"mem" poems
Speaking of broken hearts
and mended fenced in mem'ries
I am painting skies
of tangerine, saffron
& an illuminated lilac hue
against the starkly contrasted crisp cornflower blue, stretching canvas that is
along with all the
other blindingly beautiful colors of a twilight sky
And those dripping cotton candy stratospheric clouds
Ice crystals freezing into supercooled
water droplets
Streaking the sky in cirrus whispers
..I hear them whisper, "hello"...
Blinding beauty
through unadulterated sunlight
I am fleeced like a lamb
watching in awe,
..in wonder
then stomping sounds
of coming thunder,
Finding depth and height
out in the stratosphere
Blinded by the
After Light
or afterglow
affected by the amount of haze
I'm in a daze
...as I am reaching
High above the fading light
of a brilliant early fall sunset
I take a big breath
of that sumptuous air
and twirl my skirted legs
my painted toes
where I know
I am back
to solid ground
Appreciating the last time
I say sleep well
to you my dear
summertimes sweet mem'ries
and the fun we had this year.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
It was golden and splendid,
That City of light;
A vision suspended
In deeps of the night;
A region of wonder and glory, whose temples were marble and white.
I remember the season
It dawn'd on my gaze;
The mad time of unreason,
The brain-numbing days
When Winter, white-sheeted and ghastly, stalks onward to torture and craze.
More lovely than Zion
It shone in the sky
When the beams of Orion
Beclouded my eye,
Bringing sleep that was filled with dim mem'ries of moments obscure and gone by.
Its mansions were stately,
With carvings made fair,
Each rising sedately
On terraces rare,
And the gardens were fragrant and bright with strange miracles blossoming there.
The avenues lur'd me
With vistas sublime;
Tall arches assur'd me
That once on a time
I had wander'd in rapture beneath them, and bask'd in the Halcyon clime.
On the plazas were standing
A sculptur'd array;
Long bearded, commanding,
rave men in their day—
But one stood dismantled and broken, its bearded face battered away.
In that city effulgent
No mortal I saw,
But my fancy, indulgent
To memory's law,
Linger'd long on the forms in the plazas, and eyed their stone features with
awe.
I fann'd the faint ember
That glow'd in my mind,
And strove to remember
The aeons behind; &
21.4k
Once more the ancient feast returns,
And the bright hearth domestic burns
With Yuletide's added blaze;
So, too, may all your joys increase
Midst floods of mem'ry, love, and peace,
And dreams of Halcyon days.
10.7k
Tentpole, stature tall and strong and
Firmly placed between the thin sheets
Members of the boy scouts, boy clan
Flames extinguished, his body heats
At dawn it rises, makes me wake
******* for the fire he gathers
Morning wood, embers of the stakes
Soon home; disapproving Fathers
Morning **** calls, but we're busy
Pack our bags, get all the work done
Juice of life makes me quite dizzy
Mem'ries of our weekend of fun
I'll be dish and spoon to your spoon
Spend nights together o'er the moon
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
–When a boy thinks of a girl–
his cheeks don't go red,
nor do his pupils dilate
but his heart beats as fast
as a horse's gallop in race
His lips strongly tremble
in the midst of conversation
his legs that won't settle
due to headstrong infatuation
her beauty overwhelms him
her cold hand warms his heart
her gaze, like Medusa's
a romantic work of art
his thoughts full of appreciation
for whatever form she may have
a wonderful mem'ry, imagination
a thought that can't be grasped
his thoughts he can't express
his mouth he cannot open
his words he can't confess
but his heart, ť was always broken
but all this is not really
'bout when a boy thinks of a girl
because in these words you can tell
that he had always loved her.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
Upper East Side
The Hamptons
Aspen, Colorado
The plastic people
Follow each other
Moving in herds
Like cattle to the
Slaughter
Drifting
Floating
Shifting focus
From one charity event
To another
Whatever’s trendy
Whatever’s fashionable
Whatever’s happ’ning
Whatever’s the need
Tainted new artists
Society’s rejects
The film-maker who fits in with
The flavor of the month
The disease or the cause
That captures the moment
Stigmas overlooked
Deformities relieved
By one hyper exertion
By one pseudo good deed
Changing bedrooms
Changing partners
New alliances
Noblesse oblige
Mrs. Astor’s
Four hundred
Reinvented forever
Reinvented with fervor
On the edge
Of hypocrisy
Keeping up with the Jones’s
Maintaining the houses
Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura
Malibu, Palm Beach
Couture fashion
Madison, Rodeo
Worth avenues united
Avenues of the liege
Location, location, location
The right address unspoken
Dinner in the right places
Sporting events to be seen
Three martini luncheons
Halcion evenings
Business is business
Where money’s retrieved
Look to plastic people
For fashionable guidance
No matter the moment
No matter the need
Remember to catch them
While jetting to Santa Barbara
Saint Maarten, San Troupe
San Marco, warp speed
They live in their milieu
Can’t function outside it
Can’t follow a shadow
That others believe
It’s easy to find them
They leave behind footprints
But barely a mem’ry
Or singular creed
Other than finding
The latest in fashion
The latest persona
Or new plastic breed
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
While sitting at a café once
a boy of sorts went by.
His clothes were bright, he wore a suit
a purple, orange tie.
He looked around him while he walked
and then I caught his eye.
His hair was wild and fairly long,
his shoes were bright and new.
His face was lit up with a smile
and said “how do you do?”
He waved his hand, his giant hand,
the smile quite simply grew.
He walked on over, then he sat
down on the chair across
from me and all my company
a friend, his wife, my boss,
and handed me a brochure of
Learn how to play lacrosse.
“The name is Nathan Douglas Day
of age I am nineteen.
I have thick hair that gets quite gross
which then, I have to clean.
The knots that form, they almost dread.
You do know what I mean?
But hair is not all that I am
there’s skin and bones and thought,
but even then, that isn’t much
my weight is almost naught.
The mem’ry in my brain is small
which leaves much to be taught.
The people call me names to do
with where they know me from
like, Mugbo, or the wanderer,
or rang-rang, or Nathan,
or Nathan Douglas Day and some
don’t call me anyone.”
This speech of his, it left me shocked.
What kind of life was this,
to have more names than anyone
from this metropolis?
I was so puzzled and confused
there was something amiss.
I said “Okay…” and looked straight down
to where the pamphlet lay
and then began to read about
Lacrosse and how to play.
And Nathan snapped his fingers loud
and got a piece of cake.
A strawb’rry shake came next and then
a plate of biscuits came.
he offered them around and said
“they all taste much the same.”
We ate them all. He sat quite still.
I learned about the game.
My boss and friend were wondering,
who was this Nathan day,
this boy who came from nowhere and
sat down and seemed to stay?
They asked me with their eyes but I
did not know what to say.
Then Nathan started talking to
the wife of my good friend
he made her laugh and laugh and laugh
and laugh it didn’t end.
We all wanted to hear the joke
he wouldn’t say again.
“Lacrosse seems very difficult”
I said to stir the air.
“It is” he said “I played it once
but now, I would not dare”
I wondered then why he would hand
the pamphlets out with care.
I wondered maybe did he work
in trade from door to door.
I asked him this and his reply
it shocked me even more
“I do not hand them out” he said
“I found it on the floor.”
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 7:49 AM UTC
We are all hypocrites,
passionate on
crime, *** and drama
We are all hypocrites,
building our
two-dimensional dioramas
We think fast,
our half-witted brains
conniving
We talk fast,
our foolproof tongues
praising
We love to hate others,
and bask in the glory
of their demise
We hate to love our brothers,
for all our speeches
are mem'rized
Stepping stones from naivety
Our vainglorious insanity
Romanticizing reality
The hand that
feeds us
is our enemy
When will this stop?
iamthe_avatar ©2016
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
within the walls of torrid days
where broken glass of mem’ry lays
on wine red floors by Sol emblazed
reflecting time in shattered rays
the golden house where passion bloomed
and craving raw two lives consumed
each kiss in auric light illumed
with camellia each sigh perfumed
in stucco rooms the heat we bore
through afternoon to evermore
and took no guilt to answer for
with whispered gifts on fevered shore
the salted air from sea reclined
on posted bed with we entwined
who sought the depths of joy refined
through cloudless days of love enshrined
now on cold streets like empty hall
where shadows reign and echoes fall
do sky and sun in grief recall
two souls conjoined two hearts enthralled
there I search for vine wreathed door
where all my life has gone before
for you alone can ere restore
this banished man to summer’s shore
Jul 15, 2023
Jul 15, 2023 at 11:19 PM UTC
Thoughts of you are killing me
I don't know how and why
This is just how you affect me
And I want this gone
Sometimes near
Sometimes far
You make me confused
On what we really are
I hate you for being like that
Don't know what you did
You have left with no goodbyes
But still haunting me with your mem'ries
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Three Mothers stood alone.
Aleph, Mem, and Shin.
A great mystery are these three,
Watching, weaving, and true.
From the Mothers came three Fathers,
Stranger still are they.
Six rings around the Twins,
From six proceed all things.
A riddle I ask you, a riddle so true,
Can you answer me this?
A musing I give you in the form of a poem,
Do you catch my drift?
Three stood alone before all things,
Three who are older than time.
Six stood alone in the Outer Dark,
But which came before which other?
How old is Nimue, how old's the child,
Is she younger than all the rest?
How old is Ninue, is she younger than you,
Who was the very first born?
How old is Mari, how old's the mother,
Was she born and when was that?
How old is Mari, is she older than that,
Who's the reflection of God Herself?
How old's the Anna, how old's the crone,
Is she more ancient than all the rest?
How old's the Anna, is she older than dirt,
When was the Priestess born?
How old's the Blue God, when did he dance,
Was he very first born of all?
How old's the Blue God, how young's the youth,
Who is the last to endure?
How old is Twr, how old is Krom,
Is he father or teacher of all?
How old is Twr, in his tall tower.
Who's sword will cut through us all?
How old is Arddhu, how old is Death,
How long has he stood at the Gates?
How old is Arddhu, did youth or true death,
Come first in the order of things?
Three stood alone before all things,
Three who are older than time.
Six stood alone in the Outer Dark,
But which came before which other?
A riddle I ask you, a riddle so true,
Can you answer me this?
A musing I give you in the form of a poem,
Do you catch my drift?
From the Mothers came three Fathers,
Stranger still are they.
Six rings around the Twins,
From six proceed all things.
Three Mothers stood alone.
Aleph, Mem, and Shin.
A great mystery are these three,
Watching, weaving, and true.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
Take a picture - it'll last longer
Someday you'll miss these days, my dear
Take a picture - we can frame it
To remember it well when mem'ries are sour
Maybe someday the thoughts will be fonder
Always seem to be when the days last longer
But what do I know
Take a note down - scribble it out
Don't want to forget the words that were said
Take a note down - save it for later
When new lines are harsh - feel like breaking
Use some ink - don't let it fade
If it's done well colors will stay the same
Don't let it go
It hurts to let go - hurts to let go
Don't want to forget because
It hurts to let go - hurts to let go
Please come back
Need you right now - need you right now
Missing you so
Need you right now - need you right now
Come home
Take a picture - it'll last longer
Take a note down - save it for later
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
The days have vanished golden years,—
Years but a doleful mem'ry now;
I hear the dirge of rough winds howl,
Above his grave to mock my tears.
Remem'ring when his strength was low;
When hunger failed and ceased his play,
He trod a frail more painful way;
I trust he's now in Thee made whole.
He is not here but far away,
The driving rain like heaven's tears
Show'ring his grave for latter years
From skies to match my spirit grey.
With breaking heart I linger nigh,
Loathe e'er to leave his gloomy bed;
I wish it could be me instead
Than one so gentle had to die.
He sleeps beneath the sullen sod,
Beneath harsh sunlight and bleak rain;
No more to suffer any pain,
While the pure soul rests with his God.
~Hilda~
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
Happy birthday Marian
A thousand mem'ries of you
blow across my mind
tiny miracle of life
held close to a mother's heart
Today you turned twelve
still I see my sweet baby
smile into my eyes
no flute to give thee
harp or cello have I none
chilled by poverty
hungry mouths to feed
our furry little darlings
their eyes beseeching
if I had more time
I would play croquet with you
and dress dolls again
hear a mother's heartfelt cry
baking loaves of bread and rolls
planning simple meals
May this humble poem
a token of my love prove
my dearest daughter
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
The sky boat floated just beneath the moon,
Just above imagined ivy-mantled tower.
Gold-flecked, ivory clouds just out of reach,
Like the firefly,
Suspended just ahead, pale then gold-light,
Beautiful against brilliant 12 O'clock blue,
Blue deep as overwhelming sea,
Tear-jerking, snare of senses,
Lo this sight of feeling,
Mem'ry of freedom livid,
Warming; caressing once stone-tight grey
face.
Entranced by a sudden breeze,
A taste of grass, scent of ocean and sand,
Feeling of spirit, sounds of heavy moth wings,
As a whole, finally, an image of embodied freedom.
Suddenly something bubbles up, crawling along skin,
Dragging along newly heightened expectation.
My Firefly glows ever brighter, deep fire-light,
But still a little less than Moon Mother above,
So bright, capable of ling'grin behind closed lids,
Permanent, like this new hope,
A hope like a wish newly formed,
Warm and vulnerable and free.
-MoonFirefly
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC
Cocoon suspended ‘neath a branch,
Out of harmer’s range;
Churning in tight quarters then,
Awaiting for the change.
A cast she’d spun with great detail,
To blend into the scene;
Remain innocuous, choosing plain,
To spend such days serene.
This sanctuary has terms of time;
Yet flippant so, of sight;
Blinded by the darkness kept,
May only dream of flight.
There, outside this nurturing crypt,
Lies futures yet untold;
Exploring freedom, airless hours,
As wings will then unfold.
Alterations to her inner form
Complete in all detail;
While oblivious to worlds unknown--
Mem’ries without a trail.
As perforations tear a fold,
In which she will embark,
To crystal, glowing cast of moon
Within this evening, dark;
She wrestles to uncurl her girth
And wingspan so anew;
That seems so awkward, foreign and
Has converted different hue.
Now perched upon her drying bed,
She fans while instincts try
To capture sens’ry explosions
That lay to foundling’s eyes.
Beyond the glen, a spot she sees;
A single glowing blur.
Just then each tree bends toward one side,
As breaths sweep under her.
Weightless, floating, movement new,
She tests her longer arms,
That reach, manipulating wind,
Should quivers strike alarm.
The lure of the eerie glow,
Possess investigation,
As closer toward the light she flies,
Embraced with consternation.
Near collision with the beacon,
She’s halted in mid-air;
Translucent strings of sticky form,
She didn’t see, were there.
She wrestles, tries to free herself,
While a shadow looming near
Smiles with contentment of
His cunning craft of snare.
Slowly he approaches while
She looks to see his eyes,
So vacant of emotive flush,
With fear she starts to cry.
The octo-legged creature then,
Inserts his poisoned quill,
As venom circulates her life,
He waits until she’s still.
Then coils her in silky thread,
While dancing ‘bout his room.
Tho’ this is of his own design,
She returns, inside cocoon.
As thoughts of life, such brevity,
Released of any pain.
She closes youthful eyes at last,
And dreams of flight again.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 6:23 AM UTC
My favorite thing about Yakult
Is that is spices up your tea
It gives my body a jolt
And energy for others to see
My mem'ry about having Yakult
Mixed blindly to the drink.
Is when my brother brought me milk tea shop,
From a place where gambling is in the brink.
A funny thing about my drink,
Is the connections I have with fellows.
They drink what they want,
And I drink what I want.
So the moral of this piece is,
people will like you if you drink
Tea with Yakult
(Not Sponsored)
Apr 2, 2023
Apr 2, 2023 at 12:47 PM UTC
1 Way down upon de Swanee ribber,
2 Far, far away,
3 Dere's wha my heart is turning ebber,
4 Dere's wha de old folks stay.
5 All up and down de whole creation,
6 Sadly I roam,
7 Still longing for de old plantation,
8 And for de old folks at home.
9 [Chorus] All de world am sad and dreary,
10 Ebry where I roam,
11 Oh! darkeys how my heart grows weary,
12 Far from de old folks at home.
13 [Solo] All round de little farm I wandered
14 When I was young,
15 Den many happy days I squandered,
16 Many de songs I sung.
17 When I was playing wid my brudder
18 Happy was I --.
19 Oh! take me to my kind old mudder,
20 Dere let me live and die.
21 [Chorus] All de world am sad and dreary,
22 Ebry where I roam,
23 Oh! darkeys how my heart grows weary,
24 Far from de old folks at home.
25 One little hut among de bushes,
26 One dat I love,
27 Still sadly to my mem'ry rushes,
28 No matter where I rove
29 When will I see de bees a humming
30 All round de comb?
31 When will I hear de banjo tumming
32 Down in my good old home?
33 [Chorus] All de world am sad and dreary,
34 Ebry where I roam,
35 Oh! darkeys how my heart grows weary,
36 Far from de old folks at home
2.3k
I know where I came from, long ago,
It is a land where bare feet dance, stepping to and fro.
Where drumbeats and heartbeats become one,
And at night, the sea dances on the long horizon.
My land has felt the grim bite of war,
And now the place where I grew up is my home no more.
I hear the cries and screams of my kind,
Forever branded as the one that left them behind.
I fled across the seas for safety,
But a place that wards off mem'ries I have yet to see.
And here no one will offer a hand,
This land only knows grey concrete, I wish for white sand.
And I remember what it is to embrace the sun.
My skin is now dull, a tired grey,
Mirrors watch as the light in my eyes now fades away.
They are still fighting, though I'm not there,
Though the seams of my country are beginning to tear.
I still remember where I come from,
But I fear- should I return- that home will be long gone.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
*Some of my best friends are
The tiny grey cells in my head
For, without these tireless givers
I should sorely want*.....
For I've had.....
The power to recognise the nurturer
Who saved me countless times
Who sewed my confidence at valedictory
Gratitude to Mother...granting me first wings.
The help of a few friends with proffered lifts
Not many, but enough to light the way
Takes but one spark to lead the lost
Cannot discount the value of true goodwill.
The sweet taste of that first, deep love
Who showed the path to discovered delights
Easy mem'ries...looking back, but ****** ahead
Sighs painted on the ceiling in dreamy webs.
The awkward trip down that rabbit hole
Blue lady hanging pretty in the corner
Flies trapped flimsy, on some terylene
Many padlocks loom....to get gasping to you!
The chance to slough off onerous habits
Dive wholehearted into the universe's sea
Gaps to kickstart joy and spearhead cheer
Mentors pass the torch and believe in me!
Yes, some of my best friends are NOT seen
Most reliably spun inside this osseous shell
They answer things and help me find my truth
Thank heavens....selfless amity equals mercy.
S T, 29 June
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
Like marionettes,
dancing, swirling, jibing
moved by strings of their desires.
Their bodies set ablaze,
by the fiction of their hides.
Despairing to escape by any means,
keeping their mem'ries in the haze.
Aimlessly thrusting til' Tilda tires;
swinging, struggling, scathing,
like marionettes.
And when the zenith is reached,
comes a fleeting sense of victory.
Their point of contact comes to an end.
***** hollow, and soul still empty.
Like marionettes.
Feb 19, 2024
Feb 19, 2024 at 2:34 AM UTC
Ferris wheeling on a weekend night
flying, open minds out of sight.
Puff and round, and whistle bombs
are throwing back some mem'ries
now we're going back to the start.
and they're dancing at night time
and your taking a bite.
now you're seeing the purpose of your life
lies and deceptions arise.
Now you're showing some love to me
and it's making us free
see the stars come shining down you see,
what you mean to me.
Ferris wheeling on a weekend night
flying high in an open sky.
Ferris wheeling on a weekend night
flying high with an open mind.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC