Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, never been more frustrated for not remembering a dream:_(

deja vu brought to view
even better this time that was like the twisted flu

an erase my system moonlighted on me frustrate to repeat
sunset a truck corner an autumn lasting in the backseat

forget that the ocean sailed and orange witches golden
a town of ancient camps imagined clean desires and broken

any subconscious stubborn to hold on inner fantasy?
cause me can't reach a fulfill a journey come to and ending duality

violet unaware a desire everlasting bel air
do dreams come true flasher in sharp not matter mere???

bare me the renaissance a century in ancestry fading memory far  
pieced in my head puzzled mad realization aiming stars

magnetism the hell it means dungeon and dilemma bolds
sharp steeps deepen the voices  running struggles put to the sold

I haven't forgotten you
Even for a moment
Some to me haven't been descent
I see the moon crescent 🌙
Waning has been quite significant
I haven't forgotten you
Even for a moment
Some to me have been excellent
I see the moon crescent
Waxing appears quite significant
I haven't forgotten you
Even for a moment
I wait to see full moon to grow
Moon lit night 🌃
Heavenly show
For you to watch and know
I haven't forgotten you
Even for a moment
I confessed that I cried
while reading bright dead things,
and my mother smiled
because I'm the delicate kind,
and said that I loved poetry the way my grandfather did.

Shuttered eyes, slipping into the realisation
that it's funny how spirit skips a generation,
and all at once I'm bleeding blue,
recalling the pictures of you,
coated in tears that wet my lashes
like grass in morning dew.

I dress myself in pearls,
from what I've heard,
they were his favourite,
and walk to the Siren's sea,
in honour of a memory
that's not taken from me.

Because I still see him in my cousin's face and every gentle soul I meet.
I greet him with our mirrored mannerisms and the phrases I repeat.

I treat him with every plateful of pomegranates and sugarcanes.
I feel him every time this desert rains.

I hear him in his many namesakes,
hear his absence ringing in my mother's heartaches.

I'm near him when I pass his Phoenix palm in our garden,
towering tall, touching his ghost in the seventh heaven.

And when it's my time to drop the curtain,
and my poem fades into the mist,
I'll step into the afterlight,
and tell him all about it.

Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
To my grandfather, I wish I had known you for more than five years. I hope you're at peace.
TS Lefort Jun 6
Vinyl, old, crackle and turn,
Intimate moments scored into grooves;
Atmosphere burns,
A revolving truth.

Needle, record, goosebump skin,
Long played moments again and again;
Our favourite track
An unrepented sin.

TS Lefort 2021
Jesus! The sweet burn of a heartbeat racing,
madly light-headed without a drop
passing lips that just
for want of a more sweaty term

inching to overdose with each reverie
while the colour drains from the now
a quick bump from a caught scent
or piqued memory

or a full on sofa session
pipe packed with young *****
(what dreams may come?)

the result’s the same:
unless you find today’s feast
you’ll atrophy on empty calories
of what was

#youhavepromptedme #flashedback #memory #nostalgia #youth
A photo
Just a photo
From long ago
It feels brand new

The regrets are tormenting with regression and memory loss. It hurts like it’s brand new especially with the flashbacks and PTSD.
I found a photo of my childhood girlfriend/best friend/family I thought they were all gone. It looks like it is from 2006.
Raven Feels Jun 1
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, this is my revival:p

this time I fluctuate

I breathe annihilation

what got rid of me I got rid of liberation

the hurt carried on the pearl as seen before

makes me moon the past a perfect doom not ignore

more I find reckless but in good tenders

bile arisen comes to a chocolate cake remembers

something for me for once and all

the apart rejoined from the great unregretted fall

said suffer time on the twentieth last of year

a June not ought for my happiness not dear

not a remnant

since then but not worth the resentment

other than a rapid eye above buried graves

let be dreaded for my save

mentioned a one to hurt one to dream

a revival knows the uniqueness that beams

now one to petty one to go

one to memory one to soon

my compass is to be found in dune

Words' Worth May 28
If we lay in a field of grass
I will still love you
As I look at the stars
And you'll be up there

I on Earth far away
Writing this poem
So, distant from you
You will be so close too

In the crevice of my heart
In the lines of this poem
I shall grant you a space
In songs, books, and art

You flee like a rainbow after showers
And I still remember you in those little things
Even though my poem won't feel the same
But, in our memories we are still in that field

In the grass, carefree and restless
Youngsters looking at the sparrows so far apart
That the clouds can almost fit into the picture
Ah yes, the cloudy sky, the rusted leaves, and that old shack

But, I am uncertain of my memory
You are no longer there to correct me
There must have been a tire swing, my heart knows
I may not remember much, my mind is old

But, the puddles on this sunlit street
Have they gotten bigger or I older?
Unable to jump over them
Like an agile fox

And as I part my hair like you once did affectionately
I keep saying old habits die hard
But, why do
People always leave?
I posted this poem on Facebook and asked people to suggest a title.
One alternative I used for another poem. And I have one in reserve.
Seems like random friends are better at coming up with attractive titles than I am. Like what?
A bold density of memory anchors,
scattered across a past
where colour saturates
like someone sat on the remote control,
holy hand grenades on loose afternoons
with the slap and bicker of passing the joypad
in blithe ignorance of washing piles
deadlines and empty pockets

Drifting in the now, helium light,
well-heeled but drab,
absent fingers trace the slight links
on the line around arthritic ankles
as they gently, surely give
They had been together from dusk. He had taken her through their old haunts and old friends, and others, familiar faces with broad smiles and without names, had greeted them everywhere. And now, on her doorstep in the early morning hours, she slid her hand behind his head and held it still as she enveloped him.

When she tilted away, her eyes were closed. Her lips lingered over his, an infinitesimal separation. The night air was cool. She eased away and turned up her collar. She opened her eyes to the blue-black sky and let her gaze search from star to star. Without a word, she was inside, alone, her hands behind her, her back flush against the door knowing full well that was the last time.
Next page