#memory poems on Hello Poetry

Abbott J Hardison Mar 20

If the planet woke up,
And we had all disappeared,
Would it mourn our memory?

It depends on the way we go,
Somebody snapping their fingers, we fade away,
Or a blinding ball of light as nuclear weapons implode.

If God revoked our presence today,
What would happen with all the factories,
There's a chance they run until Earth runs out of fuel.

It seems that if that happened,
Then all these countries would sink into the sea,
With our glory and memory.

The prompt was,
Would Earth be better off if we all went extinct.

#disappeared #memory #fading #weapons #war #humans #extinction

Jonathan Moya Mar 19

Rogue Brother

My brother is an angler
devoted to the stream
that pools around long boots,
making the slow cast
that gently whips and
ripples the surface with
a reel that knows
the proper weight
of the scales below.

Gone are the days when
he fished Crandon Pier
while sitting on
an overturned paint bucket with
a cheap red and white bobber
and a cane pole,
competing with the gulls
for the punniest sea prize.

Now he fishes
the Rogue's eternal flow,
its waters murmuring unseen truths
far from shadowy gray terns’ jeers
that steal his peace—
fishing in steadfast streams
that let his boots
anchor him to
the quiet pulse of home.

#nostalgia #growth #maturity #reflection #peace #solitude #nature #memory #journey #transformation

Jonathan Moya Mar 18

When the earth is no longer a womb

When the earth is no longer a womb,
just a shriek and whistle of once uttered prayer—
a long,
puncturing howl of everything
that was once you
turned into casualties of silence,
then you know
that death has arrived,
noiselessly,
silent as a missile.

All the clamor outside-
it’s the hibakujumoku,
(the survivor trees)
insisting on life
within the blast radius
of your heart.

Note:
In Japanese, the trees that survived the atomic bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki are called "hibakujumoku," which translates to "A-bombed trees" or "survivor trees" in English.

#loss #destruction #silence #absence #resilience #survival #fragility #strength #time #memory

MywordorMyworld Mar 18

The day I fell

Was it a day?
Or had the years collapsed in a fleeting decay?

The nights grew heavy, crushed my chest,
My eyes wept secrets I never confessed.

Tears turned bitter, cold, and dry,
Hate and regret took their place in my eyes.

"Mumma..."—I whispered, lost in the night,
She laughed it away, My hands reached out, but no one was there,
Just shadows and silence and empty air.

Was it the night? Or was it me?
Building walls too dark to see?

Trapped inside, no way to tell,
Was this the day I truly fell?

The days when you were at your lowest, no one you could reach out to. The days when you felt comfort in death perhaps! The lowest of low.

#poetry #pain #memory #sorrow #helplessness #trauma #childhood #bullying #depp #resentfull

Maryann I Mar 18

Until the Music Fades

I’ll keep on telling you that I love you—
soft as dust on lace,
a whisper tucked in velvet drawers,
a melody wound into time
by trembling hands and silver keys.

Like the ballerina turning in her little glass world,
I’ll spin my love in slow circles,
over and over—
even when the tune grows thin,
even when the gears grow tired.

When the cogs in my mind lose their rhythm,
when the clockwork in my chest falters,
when my fingers no longer reach to hold you—
still, somewhere beneath the hush,
my heart will echo its worn refrain:
“I love you, I love you…”

Until the spindle stops,
until the lid closes gently,
and all that’s left
is the scent of old music,
the silence that remembers
the song we once knew.

#melody #love #memory #forever

Jonathan Moya Mar 17

A Son’s Lament

It’s been over
thirty-five years since
I felt your motherly touch,
and I no longer try to shape
a garden of sorrow.
Instead, I let the new grass flame,
its green distinct from the old cold fire,
whose embers tighten their ring
with each passing year.

I find joy in the crepe myrtles
unfolding into white,
and the masses of yellow blossoms
nestled in low bushes
lining my walk to the gravel path—
the one leading from the woods
to your lone grave.

Grief is no longer larger
than the heart of your memory,
for around me blooms
everything you left behind.

I watch your granddaughter,
small as your grave marker,
wander past your woods
to the open meadow beyond,
the whiter flowers she calls
her playthings.

And I will follow,
fall among those flowers,
sink into the soft moss
by the marsh—
where her laughter carries echoes
of your voice,
where the petals hold the warmth
of new hands.
I will lie near the meadow’s edge,
close to her,
and closer still to you.

#grief #poetry #loss #memory #family #nature #healing #sorrow #renewal #love

Jonathan Moya Mar 17

Trying on My Dad’s Wingtips

I tried on several of my father’s
old Brooks Brother suits
just before his funeral,
trying to save myself the expense
of an outfit I didn't need.

Each was too tight on the collars.
too short on the sleeves, each
crotch inseam strangled my manhood.
I had outgrown them all.

Almost all of it will go to Goodwill-
except maybe for those old coal wingtips,
(still in their slightly battered but original box)
heels and soles worn down from hospital rounds,
the leathers evenly laced, spit and
polished to a proper navy shine,
solid and smooth, enough to go from
monolithic to Marley vinyl
without missing a beat.

I could almost hear “The Great Pretender”
play as he glided my future mom
(literally,”The Beauty Queen of Fulton Burrough”)
across the ballroom floor, and then,
suddenly stop, and leave her,
as the hospital pager buzzed on his belt.

All my father- a short, balding but
approachable looking guy, with the
devil’s goatee- ever needed to win
my mother over, was Nat King Cole.
What he left her with, was Harry Belafonte
swooning his existential sorrows out to her-
“Day-o, midnight come and I want to go home.”

I smelled the stale odor of talc
distinguishing itself from moth *****,
and was tempted to slip them on,
but figured the cost to resole them
wouldn't be worth the price. Besides,
that oxblood polish would be too hard
to find. I left them there for the next
tenant to decide their fate.

#legacy #funeral #memory #suit #wingtips #inheritance #father #reflection #grief #nostalgia

polina Mar 13

I miss you every time I lie

I hope you never forget me
Our inside jokes and the memories I see
When I close my eyes, longing
For that heartbreaking belonging

I hope you don’t forget my smile
Or the way I look like while I cry
I hope our memories still haunt you,
Because I miss you every time I lie

#yearning #breakup #missing #memory

Heather Mar 13

Open season

I remember it all
Down to the stretch of my shorts and the tie in my curls
The way you lingered; daring to get closer
As if a magnet drew us together
I thought; so that’s what fate feels like
But now I wonder if that’s how antelope feel as a lion closes in
If the tug in my gut was my body sensing your threat
I never was a good runner
Or maybe I knew you’d catch me regardless
But I remember it all

#trauma #memory #love

Ruheen Mar 12

golden

There is a man in my closet
He comes out at night
Crawls over to my bed
Turns out every light

There is a man in my closet
He caresses my skin
Holds me gently
And the warmth seeps in

There is a man in my closet
He reaches into my throat
Fiddles around for hours
Just to pull out the day I was born

He howls with my mother
Sways in her tears
Weeps with my father
And it tells me it wasn't real

He rips it to shreds
Lets me watch the day fall apart
Says I made it all up
Because I can't stand the dark

The man in my closet
Doesn't like to imagine
A world without me
But wonders what would happen

If I didn't dream
Of smiling on a swing set
Or have the memory
Of hiding in my closet

Where I dreamt up the man
Who let me paint with words
Watched as I stepped out
And boldly touched the world

A time where I was pink
And every day was golden
When my hands would touch the ground
And somebody would still want to hold them

When I could stand atop a hill
And want to climb higher
The man would reach into his pocket
And pull out a ladder

But lately he retreats further
To a corner in my closet
With all the shame and guilt
He knows it's haunted

By painful apologies
Unnecessary remnants
Ones he wishes I would burn
So we could stop reminiscing

Again he reaches into my throat
Pulls out another day
One where I was lonely
One where I wish I had said

Please don't leave me
Please stay the way you are
Pink and golden
He'll catch you from afar

Now that dear man
Is only trying to keep me golden
Amidst all the clothes in my closet
For me, he'll fold them

#golden #nostalgia #memory