frozen coke
family matters
sack swing
hugs

at 822 Pine Avenue

late nights
pillow forts
peach cobbler dessert

at 822 Pine Avenue

headstands and trampolines
laughs
a front porch swing

at 822 Pine Avenue

wives tales & mud pies

at 822 Pine Avenue

pecan tree
bench beneath
singing in her sleep

at 822 Pine Avenue

bird fountain and basketball net
a ball needing air
popsicle stains on shirts

at 822 Pine Avenue

mining for rocks down the alley
papa's roof was dirty

at 822 Pine Avenue

birthday parties
coconut pies
drawing pictures in the front room

at 822 Pine Avenue

Geraldine stories
flash light animals
sleepovers with the twin beds pushed together

at 822 Pine Avenue

talking in her sleep
frying me bacon to eat
Sunday afternoon lunches

At 822 Pine Avenue

1 husband
3 kids
7 grandchildren
13 great grandchildren

at 822 Pine Avenue

Some of my vivid memories from my childhood at my Mamaw's house.
Brent Fisher Jun 11

rubbed their names
on paper every year,
beer glasses that clink,
girls that do your kink
for the right change,
powerkegs and pebbles,
bell chimes and devils.

breathe out, toke in,
woke up, but dreaming,
thinking it’d be better
if I was done in too,
that way, I’d join you;
all those monuments
would mean something.

but I hear voices, at night,
telling me to keep it up,
one more day,
that daily fight,
because I’m alive,
I’m remembering,
and they’re living.

so here’s to us, boys,
credit where it’s due,
one more hurrah for you,
and for me, I suppose,
as I glance out on your
neat little stone rows,
the one that made it.

Nylee May 19

Fragments of memories
like short stories
entertain me night time
when sleep take its time to come
The bits of adventure
with less thriller
lesser dramatics
and in reality , not that tragic
A smiling remembrance
giving it another glance

Jay May 15

Every poet needs a muse.

I have never forgotten.
Have you? Even once?

As I let you slip through the cracks? I wouldn't blame you if you did.
But I know that you haven't.

It's funny. Talking about distance.
because in spite of it all,
nobody has touched me like you.

Do you still feel it sometimes? Do you still feel like visiting me in my dreams? Or when I'm on top of the mountains, sipping in the beauty of the world? The need to inspire? Inspiration itself.

I do. Constantly.
It's everything I've ever wanted. The loveliest thing I've ever known.

The way you manage to make words come alive. Like air. The way you could make them dance into my lungs and rush into my bloodstream
always leaves me craving more. Addicted.

I'm at the mercy of your language.
Your fingers.
Your smile.

Your words are eternal. Taken as scripture. I bow to them every day. Praise them. Share them. Let them complete me. Give me purpose.
Reflected in pale moonlight and written in the stars.

As I look up, into the infinity of darkness,
and see the words you left there,
I am left speechless.

I mean it too. That I fell. Hard. Impossibly.

We ended quickly. Abruptly. A car accident. An exchange of information. Words hurt, but wounds heal.

I know you've continued on. Effortlessly. Gracefully as you do.
But every single night, I still go to bed, with the desire of making love with our words. Tasting your syllables. Drinking them in. I long for a touch I haven't felt since you. In every conceivable way.

I shouldn't have left. I should have begged you to stay. I would have loved a little more time with you.

I'd wait forever for it.

Maybe you shouldn't, but muses don't work that way.
There's nothing more heartbreaking than a poet without a muse.
A sky without stars.
A page without words.

I'm selfish in wanting your presence.
Your poetry.
It's cruel of me to desire something so deeply.

But nothing could be better
than knowing that
there was a little infinity
where I captured your heart
felt your soul
connected with you
and became a muse
myself.

A dream come true.
We could have blossomed into something breathtaking.

Would it be terrible if I said I think of you always?

This is still for you.
MJ Lee May 9

Our window is an ever changing frame
Left to its own devices
It never moves from its placement in our old home
Yet never shattered once
On good days, nothing but the ticking clock is disturbed
Those days of silly arguments we forgot
The moment the ice cream man begun his serenade
On bad days grey inkblots would erase that baby blue
Forcing cabin fever down our throats
At the loss of movie night
Yet there are the nights you sit alone, lost in the races
Between short lives of the rain cloud's children
Nights where you join the portrait's current mood
Our window is an ever changing frame
Capturing each moment of our existence
Replacing your trace

Birdy Apr 25

Don’t be scared
that 
I’ll ever forget you
.
Believe me:

I remember every

touch

and every

breath

as if it happened

yesterday.

Believe me, I wouldn't forget you if I wanted to.

Just in case this all falls through
And one of us can or cannot be
Exactly who we wish to be
Would you remember me as I am right now?
And I'll remember you like this
As the girl of dreams
Mixed with the memory of what could've been

Sometimes... These things just crop up. No clue where they come from.
allie Apr 3

a swarm of thoughts
as i read
as i write

1. sitting at a desk. i'm not alright.
2. seven birds hover.
3. can i escape the past?
4. is my life all that bad... i'm alright now.
5. bats that circle and block the sun
6. the ruler whipping down on my hands, my feet, my everything
7. souls gather and gather
8. oh the abuse i have suffered from you
9. lists and lists and lists and lists
10. my death. painful or peace?
11. shutupshutupshutup
12. unnecessary dreams and cliches
13. the wooden stick sits by you as i stare
14. the angry yelling words
15. tomanytomany
16. the end.

If you don't understand, look closer at my list. It's not as it seems; some are memories, some are just thoughts.
Brent Fisher Mar 24

Oh wise worry, weep not for me,
keeper of my words and memory,
when you think of me, my works,
the phantom of I that still resides,
my shadow that falls, cast on walls,

oh wise, wonderful worry, weep not,
I would not need your wanton tears,
instead, think upon the years I was,
my smiles, those silly, willful laughs,
times filled with wiles, wise worry;

Do not miss me, or mourn me, love me;
Bring back those blessed days of before,
kiss me tenderly, hug me, even if bitterly,
time is bent, you see, so return to me,
embrace me, oh wise worry, weep not,

we have nothing but eternity.

elle Mar 6

Where did all the children go?
The wails of parents resonate
Homes stripped of joy and cheer
What do you mean, Christmas spirit?

The wails of parents resonate
But there's nothing they can do
What do you mean, Christmas spirit?
Here's a red poppy, please feel better

There's nothing they can do
but try their hardest not to cry
Here's a red poppy, please feel better
but nothing will ever be the same

While they tried their hardest not to cry,
the cold marble wall filled with the names of their children
reminded them that nothing would ever be the same
And all they could think of was, where did all the children go?

visited pearl harbor, may have cried a little (or a lot)
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