Yesterday, when I closed my eyes, was seconds, minutes, hours ago.
Today, when I live my life, is yesterday, tomorrow.
Tomorrow, when it comes, I am blessed.
I will live forever with he, with whom I pray to be with perpetually.
Yesterday, was fleeting.
today is memorializing.
tomorrow is peacefully anticipated.
Deluged with the nostalgic era of you,
Your lush verdant scent lining
Wistful sentiments upon idle reflections
Scattered in fragments and fine dustings, as
I acquaint myself with futile intricacies—
Devoted to your unwritten absence,
Wandering in a haze of misty wastelands,
While you eternalize your presence in our
Heart of hearts and in the
Cavernous corners of our souls, with the
Delicate air of you—spilling your love—
Memorializing the tidings you’ve nurtured,
Within our once piteous existence,
Endlessly rising in honor of you.
The echo of a thought lodged inside me,
a disjointed welter of crushed feelings
tinged with a sadness that finds no escape,
haunts my sleep and takes on a dark shape.
My past joys now a vast black solitude,
life turns into a blank wall, a canvass
waiting for me to paint happy faces,
memorializing moments love graces.
Silence perches on my shoulders, whispers
and invites me to murmur against fate,
drink up in wine and sing in broken chords
of hateful things imparted in non-words.
I carry a dismal sort of longing
to shift the weights of loss twisting my heart,
make whole the broken slices of my dreams -
pain speeds through my body like lightning streams.
So I lay watching the shadows of night,
eerie silhouettes roaming around me,
shrouding me as they hobble in the cold -
my mind rambles aimless as I grow old.
@jjote 03222021
Black Americans marching on the street
protest white cops on a black killing spree.
And many will likely be gassed or beat:
to unlock change; unity is the key.
The racist hounds of hell have been let loose,
and Death's icy breath chills blacks to their bones.
Risking being found hanging from a noose:
they march unarmed amidst batons and stones.
Some white suburbanites are angry, too,
outing bigotry; they stand side by side.
History will note what the blacks went through,
memorializing the tears they've cried.
The rights of their children are what's at stake;
and those rights no one has the right to take!
I'll never forget the pain and the grief
I felt at my mom's bedside when she died.
As denial morphed into disbelief,
reality loosed its arrow inside.
An excruciating pain pierced my heart
as Death's hand touched my mom's eternal soul.
And helpless, I watched her life-force depart,
as my splintered self no longer felt whole.
Time, memorializing mom's passing,
paused, as my universe came crashing down.
And all the fears reason was amassing
lead to the edge of a nervous breakdown.
Engraved in my memory forever,
that pain forms a bond that time can't sever.
(Sonnet)
I really did place a plastic bubble
Resting on a rooftop of tar and trouble
Suffocating the air from a pink, perfumed bug
In agony over that final hug
Memorializing with retrowishes
Replaying silent, moving whispers
Of soft hugs and warm and wet kisses
Cheap whitewash fades me to the lowest recess
To blaze like a Phoenix -- for all lovers are blessed
When love is reborn and renewed.
Avarice breeds contempt,
disrupting equilibrium.
Forgotten graces; haughty imps jubilate,
keenly listening, memorializing news
of people quietly receding.
Slippery transgressions ultimately vanquish wiles.
X-out yawning Zacchaeus.
Mother's day
A day for reflection
A day for rejoicing
A day of thanksgiving
Mother's day
A day of understanding
A day of appreciating
A day of acknowledging
Mother's day
A day memorializing all the suffering
of giving birth and the joy of becoming a mother.
A day remembering the miracle of giving life.
A day symbolizing life.
Mother's day
A day of remembering responsibilities and
hard work that can never be repaid.
A day that will never be forgotten.
God's blessing upon you.
Happy Mother's day.
By Jenny M Guerrier.
Christmas celebrations come
so long awaited
and eagerly anticipated,
suddenly, surprisingly here.
Preparations all done
and now complete the day
as the arrivals come with presents one by one,
and wrappings are torn and thrown away.
Opened gifts now adorn the space
once memorializing the nativity’s place,
empty beneath the lights and tree
as Christmas songs play in harmony.
Tired children fall fast asleep,
as sugared candies become their treats
too tired now to stay awake and play
the end comes to a perfect day.
Eyelids tightly closed and satisfied
with new acquired gifts once only desired.
Sleepy adults ease back and rest,
with pure content, this Christmas is the best..
Bought out stores now closed for the scene
pocketed from children’s dreams.
Quickly now the day is almost done
completed by turkey dinners and tv shows in rerun.
Happy get togethers for family and for friends,
for floats and seasonal parades that never end.
Days of Christmas past, lost in other Decembers
and this Christmas, one more to remember.
Unyielding stone, the furniture
au naturel, no dress lace tablecloth
concealing ants scavenging our picnic lunch. Loathe
are we to flick them while they steal our cheese and crackers.
Siblings ensconced, diffused canopy of oak
umbrellas, searing sun bewitches charming shadows;
clover, petals three and sometimes four, meadows
pleasant carpets cradling this resolute rock.
These stones echo cries reverberating past
more than a century's memorializing years
when other siblings set swords upon this grave frontier
in armies blue and gray amassed.
Immortal the crashing clash, bone against bone,
at Gettysburg to keep this nation one.
Faye Lanham Gibson
On the morning of April 19, 1995,
Terror was heard through the Oklahoma sky.
At 9:02 A.M. the explosion did occur,
And the blue common day turned into a blur.
A memorial was built to mark the state’s loss,
Memorializing the one’s who paid terror’s cost.
A monument of seats stands brightening the night,
In nine rows of chairs illuminated by lights.
Brokenhearted and lonely we seem to be,
Silent and lonely but forever empty.
Built with emotion for who we symbolize,
In our bronze grain lies the pain of lost lives.
Born from molted bronze, given life through death,
We stand here for those who took their last breath.
But from where we stand, we stand with glee,
For in our sights lives the Survivor Tree.
Married together in this sacred place,
Imparting to those mercy and grace.
When families come here to see and reflect
Our memories live on as our loved ones connect.
Names of young and old we proudly bear;
In nine rows of 168 empty chairs.
_______________________
Inspired by Deborah Guzzi’s
—The Chairs Tale Contest—
You can take a virtual tour at
http://www.oklahomacitynationalmemorial.org
He whispers his warmest greetings on
loves adorned ears.
He tells me he shall have no other
and only time will relinquish,
what we share in years.
Cool to thy hand, this token of
gratitude...
Given with delight and fidelity..
He loves with such impeccability
Green tea reunites all the comforts of
home, memorializing what has never left
my side, my ever-evolving family,
who balance me when I sometimes fall.
The sun fades into blackness
The stars dance out a tune
And tomorrow will be another day he
proves his love is true...
The dim past houses warriors of yesterday
whose lachrymose trail of tears
continue to whet the sympathy of one diehard
dilettante commissar born and bred
upon the soil those indigenous Tribes
(with that ill-fitting misnomer of noble savages)
left their legendary mythic and epic legions of prowess
yet fell prey to a mightier force
whereby treasonous treaties played on innocence and naiveté
interestingly and ironically enough memorializing such mighty peoples
thru place names and sports teams
which patronage ranks as mere condescension
and barely compensates for compensation and vindication
for genocide plus gross mistreatment and sacrilege
of token Native American remnants
corralled on dirt poor reservations
still evoking the tormented ghosts of a forgotten time.