Long Unremembered Poems
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Parasites, these
unremembered memories
unbidden guests
made themselves at home
within my breast
And suckled in silence
‘til lifeblood waned
vitality drained
only traces remain
of who I was
Now I have become
an ungracious host
shadowy ghost
in a hollow shell
with nothing to feed
these guests’ great need
Odd sensation of wriggling
I feel them digging
their way out of my skin
as alarmed I view
their fight for survival
breaking through
Parasites, these
obtrusive memories
no longer silent
swollen full of violent
past imagery
painful to see
(NOTE: This is NOT a new write- I actually wrote this in 2015, but I thought it might give someone else an idea for the "Remembering What You Want To Forget" Poetry Contest)...
Shizumanu Taiyo
Japanese Flight 123
[Verse 1]
They say you are a sun that never set
I thought the time would never come
Remembering the unremembered, forever without beauty
Now, I sit and wonder what it would be like
[Pre-Chorus]
Do I just pretend it doesn’t matter?
I'll forever be waiting
The day will never end
Cleaning the wound of never seeing you
You belong to the sky
[Chorus]
The pain of a never-setting sun
The pain of a never-setting sun
The pain of a never-setting sun
A question unanswered
Time unshared
The reality that you are no more
[Verse 2]
Every day, I can’t help but wonder and pray
How can you mourn someone you’ve never met?
I can never look at darkness the same again
My tears have forever stained a part of my soul
[Pre-Chorus]
And the sky is dark and grey
Even though the sun is bright and red
Now, you are running in the sky
And I don’t know how to chase
I’ve fallen behind
[Chorus]
The pain of a never-setting sun
The pain of a never-setting sun
The pain of a never-setting sun
A question unanswered
Time unshared
The reality that you are no more
A never-setting sun
A never-setting sun
A lifetime forever unfinished
[Post-Chorus]
My tears won’t fall anymore
(You belong to the sky)
My tears won’t fall anymore
(You belong to the sky)
[Bridge]
How long can this go on
You were taken before my life could begin
You have my heart, and you left
All I’ve done is wonder and pray
Fighting for a reality that will never come true
The pain of an end (Time unshared)
Forever a question unanswered
A death to beauty everywhere
When red and orange collide
You have fallen
Forever a part of the sky (Never-ending)
A flight away from what could have been (A question unanswered)
Why did it have to be you (Time unshared)
To wonder for eternity
[Outro]
You’re a sun that never set
A sun that never set
I can’t see the light
The pain of a never-setting sun
We’ve left behind orphans, you and I,
a gaggle of memories like street urchins
left to starve and die in the
city of self-imposed amnesia.
We’ve staged our own deaths,
reciting happy obituaries of our former selves,
birth announcements of our new incarnations,
everyone duly notified of fissure and closure.
So that those troublesome orphans,
believing us dead,
homeless, unattended,
are left forever behind;
memories unremembered,
past disowned by present.
But they know where we are,
and they come,
knock on the doors behind which
we’re safely ensconced in new lives.
We let them knock,
cringing and waiting
with furtive glances
from behind closed curtains
until they finally recede into the night.
They are unconcerned, these little orphans.
The camouflage of our reinvented selves
don’t hide us.
They will be back.
I walked into the far-left corner where the cedars thin and fade,
A patch of earth the sun avoids — a quiet, heavy shade.
No carved white headstones here, no marble warmed by morning light,
Just jagged stones half-buried, leaning crooked in the fading night.
The grass grows patchy here, as if afraid to claim the ground,
And every step feels softer, like the soil wants to swallow sound.
A chill moved through the tree line as if the wind had something to confess,
And I felt it circle round me, grieving lives it couldn't bless.
No names, no dates, no stories pressed into the waiting clay,
Just markers sharp with silence — cruel reminders of the names we let decay.
I knelt beside a stone gone smooth on one side, broken on the other edge,
A fragment of a life left unrecorded, buried beneath a vowless pledge.
I felt the weight of every absence settling heavy in my chest,
A ledger of the overlooked — the ones forgotten with the rest.
