#souvenirs
Let's watch the snow melting
It's wonderful and very nice
The nightingales are back
The sun warms the day
The weather is great. It is mild
In the streets where kids are playing
Football and girls are jumping ropes
It's nice out. It's a glorious spring
Let's hum the songs of yesteryear
Together harmoniously.
The air is good and fresh this morning
After the breakfast of hot buttered
Petits pains and latte
We go to the platform on the quay
To skate, to see and witness
The comings and goings of the small sailboats. It's dark
At the bottom of the ocean where the fish intertwine
The weather is nice. It is springtime
Let's sing the chorus of the old days
Together melodiously.
Copyright © March 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 5:47 PM UTC
This is the season to reminisce the good memories
At Christmas time, remember the sweet souvenirs
Remember the small gifts and the loud laughter
Remember that I am a great lover and a leader
And you are an incredible and charming follower
Love was the central and primordial theme
You and I were a special and flamboyant team
Happy holidays to you, glorious and sweet partner!
December is a joyful time to show: appreciation
Love, togetherness, understanding and passion
This is a wonderfully wintry season
Christmas is about love, friendship and compassion
Remember darling, the ever-lasting memories
Remember my love, the honey-filled souvenirs
Christmas is about being happy, jolly and holy tears
Happy holly seasons to you, my darling, my lover!
Copyright © December 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Dec 16, 2025
Dec 16, 2025 at 11:51 AM UTC
La sensation s'apparente à une simple présence
Incongrue et abstraite, tant sa distance
De ces souvenirs qui exigent le poids des vivants
Comme promesse qu'ensemble nous traverserons le temps
Et tend à cette conviction presque vide de sens
Que les acteurs éternels de la tendre enfance
Puissent ainsi, pas à pas, suivre nos traces dans l'ombre
Pour que ce peuple d'éther ne s'ajourne que dans la tombe
Et que tombe cette folle histoire insensée, peu à peu
Que le temps calcinera de son souffle de feu
Ranimant en nous la flamme de ces instants d'ivresse
Pour que reste derrière nous ces souvenirs délestés
Et mieux vaut de son gré engendrer la cadence
Que de subir dans la l'angoisse les désirs de délivrance
Délaissant patiemment toute envie de se réjouir
Pour que s'endorme dans la cendre ces trop lourds souvenirs
Et quand viendra finalement la sensation de dissonance,
Que la lourdeur de l'homme aspirant la transcendance
S'exténue et s'allège dans l'accord des déceptions
Pour qu'enfin vive souverain ce pays d'ombres et d'illusions.
Et que sombre dérisoirement chaque pensée, peu à peu,
Que le temps effacera d'un seul geste d'adieux
Renvoyant au néant l'âme de ces habitants célestes
Pour que ne gise sur la toile qu'une confuse fresque.
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 5:50 PM UTC
I burnt the Memories, U gave Me.
I burnt your Love Letters Too.
Your Tears won't ever, Cry for Me.
Tell Me.....What else must I Do?
I threw the Souvenirs, U gave Me.
I hardly ever take, your Name.
Our Love is done and Dusted.
As it put us both, to Shame.
Most of the Time, I keep Thinking.
Why not find, somebody New?
A Woman who Glows, like Moonlight
and is fresh, as the Morning Dew.
Once Her Eyes, find Me.
I shall write, My Love Story Again.
In the Arms of My Angel,
U won't find, My Tears weep Again.
Aug 2, 2020
Aug 2, 2020 at 8:13 AM UTC
I read all your Poems,
U wrote to Me years Ago.
Reading them......My Tears,
began to Show.
My running Tears,
now have no place to Go.
So I'm holding them as Souvenirs,
for U......each time they Flow.
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 7:50 AM UTC
Is part of getting over you,
Disregarding my influenced interests?
Is it unhealthy to hold on to what made you the one that stuck in the back of my mind,
Even when my heart no longer pined,
For you.
I’m discovering new beauty,
Yes it’s great,
Should I set down some souvenirs,
Were they solely for you and me?
Golden light,
Will you still shine?
Maybe in a different time,
Strung by new threads of twine?
I’m ready to pursue,
Somewhere I have not yet flew,
Find something new of mine.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
I had told her about my pin badges -
It was that kind of intimacy.
I had written poems about her -
It was that kind of intimacy.
She returns with another present,
In fact, more than one,
Despite being a woman scorned -
It was that kind of intimacy.
One, a postcard, to return my gesture,
A memory we shared together -
It was that kind of intimacy.
