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Amanda Noel Jul 6
There are answers
To questions
We scream in the rain,
Then bottle inside
To watch float downstream.

There are treasures
Holding extinct memories,
Thoughts and ideas
Not part of history.
There are lessons
Where language is no barrier,
Through crystal waters
One thing's clear,
Anything can be a predator.
Carmen Jane Jun 17
Before you went to sleep,
We talked about your day
Your emotions grew deep,
When with the truth, you've played.

Your voice, started to change,
As you blamed "the others",
You didn't mean revenge
At your sisters and brothers...

I asked if you were lying
You said you don't remember
You knew you won't be seeing
Your schoolmates, 'til September

I tried to let you know,my lovey
That even when you've done something wrong
You can tell Daddy and mommy
And no matter what, to us you do belong

We'll try our best to teach you what's best
And talking out loud you might know it yourself
What to observe,what to do next
Being truthful is the way to know oneself!

You asked for a hug and you said with a  smile
The reason you just can't remember this time,
Is cause you didn't eat today any blueberry
As I always told you, it helps with your memory
Star BG May 7
In the jeweled dew of
daybreak I sit,
upon land
raising hand in prayer.

Birds plant seeds
of song in ears.
They are the songs
of gratitude
for the treasures of life
before me.

My treasure chest opens
with golden nuggets
of memories.
The good and bad
that serve my soul.

My riches supply
insights and visions,
to launch my vessel
of human form
with grace and style.

And so I glide
in a day of
endless possibilities
and miracles
that push my sails
to harbors where
perhaps our eyes will meet.
Inspired by the great Hirondelle A gifted poet that I admire.
mae Mar 14
Deep under the ocean,
there is a magical potion,
that I must retrieve.

Clueless, not knowing where it is or maybe,
I know that I must be,
the one to proudly receive,
The Treasure.

Whether it lies in the pleasure  of,
the beautiful terrain and,
Blue with hues of aquamarine.
Whether it is covered in colorful fish,
Or dolphins that I might want to kiss.

This wonderful gift,
Hidden under the sea,
For only me, I will receive,
Spur of the moment poem
V Dec 2018
Grandmother had told me tales of the past,
Fairytales that we’ve all heard of,
The maidens in the scullery maid attire,
transforming to the princesses with the
embroidered and jeweled gowns; rivulets of silks and satins,
blue as the sea, greener than the highlands, more purple
then the dusky skylines, a true stamp
of royalty, poise, eloquence, and beauty.
And ensembles topped off with gold
encrusted and amethyst crowns.
Sure, the fairytales were what I lingered
onto during the years of my inexplicitly
innocent childhood, that I wished I still had.

I missed it, the tales, the anecdotes
that shaped my perception on love, hope, and faith,
far off from what I viewed in the looking mirror today.

I missed my grandmother’s hands, brittle and worn,
but kind and warm; I still thought about them
as I cleaned out the attic in which I’d forgotten existed.

And I grew up, my memories of it faded,
now covered in cobwebs and bristling wind
that sent a chill up my spine, but I found
much more than what my memory had allowed me to collect.

Amulets from what I assumed to be my grandmother’s youth
were stowed and tucked away in the alcove of a velvet shelf,
hidden by the splintered of decaying wood.

Next to the swell of the dresser, the door of the
furnishing remained ajar, revealing manila
colored increments of letters, some harbored
by the envelopes, some pierced out in the open.
The edges had crippled away,
flecks falling to the sandalwood bottom.

They were timeless, old, maybe not important,
to the wandering eyes of a stranger.
But to me - they held a mystery
that was waiting to be unraveled.

A story of my grandmother’s life she never shared with me,
just as private as she was open, perhaps I’d find in those envelopes
the same mindset I also had when I was young.
Perhaps she believed and dreamt of fairytales I had once done,
paraded around in the jewels and bangles hidden way,
basked in the ambiance of a sweet love
that was doomed to end in the decay of both parties.

Little figurines of silver and gold were placed under one
of the drawers parked away in the furnishing,
toys form her childhood, weighted by standard and price.

Her words I had adored as a child,
ate them up like sickly syrup and supported
them as if they were undiscovered treasure, but
now I finally got to “see” my grandmother’s
treasures deposited in her attic, the very place she
had hidden the most interesting stories that she
left for me to discover after she left.
Isaac Sep 2018
Thankfulness cleans away the dust that covers life's hidden treasures.
Written 21 September 2018
eleanor prince Jul 2018
richly held
hidden in
fractured chest

big people
shifting boxes

a child's fissure
clasping favourite shell

swift salvage
in tight world
rescue from
gaping hole

#family #disruption #moving #treasures #mementos #lost #ignored
For a very young child, moving house can be incredibly bewildering, disruptive, even traumatizing, especially when moving countries tends to mean belongings need to be severely curtailed.  Few remember their own childhood attachments, closely held treasures, even if perceived by harried adults as inconsequential as a bag of broken seashells.  Would a little more listening and empathic explanation with kindness ease things well at such transition times
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