Each stone stood like a question we were never brave enough to ask,
Proof of how humanity fails when remembrance becomes a task.
I touched a jagged marker, felt it cold and tight beneath my hand,
And wondered who once stood above this grave, and why no one chose to stand.
The earth here holds a darkness older than the cemetery’s bones,
As if it memorized the sorrow of each life that died alone.
Peace isn’t found in doves; it’s in the graves the world won’t see,
Where dignity begins by facing who was denied their right to be.
So I whispered to their resting place what time refused to keep:
You deserved more than broken stones, more than this unremembered sleep.
I whispered to the stones again, though I knew they could not hear,
Because remembrance is a fragile mercy — and mercy rarely lingers here.
When I walked away, the shadows closed like they’d never let me in,
And the forgotten stones remained unchanged — as forgotten as they’ve always been.
A 1952s
I pulled the penny from my pocket to toss it
In the change jar. All my change goes immediately
Into the jar upon arriving home. There it collects
Until I go to the bank and have it spun into paper.
Government printing presses have reduced coins
To money crumbs; pennies, more nuisance
Than value except when a clerk says, “That'll be $3.01”,
And not having a penny means 99 cents more for the jar.
Today was different. This time I looked at the date
On a coin. Why this time? The reflex of an old habit perhaps.
But I haven't collected pennies for years. My old album
Is stored away in a box with coins and bills labeled “granddaughters”
In case one of them has a curiosity about money before plastic or bitcoin.
My penny is stamped with the year 1952 and the letter “s” beneath.
“Give ‘em hell" Harry Truman was President then, the war in Korea raged
And the Red Menace grew. My ‘52s, a copper “wheat penny”, is no longer
Minted, but Abe, the Great Emancipator, now on inflation zinc, endures.
Wait, no - that would be too much! Could there be an empty
Space in the album still wanting a 1952s? I admit to feeling
Some excitement digging through the box and opening
The album titled “Lincoln Cents, 1909 - 1958.” But there it was,
The place labeled 1952s - and its empty! Oh, I'm a kid again!
But where has the penny been all these years since leaving
The San Francisco mint? How did it come to be in my “Sooner”
Pocket? How many other pockets, purses, or piggy banks have held it?
In passing from hand to hand it served to purchase satisfactions,
Give help with decisions or carry a wish. The penny gave its youthful
Gleaming to many uses now unremembered, yet the simple coin
Retains the price for my thinking:
“One’s true worth retains its luster, if in our outward dimming
We serve to brighten others”
Copyright 2017, Paul Thomson
There's a beach ball stuck in the rafters of the pool, It's been there for the 7 years I've been coming here, It contains air from the lungs of an unknown person, An essence that rests here though they left and likely never considered the fact, I wonder all the places, There, I've left pieces of me, I've caught sight of the unknown, Known but not seen, Recalled gently where my presence never left a place but I never returned, Sometimes I encounter it with a long lost friend who has a memory or an item I made, a saying or dance I embodied that they kept somehow, There are some people I'd like to ask – who I was in that moment of my life when we passed, I hope those fragments are more than the air I breathed on an unremembered day, And the reason people smile and hold an item in their hands to conjure back as I do on occasions, Small links of the unforgotten piece me together as someone who existed.
August 11, 2023.
Dreaming
A king of once dreamed about cows, of which some were fat and others lean.
If you are like me, you often forget your dreams; but I suspect that we all at some point have dreams.
Some dreams are less controlled by us, and unfold while we are at ease and sleeping. Other dreams are aspirations and longings of the heart, desires to be accomplished and achieved.
This dream of mine, recorded nearly nine years ago, unremembered by me which type it was. My best guess would be that it was not a sleeping dream; but who besides God knows for sure? Anyway, I shall invite you into my world of a dream, and whether sleep or awake, it is most dear to me.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
In my dream, there were no more fearful screams, and parents did not hide their kids from murder scenes
The codes to nuclear bombs somehow vanished, People in Africa and Asia ceased to be famish,
and all crises, crimes, and wars were banished
The United Nations suddenly had no need for existence,
And all nations of the world experienced peaceful coexistence
The stock markets were no longer breeding grounds for greed
Wall Street and stock markets the world over operated under new creeds
People no longer practiced ‘all for self, and God for us all’.
It was all for all and all for God; and we all stood free and tall
That’s when the whole world began to recover from the fall
08132015 ( written 12122006)PS Contest, Dreams(poem about dreams)
by Royal Ninja
Skies of grey from yesterday
and yesterdays to be forgot
that brought the snows of gloom’s dismay,
elicit tears that grief begot.
Feelings felt from deep within,
emotions flowing from the soul,
displayed from teary eyes begin,
to pour like rain beyond control.
“Tears are like the quiet drift
of petals from some magic rose,
and grief yet flowing from the rift
of unremembered skies and snows.”
The magic rose whose comfort seeks,
but, yet her thorns, a heart, will pierce,
and tears that flow upon one’s cheeks
will leave their stains with sorrow fierce.
Memories for which one cries,
and sorrow’s grief that now remains,
with stormy skies and teary eyes,
are left behind to bear these pains.
April 29, 2021
The third stanza written by Joseph May.
What fire works
Fire works crackle crunch coagulate
send the guiding stars of darkness into space
from Phoenix to ashes ember amber empathy
forgotten exploding in the heart of unremembered kindness
A giant mushroom in the sky look carefully
you’ll only see it once this beautiful display
of melted cracking spirit humanity fusing by fission
all equality in times of death bonfire rockets Me
A perpetrator by collusion capitalized in self-importance
apathy inertia clever words semantic masturbation
pen in hand computer keyboards sending drones of hate
democracy fireworks for all into the ruins of compassion
Colourful a level playing field for splashing red
blood white bone meal yellow bile contaminated
black blue hematoma where brain once was
and the poppy sprouts the wars to end all wars
Some can afford the fireworks some lives matter
more than others in the sparkling pentagon of madness
enflame the lateral collateral transnational cooperation
of demise destruction disregard for guts and gore for asphyxiation
Taking in one last breath of invested greedy inconvenient truth
I stand by and by the way by the trajectories of fire works’ insane
obliteration and contra-pose love as first and last stand before the world
the words implode when gutsy poems won’t suffice and never have
05th June 2016
WRESTLING I
Sitting still and wondering if there is light to come,
Not perfect with my creator but he always strengthens me,
This is me, not you, not him, not her and mostly not them,
Sometimes we battle with life and my combat started since birth and that’s me,
Always boxed in and isolated, that’s my life stamp, to say.
Lucky enough I went seasons and episodes from bad, worse to worst, Damn what a villain!
At my unremembered age and time, life was at a suicide door still not sure why the door closed on me, Only God knows,
Dead walking but alive and appreciating my presence at the moment,
Cries and screams is my on-repeat song; we live like that us the outcasts,
Sometimes I think am dreaming and will wake up one day and find it’s a better world,
Scanned my memory and found its clear of grudges, and that’s a win for me!
Some So-called wise man once told me to live ordinary, I still wonder what he meant,
Being an intellectual and praised by many, he advised me to be unknown to my ages and others, to ask? was that knowledge given? I don’t know to this day,
My identity is unauthorized and unclear to me and those close to me, in mind and many databases if you get what I mean,
Saw a country hero manipulated by opposite gender and that’s weakness and cowardice really, and that’s my view,
Pride kills and heard some die with it, that’s a lesson from the elders I pray it goes beyond and reaches.
Self-caring has taught me to always believe in the uncertainties,
Never had mutual talks with my folks, scattered here and there so strangers have free access,
Thankful, God and my guardian angels always at work, Father Bless those goodies that always have us at heart, Bless them abundantly,
Chaos, Dramas and the unworthy don’t take a sit at our table, that’s a fact and I got many rejections so hope your happy am not at it,
Heavy hearts take endless pain day by day and here we are my brother and my sister so don’t give up yet, till grave time as it’s only the final destination earthly.
TO THE WRESTLERS WOLRDWIDE