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For All That I Remembered
by Michael R. Burch

For all that I remembered, I forgot
her name, her face, the reason that we loved ...
and yet I hold her close within my thought:
I feel the burnished weight of auburn hair
that fell across her face, the apricot
clean scent of her shampoo, the way she glowed
so palely in the moonlight, angel-wan.

The memory of her gathers like a flood
and bears me to that night, that only night,
when she and I were one, and if I could ...
I’d reach to her this time and, smiling, brush
the hair out of her eyes, and hold intact
each feature, each impression. Love is such
a threadbare sort of magic, it is gone
before we recognize it. I would crush

my lips to hers to hold their memory,
if not more tightly, less elusively.

Published by The Raintown Review, The Eclectic Muse, Kritya, Gostinaya (in a Russian translation by Yelena Dubrovin), Boston Poetry Magazine, Freshet, Jewish Letter (Russia), Poetry Life & Times, Sonnetto Poesia, Trinacria, The New Formalist, Pennsylvania Review

Keywords/Tags: Memory, remembrance, love, name, features, face, hair, eyes, lips, crush, impression, recognize, recognition, remember, remembered, forgot, forgotten, angel, wan, night, flood
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
She was more than her skin color. She was more than her features. She was more than just her appearance. It was about her soul. It was about her pure heart. It was about her mind. It was about her passions. It was about the beauty of who she was and what she did. It wasn’t just about intimacy or appearance. It was about her moral beauty more than physical beauty. It was about exploring the depths that made her who she is. She’s the one you could explore the corners of your mind, the one you get lost with during deep and soul enriching talks. She was more than just her skin, she was the ocean. She was a Kalon –  beauty that is more than skin deep. And only the ones who who look beyond skin deep will see her for who she really is.
farhan May 2019
I have few mugs
Porcelain mugs
All alike, same in color
I pick one and prepare coffee
Cannot distinguish the one used before
All were alike, same in color
I wish to make one my favorite
But any mark I make would be artificial
How I wish? A natural mark would separate one
Today I observed one with a slight difference
A minor crack at the brim
The mugs are washed
A mishandle would have caused
It is not ugly
It is no less useful
Naturally made, just a slight crack
Now both useful and notable
It is now my favorite mug
True for humans isn't it? We are all usually alike. A slight inconsistency separates us from the crowd. So long as we are useful and and not ugly from within.
Fierceness
is my favorite
ambulance
When a resting ***** face becomes power..
Poetic T Mar 2019
Glutinous envy consumed
                         her features.

Once a creation of life's art.

Distortional envy cracked,
                               a fractured shell.
                      
                            Pieces fitting incorrectly.
`d
Nik Bland Jan 2019
She paints such things
That the world thought it knew
But in such a way
That each color, each hue
Each texture, so surreal
It transcended the real
And gave off the feel
Of Monique

Born of the embers
Of undiscovered stars
With eyes that would shine
Amidst streetlights and cars
And then outshine the day
With a brilliant array
As if this world, it spake
Of Monique

Emulating sunrises
With beauties of sunsets
A smile on her face
That no soul would forget
Each whisper a symphony
Embedded in history
The untold, renowned mysteries
Of Monique

Prophet and poet
Both will rise and will fall
The words of greats and kings
Will then fade, all in all
Yes the universe sings in praise
Compilations all raised
On the beautiful shades
Of Monique

My voice is cracking
My eyes filled with crust
These fingers will curl
As I venture to the dust
But I would wish nothing more
Than to write a score
Of the love that is stored
For Monique
Gracie Nov 2018
her eyes looked liked oceans were trapped there:
stormy and tortured
beautiful and captivating.

her was like ribbons running down her face:
smooth and flowing
stunning and graceful.

her smile was like flowers blooming in the Spring:
sweet and adorable
amazing and loved.

everything about her was lightning:
scary and sharp
intriguing and electric.
inspired by my bestfriend, who's been through o much that she deserves a poem about her.
Fenixx Menefee Nov 2018
I've often noticed numerous features
Many of which are on gardeners and bakers and preachers
But I have never even mentioned my own
Many peers of mine point them out to the teachers
To be silent and observe is what I am prone

I find listening and watching much more meticulous
I realise they don't understand how I stay quiet during the day
For they all speak and sound quite ridiculous
I think they may soon learn of what they say
At least I hope, I can never say for sure when they may
beth haze Oct 2018
You didn’t like
the mole on your chin.
You used to say it was
too prominent for
your face and how you disliked
that it contrasted with
your freckled cheeks.
But I thought that
your cheeks were
like a galaxy and
your chin had
the moon.
It’s the first thing I
noticed when
I realized
I liked you.
- face like a universe.
page 77 of 'moondust'. (out soon!)
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