it was never locked, not once
we applaud thunder, swallow light
bent, twisted by our hands
I watch until nothing can bleed
we applaud thunder, swallow light
petals stuck between my teeth
I watch until nothing can bleed
sweet rot, a vow in disguise
petals stuck between my teeth
I laugh at saints in glass
sweet rot, a vow in disguise
then choke on the pollen
I laugh at saints in glass
a broken smile slides past me
then choke on the pollen
I keep blossoms under my tongue
a broken smile slides past me
sinister, undone, almost familiar
Bethany swum for Ireland in London’s Paras,
Her teacher dad used to be a church minister,
She enjoys the Christian Fellowship Church,
And raises her hands to praise god after races.
She has an intellectual disability, memory loss,
And comes from Seaforde in County Down, NI.
After London 2012 when she swam for Ireland,
She switched to representing team Great Britain.
2013, and the Worlds, French Montreal, Canada,
And Bethany sealed three terrific silver medals:
One for the 100m breaststroke, one for the back,
And another for the 200m free, the S14 category.
But then quite unnervingly she fractured her wrist,
Which questioned her readiness for Rio’s games,
In 2015, when she was training hard everyday,
For the Brazilian Paralympics much anticipated.
But on the approach to Rio at Funchal, Portugal,
She won silver in the breast, silver in the medley,
Which saw Bethany with speed qualify for Rio,
Where she scored straight across all the boards.
At Rio gold for the back, gold for the freestyle,
And a gold for the 200m medley, then a silver,
For her favourite stroke, for the breaststroke,
In the 100m breaststroke: she’s a big success.
In every moment of my dreadful life,
I remember you, my beloved.
As today is the day that lingers in my memories, now fractured,
The anniversary of your unfortunate departure.
As I think of all the days that are now of the past,
And the times when you were always around.
I shed my tears like I always do now,
Overflowing and uncontrollably going out of bounds.
The thought of what you could have been,
Still lingers like false hope in my mind.
It's a strange feeling, to be both happy and filled with despair,
I wonder if I'll ever normalise...
These days it’s like time drags its feet.
My grieving that's like a void in my once living heart,
The pain of losing you still hurting me dearly.
Oh, why must you leave me such in a now dreadful world?
Depression that consumes me each day,
Like the dark clouds covering the bright sky’s way,
With its rain taking the once dry land’s face,
Yet I wait for the glamouring sun to dry this insufferable rain away.
I’m still trying to close up my scars.
They say the ones you can't see,
Are the hardest to heal.
I wonder why this fate fell upon you, why it still hurts.
I think I'm getting better,
After you left me my beloved.
I’m trying to be the best I can be,
Trying to turn a new leaf.
I’ve met a girl that’s quite nice,
While at a college party.
No one could ever replace you Hailey,
But I feel she can be trusted.
Your memory lives on within me,
But I can't help but notice this new feeling.
I can finally trust someone!
That’s something new (ever since you left me).
The girl's name is Jessica,
And we’ve become rather close.
My feelings for you still yearn,
Like a bonfire left unattended; left out to preserve.
But now I am trying my best,
To recover from my lost faith.
I wish to see you again my beloved,
But for now I’m sure you believe me when I say:
Forever in my heart you’ll always be,
Best lovers just you and me.
And we’ll be having fun with everyone,
So young and feeling free.
Just you and me.
We promised to link our time eternal,
and yet, in a flash, he became drained
by some incurable strain of memory loss;
forgetting the warm love that knitted our arms…
I cringe; dear life ,sanctify us from harm I pray
his eyes reaching out, though living in another realm
and this varnished portrait I now hold with tears
cannot fade, cannot erase his smile bursting my veins.
Here, in a room with cinders as coffee tunes,
my flesh, thin flesh grows hungry, a bit angry
about his world unknown to him and me : a jungle tested
by stillness or steel… he remembers nothing
of moments brewed in simple joys and discoveries,
our bodies once locked on subways and parks,
tongues livid with laughter popping shrieks
darting on tall trees,giggling, giggling. i freeze...
My black coffee freezes at the damn thought
of other human arms embracing tight, not alone.
I cling to my beloved, wishing I could give
half of my mind to fill a space of his dementia.
I close the door gazing at him, chair-bound…
I am absent today.
PD's Best Love Poem #3
~ about Alzheimer's Disease
She flickers in the glass—
a glitch of golden déjà vu,
The paint strokes—bright, wild yellow,
but no warmth leak through.
I sometimes reach
for her dimming leaves
that hum against my skin then disappear.
I pull back and smell
ash, when nothing’s charred.
There were twelve petals yesterday,
now, only eleven.
I wake up and count again.
Still eleven,
or maybe
none.
(I’m not sure if I’ve woken,
even though I know
I tasted salt from my tears.)
Mother says we never got a dog.
But I remember—
the texture of his leather collar,
the white fur tickling my nose.
The sky runs—
watercolor pulled too far.
I check the time:
9:42 AM.
Then I open my eyes.
4:08.
She’s still there,
scorched
into my nightstand—
brushing mirage into my vision.
_______________
Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's sunflowers, which I cannot seem to stop thinking about.