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I stand on our mountain, and make offerings to her.
I find the warmest of stones, and build tiny glass kingdoms
I bury the sweetest of apricots, and grow tiny red arboretums  

And then
She comes
Under a pink noon
Smelling of sweet
Tangerines
Releasing
Belly laughs
Into the valley below

She nestles on my shoulder
And raises my arm
Pointing above to distant stars

Absorbed in those green engulfing stones
I find myself on a surf
her gaze lifting my body into the air

She clutches me close
And spells out some fears
I tell her it took
Courage to finally get here

My hand on her cheek
As the cover of night approaches
Her body begins to phase
Holding her until she disappears gently
into my heart
Jas Oct 2020
I'm finding it hard to digest these seeds planted in me
It's just not the right climate
For these sprouts to form rigid
Skins, and protrude through the dirt
This *** is barren and desolate.

Once in the spring I felt a bud bloom from these
Sweet caresses, oh I leaned in to soak up the medicine
From this foreign sun -
Light I'd been swimming in.

It grew and grew
Rose and slouched when it needed to
When these kind words faltered with truth
And this wind was too strong to master
Flower, subdued
For the night;

If I knew of the petals that would grow, this sweet flower
Sticking to you - inclined towards you
Would wither and grow grey,
Jasmine loses its color when the season doesn't stay, we grew fond of you.

The new, the pollination, my roots
This milk ran clear - oh, it grew and it grew
Wild flower in me is hard to digest because it's meant for two.
What can I be and what can I do?

Jasmine will always be fragrant and rich
Roots entangled, petals upturned
Growing in bunches, leaves left to spare
No room is wasted
But overcrowded, but
No one is in need of perfume.

Time is dwindling, nature is blue and patient
Bees are forgiving and gentle in hue
But no sharp words
No love so cold helps these seeds grow
My garden is land that cannot produce, or
Waken these seeds that are buried, and scared to brave the temperature

Flowers stay hidden, too.
Amanda Hawk Jul 2020
A beautiful keepsake

Are the words

I miss you




Hold them

Close

Softly dance

Along fingertips




I can see you

In the outline

Of each word




Lingers

For a second

You name

Upon my tongue




I miss you

Is a sweet moment




Tucked under my pillow

Blanketing my dreams

Your smile

Is always close to me




Fold your memory

Carefully

Hold it in my back pocket

Reading it over and over

In every spare second




A beautiful keepsake

Are the words

I miss you
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The Shape of Mourning
by Michael R. Burch

The shape of mourning
is an oiled creel
shining with unuse,

the bolt of cold steel
on a locker
shielding memory,

the monthly penance
of flowers,
the annual wake,

the face in the photograph
no longer dissolving under scrutiny,
becoming a keepsake,

the useless mower
lying forgotten
in weeds,

rings and crosses and
all the paraphernalia
the soul no longer needs.

Keywords/Tags: shape, mourning, bolt, steel, locker, memory, memories, penance, wake, keepsake, memento, rings, crosses, paraphernalia
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Snapshots
by Michael R. Burch

Here I scrawl extravagant rainbows.
And there you go, skipping your way to school.
And here we are, drifting apart
like untethered balloons.

Here I am, creating "art,"
chanting in shadows,
pale as the crinoline moon,
ignoring your face.

There you go,
in diaphanous lace,
making another man’s heart swoon.
Suddenly, unthinkably, here he is,
taking my place.

Published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly, Centrifugal Eye, Poetry Webring, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse. Keywords/Tags: snapshot, picture, photograph, photo, album, memory, keepsake, remembrance, token, memento, art, replacement
Annie McLaughlin Feb 2016
I stole myself a keepsake for remembrance of my father,
a bracelet made by he that lasted 3 years, no longer
I picked me out a souvenir in summertime Muskogee
but now they sit so rusted and do of nothing to me
I hang old captured memories, tacked into my right wall
but they still just stand, a memory, that's all their worth in all

I will need no souvenir to remember you
I will need no keepsake hung up with a sticky glue
I will have your hand to hold, forever and again
If I need reminder, I just gaze up past your chin

Even all the words I wrote, someday will be just that
They may still hold a meaning, but I can never bring it back
The pearls pierced through my ears handed down from generation,
even they are getting old throughout this newer nation
Stories ended with their what if's and could have's
are too far passed now, just sit for some good laughs

I will need no souvenir to remember you
I will need no keepsake hung up with a sticky glue
I will have your hand to hold, forever and again
If I need reminder, I just gaze up past your chin

Why do we need bibles and these holy books to say
something once was, and I think again one day
I only can remember that one time I landed hospitalized
because the get well notes be still on my shelf advised
I used to keep a diary when I was just young,
to write down all I saw until it wasn't all fun

I will need no souvenir to remember you
I will need no keepsake hung up with a sticky glue
I will have your hand to hold, forever and again
If I need reminder, I just gaze up past your chin

For you are my souvenir
living life with both so near
Your hand is just a reminder
of the time that we have spent, in you, the *meaning finder
My life consists of making, saving, and capturing memories. But for once I like the thought that it doesn't all have to be a memory, in the past, some things last. I hope you are one of those.
Just Melz Aug 2015
I know no one's perfect
But is it really worth it
Just for a picture in your wallet?
Plastered on happy faces
Don't even know what day it is
Was there even a good reason for it?
You deny the lies behind the walls
While truths fall on center stage
Got the applause, but this ain't a game
And when the lights fade
You'll be regretting every decision you ever made
Life ain't just a picture or a keepsake
It's standing right in front of you
And you gotta live with every choice you make
indistinct Apr 2015
Mouths shut, tucked under
Lip over lip
Through the shattered glass,
Through its gentle fall.

Was it the fallout
That kept tying our tongues
To the disturbance of defeat?
Was it the silent moaning of burnt words
Trying to catch every breaking fall?

Listen: we are all made to fall.
kayla Nov 2014
dusty frames retain memories
perfectly designed
and then all at once
neglected
we live too fast

— The End —