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CA Guilfoyle Jan 2015
Winter's unsteady weather
cold, cold, hot desert
on this walkabout with severe angles of sun
icy mornings drip into the sweat of day
the impasse of giant stones the gods have laid
to stop or climb another way
egos travel irretrievable, sink into what is real
here we scale thorny towers of denial
revealed, peeled in layers - to cry, to smile
meanwhile awakened, shaken
from the sleep of our amnesia.
Traveler Nov 2018
When this madness first set in
It only made sense
To search out a good diagnostician
Trustingly sharing my story
With strangers with degrees
Quickly realizing no clinician  
Could fix what's alien me

I search for someone wise and trained
Instead I found myself slowly drowning
In a system of judgmental rain  
My very heart and soul an open subject
Sharing my uncommon delusions
Over and over explaining
My poetic conclusions

Yet those who have never ever lived a rhyme
Are prone to leave the unexplained behind
Who simply label you from a book
Quickly stop reading and give you that look
A book of broken soul’s
They write ya a prescription and send ya home
............................................................­...................
Traveler Tim
(Honestly don't remember writing this)
Traveler Feb 5
Here in this corner
Of my private Hell
Far to long
But yet I dwell
In time warps of mind
Crossing through lines
I forget so much
Most of it kind
Suddenly a flash
But just a glimpse
Faint memory
But just a hint...
Traveler Tim

I have amnesia now days
When I read my poems from the day before it always is the first time I’m reading them
Talk about a strange sensation
K Lupus Jul 2017
At my wits end grasping your vanishing portrait.
Reminiscing the golden time,
Circuitously projecting a chasm of flowers.
Drenching myself your reverberating voices.
Afraid to succumb to the neurotic state I'm in.

These precious memories I relentlessly hold,
Withering itself in a rapid surge.
A natural part of human experience,
Unluckily driven by such eccentric decease.
A repercussion of this chosen dalliance.

You're a phenom that came in like a storm.
Allowed me to love you, now I let you abhor.
Fallaciously believed in dandelion wishes,
A superstition created as stimulus of hope.
But it's too late to stop me, says Amnesia.

Remember me! Remember me!
You called
Tribute to Golden Time
Sacred Johnson Nov 2018
One of these days
I will be on deck, put pedals on my boat
Low it down the deepest streams
And you will watch me as I slowly sail away
Towards the ocean, underneath a stormy sky
Floating ahead of the hightest tides
There I will dive in with everything that I am
Wash away your promises and love notes
Feed your rebukes and blames to the sharks
Then one day
I will return, not for you
'Cause I will not know a thing about you but I will notice you if you dare try to take advantage of my Amnesia
This is a note to self: I will never come back to you, despite your changes. I lost track of who you were before I even left, so let's be these strangers.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2018
Premeditated Amnesia 1

For nothing here is old, save for deep layers
Of moss and muck and mouldering remains
Civilisations lit by visions and fire
Now lost beneath a Wal-Mart Parking lot

Incuriously the tentacles of Now
Slither more deeply into the pale past
And churn up yet another housing estate
At the corner of Kingsford Lane and Heather Way

Near the Motorcycle Church, for piston prayers:
For nothing here is old, save for deep layers





1”The U.S. is probably the contemporary world’s purest example of a society which is perpetually trying to abolish history, to avoid thinking in historical terms, to associate dynamism with premeditated amnesia.” -Alexander Woodside quoted by Susan Sontag:

https://bostonreview.net/susan-sontag-interview-geoffrey-movius?utmsource=Boston+Review+E­mail+Subscribers&utmcampaign=b581739691-EMAILCAMPAIGN201808170417COPY01&utmmedium=email&utmterm=0_2cb428c5ad-b581739691-41080789
Syv Elena Aug 2018
I like to play horror games
Amnesia was the first one I played
The monsters were scary
The envoirement was eerie
But if I'd call the monster Steven
Instead of scared I'd be merry

Steven was such a funny guy
He looked funny
He walked weirdly
Nothing of him would terrify

The only time he'd scare me was when I'd open the door
Sometimes the jumpscare would make me fall to the floor

Many years I have played these games
Even though I was scared, in the end I'd be okay

That was until I stood next to my brother
He was not yet in his grave
This experience was like no other
It crashed on me like a giant wave

I'd never seen him lay so still
It was hard but I wanted to try
Though I knew it could only go downhill
I wanted to touch his hand one last time

I lowered my body and reached out my hand
I was pretty sure he would scare me right then & there
But my brother didnt move, not even a hair

And I realized at that moment how much I wanted that jumpscare
I lost my brother back in February to suicide. Back then I didn't have the words to say what happened when I stood in that room with my best friend. I told her when I lowered my body that I was waiting for a jumpscare I knew would never happen.

It were very tough times.
To be honest, I still can't handle it.
Pyrrha Aug 21
I've wasted so much time on being told who I am
That I no longer have any time to discover myself
I feel like I have amnesia
And no one is being honest
They tell me one thing but it feels like another
I can't think for myself because "I don't know"
Is it 'I don't know', or 'I'm not allowed to find out'?

It's like amnesia, but with the memories
Enoa Oct 2018
The underbelly of the beast
Exposed
Is just more context
Tucked away
In looser corners of a mind
Void of lilac sunsets and
Airport poetry
And your belly
Hollowed out through the hips
By all those generic lovers
Doesn’t need more fundamentals
Only acid dreams of desert symmetry
ryn Jan 2015
.
   Curious minds,
      splashing under
       moonlight
       With
      outstretched kisses
     pulsating yellow,
     Over the awestruck
      magical
       rainbow,
         Feverishly tracking each
         supernova
      on sight.


   Resting the moment
    on a
     cresting knoll,
    With
   an audience of several
   time-worn
     rocks.
      Whilst the
        whistling sirens
        in the winds do call...
          Wasting away
        the ticks of
     worldly
      clocks.


        Evading with class,
       all
       heart's turbulence,
        Craters of sadness
          congeal
           in thin air,
             Glamorous amnesia
             falls
          with cadence,
         Eyes wide shut,
         susurrating
          a
           lost prayer.


             Lifeless gazes
               yield
               only
             abrasive tears.
             As erratum
              catches up
                with its
                 gaping maw.
              Hurling
            its anguish
             in
             rips and shears,
              Bleeding out
                of
               singing wounds
             so raw.

             But...
              time carries confident,
                its stock of
                   soothing balm.
                   Latent doses
                 hidden
                within
                 invisible vials.
                  Welcoming vision
                    with its
                    sunlit palms,
                   Staving the longing
                    for the
                    fear of trials.


                      Now hushed
                         remain the remorseful
                        battle trenches,
                        Deprived of their own
                          victims
                           ­ save gaping wounds,
                            Only
                        ­     faint faith
                                commanding
                ­                   corroded limp
                                   forces,
                                 Stirring
                                light away
                               from
                                all
                        ­         agony
                                    and
                   ­                doom.



                              Moonskittles
           ­                 *ryn
.
This has been an amazing experience!!! Big thanks to Moonskittles for the opportunity to share a page with her captivating style of poetry!!!
.
dadens Apr 3
I think the saddest part of it all
Isn't how you hurt me
or how I hurt you

But that when I wake up every day
I wish I could erase all memory of us

Because I would have rather not
known you

Than to know a life without you.

But that's just the truth you'll never hear.
© d.a.dens
you showed me the greatest joy of life, love, and lots of it. but that only means I've dealt with the greatest loss as a result. and, well, some days I'd rather not know what it was like to have that joy and passion turn into pain.
andru Jan 24
Insomniac with a dreamers soul
stealing mornings from these metal detector mornings
Exploitation fiend          stop          turn over
in your mind
role the issue
between slim fingertips
Add some colour to these bureaucratic dreams

Forget dialogue and cohesion and forget
linear and metaphor
Don't force the world to be that small
You laugh
whenever they mention "reality"
You're faking so profound
Your faking, so profound
Opaque
like words we will one day have our revenge upon
What's left?          The skeleton of intention
A dream you've been meaning to have
You wake and don't pretend to understand
why she grew fangs
between her lily lips and took off
smiling into the great void          the notion
of existence
Staring into...into...

Every day we build again
everything we pull from or nothing
Connectedness is the essence of everything
everything is relative
Poetry's just lies
about existence
When did you feel happy last?
Was it your intention?
How is it I become conscious of how foolish I am to
have been searching
when you were in me all along?
What words are left that would make a difference?
What could I say without feeling ashamed?
Write a thousand words
or write the same word a thousand times
Same difference
but don't walk away          add your story here:






I have dreamed of you so much you are no longer real...

Dear You

I am running across vast distances
maybe to see if you have called
I am late
I am following you around in my mind
I am trying to forget you
but it's getting worse
not better
How can I touch across this secret
chasm
of things flown apart?
Challenged to remember the details
of your face
it took a while for the realization
You do not complete me
we are sky perfect, just soul sleeping
Narcolepsy
keeps us falling back
uncontrollably
Em MacKenzie Jan 29
I think it’s far past the time,
that I go and change my full name.
It’s not that I’ve committed a crime,
It’s just I’m done playing this game.
It’s a waste of my time and energy,
and I’ve become aware there’s a closet in my skeleton,
it’s moved from where it’s meant to be,
I guess it’s not just my will power that’s made of gelatin.

I took a power drill to my right temple,
to create a hole and install a switch.
To erase my thoughts I ignored the detrimental,
but every memory slips it’s way through the stitch.
Sometimes it’s not the change you want,
but maybe it’s the change that you need.
Don’t hide your wounds, they’re battle scars you should flaunt,
and praise that you still have the ability to bleed.

But I’m a hypocrite of the worst kind,
as I encourage others to embrace the pain.
My worst enemy is my own mind,
and I’m plotting havoc against my brain.
I’d do anything for a clean slate,
I’d give it all up to once hit “reset”
The best I can do right now is just wait,
and hope one day I can be blessed to forget.

I tried to go back home but the doors are all locked,
and someone’s in my parking space.
There’s a sea of debris on the roads that I once walked,
my existence in my own home has been fully erased.
It’s almost so tragic that it’s comedic,
that the only two things I want slipped through my grasp.
A concept is invisible, so how do you beat it?
If you never held it how do you reclasp?

But I’m a hypocrite of the worst kind,
as I encourage others to embrace the pain.
I’m tired of being ******* within this bind,
like a cartoon character on the tracks awaiting an oncoming train.
I’d do anything for a clean slate,
I’d give it all up to once hit “reset”
Am I starving even though I cleared my plate?
Am I swimming in riches while drowning in debt?

Eternal sunshine of a spotless mind,
speaks more to my state, praying to become blind.
Atleast I wouldn’t long and yearn,
for the spot where I once stood,
‘cause how can you ever return
when you know how it used to be good?

And I raised her up on a pedestal so high,
that her fingers could brush the heavens.
She replaced the sun and became the sky,
and I wished for her at all eleven-eleven’s.
Jack Jenkins Aug 2018
Time was not the healer
I was promised it would be
just a threadbare bandage

I still love you
hate that I hate you
hate that I love you

Locked away feelings
it's better this way
to have no heart

Love was not a waste
just a taste though
was a price too high

Mind
incoherence but no amnesia
just let me forget it all

Broken body
inflamed and twisted
given to too many anyways

Heart is dead
died fighting the good fight
lost the war

Do I have peace?
At least the lesser half
Yes
//On life//
Spring is the season of new beginnings .
Surrounded with beauty that energizes you.
Green meadows , cool breezes and the Purple Moors ,
Lush blooms that take away the winter glooms.
Enticing you in an array of colours !

Narcissus ,Hyacinths ,lilacs Irises and Freesia , present a string of floral amnesia .
Like a pollywog when you are scampering through ,
Oh !  dear spring you are a welcome view.

Wear your gadoshes , head to where the valleys and the skies meet , Robin's and swallow's tweet ,
The bright rays of the sun spread the warmth and rainbows present a colourful  greet .

Bid  goodbye's to winter blue's ,
Welcome the "VERNAL EQUINOX" hues .

©Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Course of spring #brightness #Love for spring season summoned in poetic format...
20 02.2019
Elise Jackson Sep 2017
crime, staring competitions, tears.

these small things that lead us further
into the fog, closer to the moths,
attached at the hip, nothing new.
nothing blue, always red.

your guitar rips through the
navy skyline, alerting the stars of war,
violet mornings creeping over the
trees as sleep envelops your eyes.
i've dreamed of something like
this, but i got more than i asked for.

i'd never go back.
i'd never go back to that place where you
don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous.
becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow.

but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave;

but we'll never forget.
Traveler Feb 21
Forgetful mindedness
And a feeling of dread
Suffocating poetic thoughts
Upon my bed

Morning words
My poetic views
Write them down
Break the rules

Every word
Every rhyme
Every passion of my mind
Written down
Line by line
Written down
And
Lost in time
....................
Traveler Tim
Abbigail Apr 2014
When did it happen?
When did I stop being awake?
I don't know if I've ever really been awake.

What does it feel like
to want to do anything that you have to open your eyes for?
"Wake up," they say,
"You're going to sleep away your entire life."
But I see more with eyes closed
than I ever have with eyes open;
What really separates a dream from reality?
My dreams interrupt my reality all the time
and I can never be certain of anything I think is real.

All I know is that we're staring at the ceiling at 2am
just trying to figure each other out,
and suddenly I'm somewhere else
and you're someone else
and I'm saying things to you that don't make sense
and you're confused.

I'll come back from a dream just as confused as you are,
Not with eyes torn open, because they hadn't been shut,
but with nothing more than a shake of the head,
an embarrassed apology
and a disappointment in my inability to remain conscious
even for you.

I know it scares my mother to know
that I drove 62 miles to see her
but I can only remember 37 of them.
But I can't tell you how many poems I don't remember writing,
that contain words I've never used before
and a feeling I didn't know could be described.

When I was a little girl
all I wanted to do was sleep.
I dreamt of growing up to find a husband
and living in a beautiful house with him and our children,
and I'd be happy and have everything I could want.
I dreamt it.
And it felt real.

I decided then that if I could dream it, that was enough
because at least for the time that I slept, it would be real.
It's harder to make sense of real life
when you aren't required to be a part of it.

This brain will never have the control
to stop from slipping in and out of consciousness.
I may never fully wake up.
Any hour may have in store for me only
a dark fog of amnesia and a life that isn't mine,
ready to pull me in and drown me beneath the dangers of my own eyelids.

But that place is the place I know the best,
better than any place conscious minds have ever met.

Eyes closed.
Eyes open.
I don't know where I am,
but I am here.
I don't know. Life is weird and I'm trying to accept that.
Ahnaf Jun 23
Let me take a page out of the book that gave you every look you passed me when I went about my life the way that I was taught

If you had only gone as far as lit my cigarette and smiled I would have given up the world for you and your trials

When you find your rhythm let me know, but I feel that you were never searching for truths not in your bestseller book

I’m sitting here still waiting for a turn to speak, but you’ve stuffed your ears with amnesia of history; it makes you free

I’m here looking at the sky; it’s my way to feel free for a bit of time, and it doesn’t hurt anyone, unlike yours

We were never in line, and it’s all fine, until you cup my mouth with all the force you gained from never having to think twice

Now let me take a lie out of your book and make it choke on all the tears that could have drowned your pages and made you realize

Shy and soft-spoken though I might be, there are ways to talk without speaking a single word and it’s worth a thousand photographs
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