Piece by piece, bit by bit,
biting the steak, drinking the wine,
burying each cutout into its place.
My place in the banquet of life,
just like a puzzle, sometimes
sunshine yellow, sometimes fear,
midnight blue, a little unclear,
smiling when the quagmire
is revealed as a masterpiece.
Tight corners, dire straits,
when observed by passing time,
mere mosquito mementoes.
Souvenirs, those war wounds,
that touch the grandkid’s ears.
Many pieces will be picked up
through their years, as I disappear,
never completely, but eventually
melding into their big picture,
and so it goes through the generations,
biting the steak, drinking the wine,
reflections of time; crumbling cardboard
refined, sublime, wizened, sharp,
suspended, haloed; will progeny
interlock generations with gratitude?
Those we love don't go away.
They walk beside us every day.
We see their smiles in memories
and feel their essence in the breeze.
We relive family scenes in dreams
and feel their touch~~or so it seems.
We cherish things they once held dear,
mementoes now. They bring us cheer.
She found some mementoes stored in a box
before the new owners came to change the locks.
An assortment of items almost forgotten
now partly hidden under protective cotton.
The items were in her late husband's dresser;
reminders of the days when he tried to impress her.
Some old coins, a yellowed program, a dog-eared ticket;
her memories stirred and for just a minute
husband and wife were united, if only in spirit.
Two soulmates: one on earth, one up above,
linked by ephemera, but forever in love.
Ah, endless crescendoes….
Golden soft harps, I hear.
Musical scales of love, no fear.
Songs, gold mementoes….
10/22/2022
Motion's mementoes --
babe's tiny fingers uncurl
centenarian's eyebrow raised
the sun darting behind clouds
an earthworm's tortuous wiggling
performers all, a broad panorama --
seeking approval
glimpses of meaning
In a box
on a shelf,
I keep my memories there.
Old cards and pictures
of a time,
Which I don't mind to share.
But in my mind
and in my heart,
What brings this mother pride.
Those special times
I treasure most,
I keep them safe inside.
Written by,
Sheri Lynne Evans
June 3, 2005
If a fire broke out I would save my ancestry tree, wallet for Id, pictures of family indeed, birth certificate and deeds things that are personal to me, then family mementoes which are sentimental and what I really want and need is my Cadillac and its keys.
02/14/2019
If a fire broke out I would save my ancestry tree, wallet for Id, pictures of family indeed, birth certificate and deeds things that are personal to me, then family mementoes which are sentimental and what I really want and need is my Cadillac and its keys.
02/14/2019
If a fire broke out I would save my ancestry tree, wallet for Id, pictures of family indeed, birth certificate and deeds things that are personal to me, then family mementoes which are sentimental and what I really want and need is my Cadillac and its keys.
Curtains drawn drawing me in
past trinkets left as mementoes
reaching for stars and moments
filled with honeydew kisses
keepsakes kept inside
Sugared apple blossom scents
fill the void nowhere left to hide
scarlet petals wrapped in wonder
float atop the steamy waters
of a long lost one act play
Reflection of sated imperfection
staring into an open invitation
robes dropped but fearing a
cold shoulder a twist of fate
a simple smile can sedate
Pockets full of daisies held
the journey into futures
untold whispers in the breeze
putting a worried mind at ease
reliving a childhood dream
There it is having so enjoyed it
full of sunshine there in the med
tomorrow is day to catch plane home
you wish to turn clock back instead
Each day there has been so super
you’ve loved each one equally so
wanting each moment to last eternally
perfect your time to go ever so slow
That final day of the holiday
so sad but reality must be set
get the pressies to take home
your mementoes have to get
But the end must come to be sure
prepare yourself for that awful time
the sun waves goodbye so you wave back
take your seat as your bird takes it’s climb
Flight lands safely on home turf
it seems like yesterday I had left here
but hold the memories close to heart
then there won’t be so many a tear
(Some thoughts recently on leaving for home after holiday in Italy)
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 8
The pain that M’m’selle inflicts on her toes
Twists itches in bums and bosoms of hope
Each in his own way straps on strappados
Mascaraed serene face trots on stilettos
Embryos oblivious violent lope
The pain that M’m’selle inflicts on her toes
Paths to pleasure lead through stabbing throes
Sadistic brutes loved more than sweet husband dope
Each in his own way straps on strappados
Tigress nape stung deep in tiger-tooth jaws
Thumped fury of loins turns mother salope
The pain that M’m’selle inflicts on her toes
The sacred act of making one life’s woes
Born of the terra moto gasping breath grope
Each in his own way straps on strappados
Still the Big-Bang whistles tinnitus mementoes
Is the Universe the result of wanton rape
The pain that M’m’selle inflicts on her toes
Each in his own way straps on strappados
© T. Wignesan – Pars, 2015
We said our goodbyes in June,
and the months since blur into mist.
At unexpected moments, awareness
of loss hits; tears spill unbidden.
Family gathering, Christmas Eve
as usual . . . minus one.
We quietly exchanged gifts,
found flowers from her funeral
crafted into hand-made jewelry,
kaleidoscopes, treasured mementoes.
I cooked grapes today, dark muscadines.
I extracted seeds and peelings,
and measured life-sustaining juice
through the metal funnel she used
from the day of her marriage.
It came to me dented and bent,
like her body had been at 93.
I still taste those fresh-from-the-oven
chocolate rolls after school,
garden tomatoes warmed by the sun,
hot biscuits with apple jelly,
squeezed from the peelings after
she baked crisp slices in cinnamon-rich pie.
I'm glad I didn't know then,
about being allergic to Cinnamon.
My heart bares many wounds
that will not heal
mementoes of lost love
and heartache time hasn't heeled
I have cried so many internal tears
that burned inside me
as deep as the deepest sea
but still no one understands
or knows the pain that festers deep inside me.
So I place barbed wire around my heart
and barbed wire around my lips
build a brick wall around me
that no one can strip.
I've raised the drawbridge locked the gate
being a loser in love
was my curse my fate.
''An old poem, the drawbridge is now down!.''
Peter Dome .copyright.2013. Dec.
Having flown with you.
Having watched you wither.
Beauty remains,
But the most beautiful has blown away.
Memories remain.
Mementoes remain.
Hate the remains of my life without you.
Mistakenly
You have taken me
To the open, angry earth.
You have left me to claw my casket.
Scraping,
Scratching,
Spastically striving...
To escape,
To survive.
I’m alive!
Withered,
Wired,
Watch the whimsical poet.
Flying,
Frying,
The bastard with the bowl.
I had five days to choose the chosen.
Five days to direct the destiny of the predestined.
Five days done gone by...
Loved no one.
Felt so low.
Felt I was going nowhere...
There was nowhere to go.
Felt I knew no friends...
There were no friends to know.
Solitary.
I have succumbed to seclusion.
Beat down.
Feeling the dry ground.
Fearing the melodic sound:
My desperate breathing.
My own heart beating.
But my fears could not imagine the depth of lonliness.
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