Two, a pin, she travelled to find,
Searching to fix something that
Was never broken.
To her, this was a failure,
To me, it was
Our kind of intimacy.
And three, a notebook,
Because she knows what I love,
And that words lie deep inside of me,
Screaming to come out.
I write this to her to apologise
For being a fool, and to thank her
For her undying encouragement
And her endless inspiration
And her kind, warm words -
A beautiful friendship married
By the endless embers of
Written words -
Our kind of intimacy.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:37 AM UTC
Box
Shared visions and promises
Written on yellow papers
Invisibly marked....faded, broken promises
Endearing terms...endearing moments,
Old postcards...old photos and letters
Time-colored...marked souvenirs,
I kept them inside....all stored in a case....
Unexpectedly, the Heavens cried in anger, one day
I rushed, to hold tiny currents at bay...to save
The memories...but the box was no longer there
Those gifts, letters, souvenirs were nowhere
Almost a lifetime...stored in there
But...monsoon rains took them all away...forever
::::::::::::::::::::::::
Got to find myself, a new box....
Sally
Copyright October 15, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
One day I'd like to go
In search of my past,
Of all the memories
Of my youth.
I cry for all my souvenirs,
And I dream of a future,
Where I can atone
For all the follies
Of my existence,
And where I might
Contemplate my past
In peace at long last.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
The smell of sewer wafts through the air
Giving a beautiful view
An unbearable stench
Smoke fills in the spaces between peoples faces
The crowd filling in every space in the street
Leaving little room to walk
Just to watch as you slowly shuffle along
Store windows filled with souvenirs
The kind people bring back for friends they care little about
I watched as wooden dolls and straw hats are hustled to passerbys
Then something catches my eye
Tea
Only you know why
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
My Fingers Touch...
(an offshoot of an older poem...)
It happens any minute of any day...the empty feeling...the sadness, the grief visit...all are put on hold...yet, they make me realize all the more, grieving isn't over yet...
i think of the ones gone...but, there are people around me, with pressing needs...faces that get bored, but can't be ignored, needing my say and my care.
Mornings, i work around visible reminders...i touch them, i feel them...they take me back, while dusting old furniture,
window sills, and curtain frills.
My fingers touch the old bookshelf, i see Tortilla Flat, Perry Mason,
The Raven, The Virginian
i find myself in a different era.
My fingers touch old framed pictures and photo albums, and i am slowly unburdened, sighing out unwanted energy.
My fingers touch the old bed, the old seal, the old vases...i am saddened, but comforted, by tangible souvenirs.
My fingers touch my temples, and the old memories, old dreams come back... it's the same face with the smile that never fades,
the same one that still shyly reassures me.
Never saw my father, yet he always smiled at me in my dreams.
perhaps, it was his way of telling me, he wasn't physically with me,
yet, he never left me.
despite his absence, he knows me, us, and we know him well.
i felt him closest when going through a dilemma, or when i was ill.
there was this loving presence,
only i can know...i was sure it was him
i miss the comforting warmth of those moments.
My mother had told us more than enough---their love story, dreams and plans cut short
where I got the shape of my face, my nose, my legs...my fingers
even my allergies,
the funny names he called my siblings and I, his funny tales,
his rocking chair
the events when he died...how he died
where he died...what time he died.
We knew him well
through those stories my late mother told us
through those accounts passed down to us by my late aunts
through my dreams that never have faded.
I realized
he was with us, all the way
silently...invisibly
...we never lost him at all...
Sally
Copyright March 28, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
Pieds dans le sable
Cheveux dans le vent
Joie véritable
Dans mon cœur battant
Un regard vers toi
Observant la mer
Je me noie
Dans ton mystère
Si seulement
Tu te retournais
Verrais-tu à ce moment
Que je t'aimais?
Un sourire
En ce beau soir
J'étais prête à partir
Et te chuchota alors
«Au revoir.»
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
Take countless photos, when the mood so inspires.
You may as well have not even thrown the shutter.
For the things that move you right in this moment,
Will not adhere to the chemistry of film
Will not flip one single electronic switch
Cannot be stored, except in the mind,
(A shoddy storage medium)
For the sight of your face,
Your beautiful otherness
Mingling with me in the air in between us-
( As you try to pick my nose… )
Your head is on my shoulder,
Heavy with sleep
And trust, always growing,
As your eyelids drop lower
My arm, sore, bends to raise you up.
I’m relishing the time
To be quiet, close, and still.
When I can find, in my heart,
All the words that mean something,
Not tossed about casually, in the noise of the day.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC