"mementos" poems
mementos
richly held
hidden in
fractured chest
big people
shifting boxes
heavy
light
silenced
a child's fissure
clasping favourite shell
close
swift salvage
in tight world
rescue from
gaping hole
#family #disruption #moving #treasures #mementos #lost #ignored
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
the museum of my heart
has a blurry picture of his green eyes
the boy whose I name I never knew
there's a special exhibit
of all the bathrooms I had a breakdown in
there's polaroid pictures hanging
of all the friends I lost through the years
and all the friends who lost me
there's the poetry I wrote about them
words written in red ink and messy handwriting
there's statues of copper and tin
of all the lovers who couldn't love me
there's a constant humming of white noise and lo-fi
echoes of unspoken words I kept and ones I never heard
there's a selection of wingless butterflies
and a collection of blunt pencil sharpener blades
there's a basket of fortune cookies
and every single piece of paper carries the same aphorism:
"amidst the loneliness, the things you loved will forever haunt you."
there's old tv sets and a stack of DVD's
of all the films I wish I'd seen
there's all the skeletons I've hidden
secrets written on napkins and snuck between the wall cracks
there's a brand new guillotine and a golden noose
carefully kept for anyone who tries to hurt me
there's blackberry trees, an open ceiling
and dark splatters covering the ground beneath it
there's a chapel with empty seats and burned bible verses
rose petals and pink, lilac and blue candles
where an altar waits for a future love's mementos
there's a fountain of sweat, blood & tears
there's me standing in the corner
waiting to hand you your ticket and lure you in
there's angels and devils praying that you make it to the end of the tour
Jan 29, 2023
Jan 29, 2023 at 8:19 PM UTC
All I have now – all that is left –
is a handful of mementos that your fingertips lingered on
long ago; magnifying glass, old college notes...
How can that be all of you?
And I was given a sweater, itchy wool.
I never saw you wear it but I am told it was yours and so
like a child with a blanket I clutch at it, desperate for something.
It makes my skin crawl.
At your funeral it was so cold
and my feet were so numb standing in the snow and I thought
“Won’t you be cold there?”
I stepped forward and asked the funeral home director
for a yellow flower please.
I laid it on your coffin and hoped it would at least remind you of warmth.
I am told you are still “with us” and you “live on in our hearts”
If this is true I will lend you my heartbeat
and pump into you some of my blood
and my breath going in and out and in again and again.
My lungs can be strong enough for the both of us
since yours were not even strong enough for you.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or queer
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
Sitting in this dusty old attic
listening to the shingles flapping in the wind
I flip through a dog-eared book from my childhood.
As I skip through the pages,
I look up and notice the fine inlaid
carpentry work of an old chest.
Going over, leaving prints on the dusty floor,
I lift the lid. With reptilian slowness
a lazy fat spider edges away.
Inside this trove of ancient treasure,
magnificent finds of days gone by.
Mementos of a honeymoon, a parachute jump.
Gramma's best biscuit recipe. A photo of
Sam the hound with spittle running down his jowls.
A picture of a babe at his mother's ******
A permutation of these tucked away articles
give meaning to a life well and truly lived.
Closing the pages of these treasures I
wander away to watch my grandchildren
make memories of their own.
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
"In our old attic
I saw a basket made of batik
It was covered with dust
But inside it reminded me the past
I saw our old Polaroid photos
It is our couple mementos
Some pictures' ink already faded
But for me our memories never ended
And I miss you, your warm hugs
Baking you brownie in a mug
I miss seeing your funny sinister smile
And now I can't even see it for awhile
It was hard to describe what I have been through the years,
Every day I was in tears
From you, I wanted to hear
That "I love you, my dear."
This Polaroid photos, I will keep
In my heart, very deep.
'Till we meet again, my dear'
Maybe not today nor in a year.
But please promise me you'll always be here."
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
My bedsheets envelop me
with the familiar scent of home
as I lie comforted
in their warm embrace.
Outside my window,
crows call from maple trees
their leaves tipped in gold and ochre,
while raven visitors welcome me.
Sprinkled with bits of bleached sand,
my dashboard is a daily reminder
of my my beach-time walkabouts
where I kept my hopes and dreams.
My tropical adventure,
now just a memory in snapshots
lies packed away with shells and other mementos,
as I embrace tomorrow.
Summer's sultry days
with their myriad of challenges,
have molded me into the woman I am,
and who I will become.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
"Handle it with care"
That, I would always say.
To you, I give my heart so fragile;
A risk that I would never dare
To let another hold
Such a thing so rare,
Which you always seem to break
With your trembling hands.
"I'm sorry, it was an accident"
That, you would always say.
So I always have ****** palms,
And marred fingers,
From always picking up
The sharp fragments
Of my once called heart,
That you so fearfully handle.
Mind that I don't blame you
And your frail hands.
I pick up every blood-stained piece,
With a warm smile.
Every tear and sweat
That ran from my face,
Would wash away the stains,
Restoring its brilliance.
Now I realize that rarity
Does not come in fragile form.
It comes in the form of beauty
That endures. Once healed,
The pieces brought together
Illuminate into a colorful mosaic,
Dedicated to you.
Let its splendor captivate you.
A masterpiece that will drive
All the fears and worries away,
As it makes the trembling end.
For they are not just fragments,
But mementos that will last;
Images that will forever gleam,
Of you and me.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
I’ve wasted all my money on ****
again.
I don’t even like it, the stench, the habit, the headaches,
the fake smiles, declarations of “I’m so high”, I’m done.
I’m done splattering my guts in the morning
displaying my vulnerabilities to the world,
the world of 275 girls. I just can’t seem to find
the acceptance I want,
but don’t deserve. what I need is a pill to forget
who I am and what I’ve done, because I haven’t done enough.
**** kids my age travel to Tajikistan, hack government websites,
cure complex diseases in their sleep.
I just lay on my futon, plop dvds into my Mac,
and waste my life away.
another day wasted, staring into a screen. which reminds me
I also waste too much money on dvds,
while my Netflix account remains untouched.
could I be anymore of an abomination,
with my tattooed skin, and pierced face,
cutting the crusts off of my bread. as mementos of my past
seep into my mind, I wonder
when I’ll see the starting line,
or if it’s already left me behind.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
Scratching pebbles.
Seeing the dog walkers.
Down by the river.
The stalkers?
Hunting for stars.
While playing guitars.
Presentation on violins.
Serenading his lady.
Using his voice.
Pure perfection.
Not his choice.
He's playing at love.
Puppies are adorable, usually.
This dog.
Well,
Only as adorable as a hound from hell.
Seconds and moments.
Mementos and chocolates.
Him, sleeping beneath the trees.
Brow dripping,
salted perspiration.
Wasting away.
Wasting time.
Love playing games.
That was the summer, that was.
When love chased her.
Chased him too.
It chased him away.
And, you rarely hear birds sing in Venice.
They've flown, off chasing love for somebody else.
Clever birds, gave up on us.
(c)Livvi
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
A demented perception deeply distorted.
The carnival mirror that is his mind.
He is stuck on the wrong side of the one way mirror.
Loved ones shouting from the other side,
Proclaiming and preaching high regards.
But their echos fall on deaf ears.
It is all so plain to them, standing outside the box.
How can such a beautiful person,
Full of such passion and pride for others.
Forsaken themselves with simple haste?
Silently he sheds tear after tear,
Longing for the lust for living as others do.
Jealous of their jovial smiles, full of warmth.
Undeserving, his minds stomping down upon the notion.
What makes you worthy of what they cherish?
His heavy heart burned with an unknown sense.
This longing to be lighter,
No longer buried under the bricks of its mind.
He found himself lifting a hand.
At first gently brushing the beast he called his reflection.
Momentum gaining, he pressed against the perverted image.
And as if from the distance,
Voices began to fill the space,
What little spaces his silent tears had not filled.
That demon inside his mind cried out,
LIES! LIES! We do not deserve.
But the percussion of loved ones' cries,
With years of persistence and perseverance,
Had left the carnival mirror cracked and weakened.
Exploit the weakness, whispers his heart.
Finger clenched, so hard the nails cut his skin.
A fire rages deep now.
Rattling his soul and showering off the dust.
Powerful passion filled his once heavy heart,
Lifting a body brought down to its knees.
Raising an arm as if in triumph.
Forcing skin again glass with a thud.
With each blow the lines grew,
Engulfing the man staring back at him so clearly, for so many years.
With all his might it seems futile,
This empty place is where he shall remain.
Slowly his hand finds his side,
In the cold collection of tears still rising.
Deafening defeat echoed in his ears,
And as he lay his head down,
Against the ghastly grin of the monster taunting him.
CRACK!
Freely falling, in to open arms.
His friends and family there to catch him.
Flaccid from exhaustion, he paid no mind.
To the shards of glass scattered in his skin.
Mementos of a time not to be forgotten,
Remembered but not feared.
With the love of self, we shall conquer.
But it is the love of others with which we will endure.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
Pixelated bitmap e-mares
Digitized be mementos cached
Her 8 bit vocal vintage freeware
Transfers recurrent electric draughts
The bitrate of virtual seduction
Intrusively hacks my bones
Taste be my lips of data eruption
Elicited from her tone
Physique a stimulating software
Upon my Ethernet she crafts sparks
A gem society deemed quite rare
Though she possessed a vibrant bark
Her bandwith I yearned to fiddle
'Twas encrypted with die-hard lust
She moans in esoteric riddles
Keen I decode them whilst I ******
Pizazz eclipsing our veins
A billion megabytes colliding
Satiated we crash free of rein
Unforeseen servers uniting
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
Shoutout to the unsung heroes!
Whose noble swords still rise higher and higher
In this world where broken shields are dire
We disregard our weapons of steel. Oh,
And bards who sing of loot and money
Gems, precious stones, and gold a-plenty
Perhaps if I sing of these unheard vigilantes
The world would be so very jaunty!
Fame, loot, tales and territories;
Unsung heroes have never earned any of these
Despite all efforts to bring about justice,
Despite dispelling all forms of avarice…
Alas, no recognition to lay up front!
No form of appreciation, only gaunt…
Gaunt expressions, an unwelcome chanting of desolation
That's what an unsung hero faces - tribulations.
But look at the bright side!
The future isn't dark, nor no grim eventide
I will sing of these unsung heroes
In short, sweet verses as mementos
For that fleeting moment in time
When they took up the courage to halt crime.
So again, I'm calling out to all the unsung heroes!
Who rose from the bottom the others called zero.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
fallen sun rays
a yellow ballet
as her feet hit the pavement
raw soles against hard concrete
the slight scratch to send shivers
that follows each step
calluses forming
healed by the heat
flowers he had picked
reflect white next to chocolate hair
the bokeh golden light
turns muddy eyes emerald
as she looks with despair and excitement
upon his crooked teeth
and tousled hair
hands held hands in rough embrace
and yellow and red bandannas
hold sliding fingers together
graphite tattoos and cotton words
engraved on fair skin
bleeding ankles
and scarred knees
the collection of their mementos
fringe tickles eyes
a curtain of weeds
of rough fallen doors
as smooth finger pads touch soft cheekbones
and for once they close their eyes
to see fireworks
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
I can’t remember to forget you,
I can’t forget to remember you,
I can’t remember to forget,
I can’t forget to remember,
I can’t remember to,
I can’t forget to,
I can’t remember,
I can’t forget,
I can’t,
I can’t,
I,
I,
I remember,
once,
you told me to watch Memento,
that must of been over two decades ago,
it’s interesting how we remember little trivial things,
from years ago,
but somehow we sometimes forget important things,
that happen moments ago,
Selective memory is a thing,
and so is selective amnesia,
I suppose in some ways my memories of you,
are kept inside me as personal mementos,
I miss you,
I miss the life we never had together,
I miss you massive fridge,
I miss our days in Bali,
I miss making love,
with you like you were the only person in the world,
and I mean that honestly,
because in those moments you were the only person,
the only person,
that showed me hope,
the only person,
that showed me love,
when I met you I was a street kid,
I had no money and no class,
but you took me under your angel wings,
and I will always remember that,
I can’t remember to forget you,
I can’t forget to remember you,
I can’t remember to forget,
I can’t forget to remember,
I can’t remember to,
I can’t forget to,
I can’t remember,
I can’t forget,
I can’t,
I can’t,
I,
I,
I know,
that you’re married now,
happily in fact,
and I’m not trying to mess with that,
please don’t take these words,
as an invitation of any sorts,
I wish you all the best this world has to offer,
because honestly that’s what you deserve,
sure,
I love you,
I can not deny that in any way,
but that love,
is so far beyond this physical plane,
I know how dysfunctional I am,
and I’ve given up all hopes in making a family,
so when I see that you are married,
I truly pray to God that that marriage for ever after progresses happily,
and actually,
I only wrote this to tell you that I finally saw Memento,
and I don’t even if you remember telling me to watch it,
I guess that’s part of what Selective Memory Loss is,
or rather selective amnesia,
anyways whatever I’ll just get back to what I was doing,
so that you can get back to what you were doing,
which is continuing to live this life and create this memories,
or erase these memories either way I hope you get whatever you’re pursing,
I can’t remember to forget you,
I can’t forget to remember you,
I can’t remember to forget,
I can’t forget to remember,
I can’t remember to,
I can’t forget to,
I can’t remember,
I can’t forget…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of multiple best selling poetry books.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1548700746
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
mementos
of you
I keep safe
in a drawer
a hatpin
a bracelet
and a picture of you
I so adore
as I feel and touch
these things
floods of tears
well in my eyes
why did the army...
need you more than me?
and leave me
only the mementos
of loss and grief
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
A leaking clock keeps you
nose up with eyes peering
through night-flooded sky
towards glow-in-the-dark
stars, childhood mementos,
to keep those other shapes
from seeping in, like snakes
slinking over drawers when
they were socks left hanging,
or a hand haunched achingly
through the wardrobe door
was only a shirt sleeve, but
now light escapes the curtains,
becomes a silhouette of a man
out of the second-floor window.
It's ok, you remind yourself.
You roll your head over to
drink, drink, drink in the ticks.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
The soft fur warms my skin, while taking a deep breath of December air.
I look out into the mist, the mountains are playing hide and seek again out in the distance.
I’m watching him let out a sigh from the corner of my eye, making me want to rush in and catch it, with my mouth. He smiles, knows I’m daydreaming of him again.
I look back at the mountains and feel at a loss somehow, perhaps nature doesn’t like letting go either, an uncomfortable slumber of cold mementos and frozen earth. Time feels like it’s standing still, and in this moment my favorite part is holding his hand, knowing he wants to hold mine, firmly.
Look up, Love. Atoms are dancing, colliding and painting the sky.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Girls have beautiful legs and men have beautiful hearts,
both I love to squeeze, both I love to open
hide my gold locket inside like a ticking bomb:
I use the chain to lasso arteries and muscles for me to chew on
but the necklace unbolts for a souvenir collected inside.
It could be the curly hair of his shin, one wisp from her neck
I previously tugged on with my teeth. I performed
open-heart surgery on a man and open-leg surgery on a woman
both called me back to say a second goodbye
and I wonder, I wonder which farewell will be the final.
When will the mementos be massacred
glued to a comatose form, deceased into an emotionless resin?
I could amputate their limbs and turn off the pacemaker.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
You think you can erase me. You think throwing my glass to the ground will remove my lip stick stains. You think your brain, like rocks, will become smooth if you lay in the gentle waves of a new lover. You think your fingers will lose my prints if you burn them long enough on the fire of your newfound passion.
You think her smell will cloud over mine. You think you can forget I was ever around, when you hold the truth on your skin.
How could I possibly be gone from you if you'll never be gone from me? My mouth shows you to every single person I meet. They can't see you there, they can't feel you with my tongue. They don't know the chip you've left on my tooth. It's not there for them. It's mine.
You pretend I don't know your body like a map. You don't think I can trace the scars of your fingers, draw the gully of your joints, the flat plains of your chest. You don't know a thing.
I'll never be gone. You can cut me out physically all you want. But when night comes, and you're clutching her close, remember me.
Remember me then. You'll feel her body shift, and for the briefest of seconds, you'll know where mine belongs.
You'll catch my scent on a breeze, and call her my name. You can't ignore me. I'll never go away. I know far too much to vanish. It's not over, and I won't let it be over until I've seen you squirm.
She doesn't want you. We both feel it.
See, even if I'm not near you, I feel you. I feel what you feel, know what you're thinking. That won't go away.
You can singe my ******* and you can **** my mementos. You can.
You can't **** what they meant to you. You can't **** what you feel.
So drown yourself in her, and I'll laugh when you roll to my shores, torn apart.
Your skin will sag and weigh itself down with seaweed. You'll have barnacles on your tongue as you try to speak to me. You will tell me, "I knew it was wrong. You will never be gone,"
And I will tell you to hush, and rip off each one slowly, savoring them, making your mouth bleed onto my lap. Your blood will pool around my knees, and sink into my skin, like it was always meant to.
You can't escape me.
Late at night, lay there, thinking of me.
You may have her now,
But you'll always have me.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
It is strange
yet not
being back here on
the isle of my forefathers
Of I
Everything is different
yet
nothing has changed
Seagulls call and
the air smells of seaweed
There are pink flowers in baskets
and the sky is blue
That endless blue of timeless childhood summers
Here my name is not an aberration
'ueu' is an everyday tripthong
'Le' a rule not an exception
I am not an exception either
After half a century
discovery
I am one of a tribe after all
Ancestors
people I have never known
not even in name lest alone body
Reaching way back in time
Predominantly French
or of this isle
The Germans
photographed every islander
when they occupied this dot of granite
as bombs fell on Europe in a rain of death
The Occupation was a dark period of
hunger and cruelty
but thanks to these photos
I have seen my heritage
etched on faces so familiar
yet never met
I learned just now
my paternal grandfather had gunshot wounds
along his right side and arm and leg
Mementos of the Somme
of Passchedale
and Ypres
I discovered he died of
carcinoma of the lungs
like my mother
my uncle
several aunts
and my Pa
He survived four years of the Great War
water logged trenches
blood-rusty bayonets
horror and starvation
Just one of a few to come home
Military Medal pinned to his chest
5 feet tall yet battle hardy
witnessing things
doing things
no man nor woman should ever do
But Grandpa (how joyous to hear that word on my lips!)
couldn't defeat
the silent enemy
that waged its war within
All this new knowledge
somehow makes me feel older
Not in years
but in history
Tattoos of my heritage
now pattern my bones
My parents are both dead
I have no siblings
no partner
no children
but now I am
no longer alone
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Artistry seeps ripe
Bearing pine
An ****** gem
A seasoned refrain
Sound evolves
E-sugar delight
Quite a lovely flare
A scarce gift
7th world pixels
Mementos I chase
Span a void
Download
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:30 AM UTC
surrendering to the angel you send in the night
tarnishing night with stars you set, of mementos, gems
sweetened into being by the heat of unknown
fun in the warning
sun in the worsening
need to see the warm winds
in your hair, see it myself
my vigil, diadem is a pen
decrees are on each page
that summer endings and I
lay down to
- it's dreaming
of the soul that holds my soul
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC