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Jemimah  Jun 2013
(In Memorium)
Jemimah Jun 2013
Honing crisply honour-bells
silver-charred and dusted thoughts
alight with the thousand notes
and woe-bygones
and ill-betides:
these nights of fated rue –

Called to join and to conjoin
this solemn incense scent to heaven
while shaken pyres
and innocent liars
twist mistaken tongues
consented:
in memorium to–

*Humanity's Nature.
any constructive criticism...?
your thoughts?
:)
EJ Aghassi Jan 2017
Even now I see your face:
That strained yet honest smile,
The deadened twinkle in your eyes
Your deliberate words and style

I've known you for many lives
I felt it in our strolling miles
Brothers for longer than time
I'll see you in a while
I dreamed I would write something Tennyson-esque for you (see "In Memorium A.H.H.). But this is the most I can bring myself to do. Perhaps someday I will be able to write on what you mean to me. Until I see you again, my friend.
Cait Harbs  Mar 2017
memorium
Cait Harbs Mar 2017
Here is the place of death and ash;
Here is the slumbering beast of vileness past.
Look at these barbed wire rows
Guarding scarlet stained poppies birthed in woes.
JP Goss  Mar 2015
In memorium
JP Goss Mar 2015
At the swell of music I can fell the intersection of screaming of voices
They, like me, have been waiting for years
The plentitude of the thousands’ cadences
Are for the hunted, are the hunted
United, we stand in. This is unworthy, unworthy
Bestilled, we are here, standing like statues
Quietly, unquestioningly, indebted to ourselves
They said that, they said that: the mother voice
The mother’s voice
Oh, in the change of meter, she laughs and coos the answers
Your answers: we’re eying,
I’m the umpteenth man. Always. To ask,
Uncontented by the simplicity of the question, or the answer
Struggling for its complications, so, at least,
It can be done, it’s yet complete.
Wish against wishes, a silence doesn’t care
Then again, neither does the noise. Neither does the music.
If it were but love that made the moon rise, the moon rises
The ******* moon rises, it would be sorry night
A sorry state of affairs. Rest knowingly, and endure
The calamities of waning stars, twilight, and the coming day,
Marvel in the complexity of speech, and twine my fingers,
We’ll make it through.
James Jarrett Aug 2016
Gone from this body
And flown
To fairer places
With no pain or travail
Gone but for the memory
And love left behind
Gone but for legacy and legend
Gone but for us
The three percent
Left behind
Mike Vanderboegh founder of the Three percent movement
Brent Kincaid  Oct 2017
MEMORIUM
Brent Kincaid Oct 2017
Helpless, when so many have died.
Can we do nothing but hurt inside?
Those can’t go home, no matter who cried.
Yet we never set those guns aside.
We listened while politicians lied
And even when some of us tried
Too many took up the other side
And insisted they were on the right side
The godly side, the intelligent side.
But they too were wrong or just lied.
And fifty eight, so far, have horribly died.

So, who is in the right here?
We ask year after year.
Why do we sell illogical fear
To allow weapons to be sold here
That are not used to shoot deer
Or game for food, but it is clear
They are for shooting people here
In our own country, not in Tangier
Or Kabul, killing strangers for fear
They’ll take away our freedom here
And very much like some King Lear
Trust all the wrong people. It’s clear.

Every eight years, we go insane
And let America’s worst bane
Take over what still remains
Of a splendid land that retains
The intentions and words of the sane;
The founders of our nation, and again
Give it all away “to elect for change’
Without consideration for the pain
That it took; the blood and the pain
To fight those who hate freedom’s name
And then to elect them back in again.

They are only too glad if we ****
And maim and destroy at will
As long as it's the poor we ****
And not their beloved on their hill.
That is too bitter of a pill
For them to take, so they shill
And subvert and always will.
They’ll approve the crazy skill
It takes to sit up on a hill
And shoot people at will.
They never quite get their fill.

So, when will we people get wisdom
And ban those repeating weapons
Being sold ***** nilly in the kingdom
Of hate, greed without sound reason?
When will we see that we are with them?
Just another human like their women
Brothers, fathers and even their children
That can be erased by their bad decisions
To let more nameless, brainless buy weapons
That have no good solid application
Except a bullet to the brain of our nation.
Haley Rome  Oct 2013
Memorium
Haley Rome Oct 2013
I tiptoe past my doorway

trying not to awaken

my sleeping memories

of you.
Mario Hamblin Nov 2010
I killed monday with tuesday. Hit it so hard it gave wednesday a concussion. Which apparently made thursday mad since I messed up his **** day. To get rid of our problems and let bygons be bygons we made a toast in the honor of friendship since it is thirsty thursday. Party was insane. I met this fine girl named Friday. We were both a lil wasted and did somethings grown folks can relate too. I met another girl saturday. Equally as fine as the day before, hungover she said she can take care of me and make me feel better with time. I believed her and let my walls down. I was stripped raw of my layers. Did the same thing I did to friday. What a trip, exctasy until I realized, I arrived and could have picked up some extra baggage in my journey to and fro. I kneeled down on sunday praying for forgiveness and to wake up from this confusing dream. My prayers were answered but with a price to pay. knock knock knock police broke down the door within a moments notice. I am encarcerated for ****** in the first degree of a Monday morning, **** of Friday night and drunken driving on thirsty thursday. I pleaded guilty of loving friday, wanting fun on thursday. Only saturday would speak to me for she loved me, while encarcerated she gave birth to twins, in memorium of my sins I named them monday and tuesday. Wednesday awoke from the coma and married the drunk thursday. Friday is still a carbon spitful copy of saturday. And my faith within sunday still lies within my soul. If I die tonight this will be my final memoir and my sons will become *******. Godwilling they will not be mirror images of Kane and Able. But one will most likely be hated. Sadly these are the days of our lives.
"Think outside the box, then the circle and the rhombus"
Dave Robertson  Oct 2021
Memorium
Dave Robertson Oct 2021
Mist chose to linger a while,
though mild air belied October.

Overwhelmed by birdsong,
loud against the abstract silence
of these adolescent sentinels,
stood like arboretum trees
filled with the gravitas
of no age, no age at all.

The year passed as always
with them growing taller,
bolder, a little more aware
of wisdom’s cost
and the one they lost.
betterdays  Dec 2014
perch
betterdays Dec 2014
i perch
like a mindful, tiny bird's spirit,
on the very cusp of the milkyway.

a mere wisp,
of an evocative thought,
a dreams first seed,
a speck of fairydust, 
in the iris,
of tentative belief.

i have,
yet
to travel the spirals
of the windmill mind,
yet
to be fortified by conjecture,
ratified by trial of fire.

my inchoation began,
at the galaxies birth, 
yes
i am a by-product of
the big bang.
and
yes i too, 
have seen
how and why, 
god made the heavens,
such an alluring shimmer
of blue,
and why
all things,
great and small.
need the spark,
the desire to accede, 
to the wont,
to ascend to
something
higher and more profound.

i am,
external,
internal,
eternal,
grace,

i am
in the tears of
sad sorrow,
i am
in the magic of
unadultered joy
in
the laugh of a child, 
the flight of a bee, 
the glimpse of tommorrow
the purr of a cat, 
the bark of a dog,
the roar of a lion, 
the ribbet of a frog, 
in an old womans glance,
the first kiss of new lovers,
in a babes first smile,
in the fragrance of flowers
left in memorium,
in each and every
spark
of  flighted fireworks.

i am
to be found
for i am
hope 
and
i abide eternally,
in all.
this is an older piece, but i wanted to repost it
in response to the events
in Australia over the past week......
Gary L Misch  May 2014
Memorium
Gary L Misch May 2014
My love
She rests so quiet,
Where she speaks to me
In silence,
She rests beside
Her favorite place,
She rests in peace,
We put her there,
My other love and I,
We set her down,
Upon her final bed,
And covered her
With softness,
That we might
Remember,
Where she lay.

— The End —