"memorialize" poems
unsure, uncertain,
of the laws invested
in the realms and reams
of poetry ingested,
am i addict,
or supplier,
retail consumer
or
wholesale supplier,
a mom & pop candy store,
or a metastasizing intelligence
that takes any thing, and all,
a solitary letter,
an instance of a sighting,
a gasping palpitation
and reformats it into
a hehe literary madhatter^ piece
you supply, I demand,
I supply, boy oh boy,
do I ever, but you never,
come to me directly asking,
write me a poem, thick or thin,
witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong
e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol)
yet the trade goes on and om,
the marketplace never closes,
except when periodically the
gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills,
and the trading centres are global scattered,
young entrepreneurs try to sell a single
piece, as if it was breaking news history,
and tired old men, review their lived,
eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget,
in retro!spect perspective,
the mirror who cannot lie,
states affirmatively, you are
both ****** and dealer,
a corporation scientific
of ancient biblical origins,
a psalmist, a deacon,
a lyricist, but thankfully
not a singer,
an essayist who writes best
when ****** by tawny port wine,
who snatches inspiration with
equality of equity,
(wait! that's wrong,
the equity of equality,)
where he can
find, ***** city streets, the deaths
of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle
he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas,
by estuaries brackish, and streams
of watered purity, the riveting bays,
the individualized glisten deflected
into my eyes, that each
contains one pure blessing within…. nml
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:24 AM UTC
Hollywood is dead and gone
It died a lonely death
It's just too bad no one was there
When it took it's final breath
Forget the tales of yesteryear
Of junkies and of ******
The Hollywood I speak of
Is behind the golden doors
Warner Brothers and MGM
United Artists and 20th Century Fox
Are now owned by conglomertates
With more cash than Fort Knox
Film is just an extra
In a business it once ruled
With the advent of computers
The industry's re-tooled
CGI and Green Screen
Let them do more at great cost
But, without the use of actors
There is something that is lost
The tie in with it's history
We only see each year
When they memorialize those who passed
At the Oscars....shedding tears
There is now just two places
To process film itself
When, way back in it's heyday
Of these there was a wealth
No new ideas forthcoming
Movies get rebooted or remade
And the startlets in the pictures
They're the one's who're getting laid
Merchanidising movies
That is where the real cash lies
If you're not attached to a food chain
Your bottom line will die
Hollywood died in it's sleep
It died with dignity
The funeral will be shown though
On reality TV
It smothered in it's excess
A victim of it's greed
It gorged on people's wallets
Forgetting peoples needs
Old Hollywood is magic
It lives on in peoples hearts
Too bad the studio system
Was sold off in such small parts
The western died, musicals next
Then came the comedy
You can't see them in the theatre
But they're on your big tv
I stand here and salute her
She put pictures in our heads
But, now thanks to her avarice
Old Hollywood is dead...
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
The way I memorialize
a woman's heart
against my own,
is by pointing
to the scars she has left
on my heart
in my moments of solitude.
Like the wounds
on sharks during
mating,
I hold close
those moments
when I sank my teeth in
and when she sank
into me.
So
when
they
ask
me:
"Would you have done
anything differently,
now that you see how it
turned out?"
And I say:
"No."
I cherished those moments
when your placed your mouth
on my heart
and squeezed with
perfect teeth.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
just know
eyes do
souls aside
try lips
leave thoughts
tears God
dream better
take breaths
love life
drink water
read voices
say thoughts
see beauty
memorialize
play kind
silence
worry don't
great small
look naked
feel alive
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
passion would be where magenta and orange kiss the horizon at sunset,
joy would be the yellow of my socks every easter sunday that i can remember,
and melancholy would be just another shade of blue.
i told him,
i am not done with you yet.
three weeks post breakup,
we shouldn't feel as unfinished as we do.
like, in the ridiculously complicated narrative of he and i,
the author got up one day,
scribbled a quick ending,
and then set the novel on fire.
i read an article in an obscure magazine
about Shelley Jackson,
an artist
who got thousands of people
to tattoo a singular word
from a story onto themselves,
and then sent them back to their scattered existences.
maybe that is what this is,
another scattered story.
another vaporized narrative.
i can feel it in the air,
but not pull the phrases together.
it's like trying to hold onto smoke.
our story slips through my fingers and gets in my eyes.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my ribcage would look like a Jackson *******
my head would be a paintball arena.
i am so full of indigos,
and mustards,
and crimsons,
that Van Gogh, himself, would dip into my palette
and claim to have never seen such beautiful sadness before.
*i don't know if it hurts because it still matters,
or if it matters that it still hurts.*
i feel the frenzied ache of creation in my gut.
i am not a painter,
but my mirror is showing me
the immaculate collection of brushstrokes
i have become.
a few weeks ago,
i was approached by an artist who offered to paint my bruises.
to collect my contusions with watercolors.
what a beautiful intention,
to immortalize the growing pains,
memorialize the bumps along the way,
to make something permanent
of these perpetual transitions.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my pride would be gold-plated and rusting from use, like my grandfather's watch,
courage would be the pure green of every bud that has dared to grow through concrete,
and love?
love would be prismatic,
like spilled oil on asphalt.
a rainbow one moment,
vanished the next.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
We all want to be someone
carved into stone—
assured in our identity
by the admirer taken enough to
etch our jawlines into eternity
from the heart
of a marble slab.
If you work on me as Michelangelo,
I will proudly stand as your David.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
the Webster's, the Merriam's,
residents of the Oxford
say not,
an exclamation or a noun,
but an action,
a doing word,
not so much...
as a poet~sorcerer
digressing rules,
is my input
appetizer,
poems, my exported
entrées
all posted to be
dessert
for all the sweet tooth
parts of you
all to
feast on this
process,
when I
hallelujah you...
"Praise the Lord"
the translation literal
but sojourn herewith me
for a few extants,
together, let's
invigorate, expand the
understanding of an ever expansive
definition...
if I ever fall out of love,
with natural words,
can no longer
hallelujah/scribe
to memorialize
why we claim,
we are alive....
hallelujah's
praises
for you all the
master designers'
praiseworthy creations,
an extension of themselves,
they said
in each human
godlike spark
hallelujah installed
there is nothing more
godlike
than being
human,
so when I
hallelujah
I praise each and everyone
it is a mixologist's dream,
some of it a
thank you,
some of it a
your welcome,
all of it a
celebratory exercise,
in appreciation,
of the finery of what we can
be
come
greater
through
the words
of our blood
transfused
Oh!
act out Hallelujah,
write it as if you must
urgent do
Hallelujah,
do it
not just now but,
Selah!
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Death and love dancing together,
In her youthful and strong body.
Her hand is like paper,
soft velvet
you meet in the wild flower petals,
Her lips sad and chapped
with poetry wheel she wrote
How much in the darkness?, it is heart bulb
as the stars share unforgettable joy!
Death and love
kiss her lips
let go of desire for life,
Because two people can not distinguish,
in the dance blew all three.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
I hear talk, of the cruelty, and heartlessness of humans,
but I see things on a regular basis that disprove this.
There is no cruelty in a childs kiss, the gently caressed cheek
that puts a smile on your face.
But, today I saw the clincher,
a RIP sticker,
for
A Squirrel...
It hit me like a punch made out of "What the ****
I didn't know whether to smile and break into tears,
or shake my head in curmudgeony disbelief.
A memorial sticker for a road ****
Would an animal do such a thing.
I think not. They'd eat the thing
or just as some leave it to rot.
A Road **** memorial sticker
is about the craziest compassionate thing I've seen...
Animals don't memorialize us when we die...
Of course, that's not true.
I remember my dad's old mangy bloodhound...
and how, after he died, she moaned everyday, at the time he used to come home from work.
For weeks she did it, just sitting by the door
and moaning.
Until the sun set,
then she would slink and lie at the foot of his chair..
She died two months later.
And if that isn't mourning I don't know what is.
Maybe animals and humans aren't all that different,
we just mourn differently.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
The immediate introversion,
A safe solitude.
Alone and alive.
Lacking loneliness,
At this disturbing depth,
Unlike the saliently superficial.
The calming confusion
Relaxes and reassures.
Defiantly deliberate,
And thoroughly thoughtful.
Marvelously mesmerized
By my continuous contemplation.
Overtly observant,
And insightfully introspective.
Fiercely focused
On building and bettering.
I meticulously memorialize,
And succinctly summarize,
My lavish love,
For being
Alone and alive.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
I dye my hair to be different
from the person I was an hour ago.
I didn't like her very much.
I take a picture or two
to memorialize my new baptism
of peroxide and pigmentation.
The chemical smell fades and the new
becomes commonplace
and I'm back to the person that I was.
And I'm fraying like the ends of my hair
and splitting and breaking and I'm her again:
just as ugly as ever.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Forget Forsaken, Lose Lost
Since this Connection, there's no Desertion
Reminisce in this:
Neglect the Past but Embrace this Present
I'll say it as long as you can hear,
This friendship should cast out every one of our fears.
I may bring stress
But I'm not always going to be your mess---
Understand I wear frowns not tears.
You may worry and I may give you reason
But don't ever take it as treason
Im here and let it be clear
I Love you, Dear.
The Glass Shatters
A Reflection cast in each other,
Myself Projected in your eyes.
Acknowledging the Resemblance
Still Seeing the Difference
While Appreciating this Coincidence.
Love bread Consistency
Constancy created Honesty
Close from Compassion
Dedication by Devotion
This is Dependable
Since this is nothing short of Remarkable.
Affection Motivated my mind
Want wrote what needed to be Expressed
But neither could convey this Blessedness
My aim was to Memorialize
Even then no one could begin to Conceptualize.
Who would I Be
Without You and Me
Never forget this "We"
Despite the distance between Seas
Even if it's more than just You and Me
This will always remain to Be.
Don't Doubt what you know
Don't Question what I've told
Don't Worry I will leave
Because I'll always be here for You and Me.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:31 AM UTC
unblemished smiles wither swiftly
crisp smile creases line the cheeks
and adorn the eyes
as youth fades into age
and age fades into oblivion
then the rest is dust and ashes.
breath is ephemeral
transcendent, even.
viridity is fleeting
foliage browns even as we speak
and soon folds into a worn leather bag
along with baubles from days of yore.
but there is a moral to the story
that these trinkets tell
they remind those remaining
of what has passed
and what is sure to come again
reminding the new to memorialize the old
and savor each moments as it comes.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
i was at the my mom and
dad's gravesite
trying to do some soul searching and
really and
deeply missing them and
i will never get used to being an orphan and
life has been so difficult since they left me and
i took for granted how much love support and
an ever ready hand to move heaven and
earth to help me and
i didnt even appreciate it much less utter very many thank you's and
i would give almost anything, the rest of my life to have had just one more time of sitting at the kitchen table and
i would actually this time drink her nasty Folger's instant coffee and
when she died she left a jar of it and
although it only contains a hard inch layered congealed ball it is so comforting to open the cabinet and
see it still up there and
you want to try to judge me when instead i was sitting there on the ledge of their headstone watching the beautiful and
powerful electrical dry lightning and
feeling the wind hit my face and
i cried out to a god that i no longer even believe in to please have my mom cont to keep looking after her grandson the one she never admitted to, but over time it just became apparent of that she was most partial to Colton, the one that she had the special soup and
salad dates on special occasions and
i find myself agonizing about how whether my son is here on earth in the physical form or his physical blood skin organs and
bones have decayed into apparent nothingness but either way i want to feel that my mommy is looking out for him and
that i can have answers and
can at the worst case scenario be granted just a tiny piece of real estate to go and
release my grief and
have 1 place where i can finally have just a piece of peace and
know that he is with his grandparents and
i can visit and
memorialize him in the usual manner rather than having moments that can last for months of something that is truly a most insidious form of torture that i can't even grasp words to express and
i have been so blessed to be able to have you want to play martyr with that last comment?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC
Where once we had school
-a tall building, the gathering of books, thoughts-
Now a hollowing out. The stale wind blows through barbed
wire, remnants of horror, intended to remain
To remember
This hollowed out place
A school becomes a building
A building becomes chambers
Chambers become cells -
all paths lead to the Hill of Poisonous Trees,
where many red rings hang; symbols to replace horror
with Remembrance.
A school becomes a building
A memory becomes a memorial;
But the trees grow despite the poisoned hills.
One day I hope they outgrow this place;
and yet I want Strychnine Hill to stay -
If it is the only way to remember,
To memorialize the school that was raized.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
I realized tonight
While I laid in what use to be our bed
I realized that your voice
has left my memory.
I can't hear it anymore
Not like I use to.
I can't remember it
I kept trying so desperately to remember
What did it sound like?
Any of it
when you laughed
or even cried.
What sleepy noises did you use to make?
I can still see your smile,
thank God I can still see it
I can see the crooked grin
but I can't hear you.
You're beginning to fade
I don't know how to stop it.
I don't know how to memorialize
every part of you.
You're drifting away
I thought I could hold on for eternity.
I thought for sure I’d keep every bit of you
Locked away in my memory
I was wrong.
You see we’re human
And humans forget
I'm so scared one day
I will wake up and
you'll just be gone.
You've been gone
4 years now
I don't want anymore
of you to leave me.
I will not,
I can not survive that.
I squeeze my eyes as tight as possible
Hoping that the memory
of your hand on my thigh
will come back
Hoping I can still feel the feeling
of you fingers laced with mine...
It's gone.
I can't remember how rough the felt.
I can't remember
the exact shade of green
your eyes held
I have lost the smell in the air of
when you first got out of the shower.
I still remember
it use to be my favorite moment
First thing in the morning
but now it's disappeared
with so many other things.
It’s losing you all over again
I don't know how to stop it,
stop you from becoming
a fictional time in my life.
You were real,
We were real.
You loved me.
You loved me so much
I know you did
There are people
People in my life now,
that have never heard your name.
That never knew us...
People that have only known me
Without you.
How is that possible?
Who even am I without you?
Just a casing of who I use to be?
A hollow person with nothing to give?
These people don't even know
They don't know me at all.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
I'm thinking I'm thinking I'm thinking
so softly
in the back of my mind
so you won't hear
how do I memorialize
those 2 boys
who sat in the shop
and pumped gas by the road
near our highway
until your ex boyfriend
came in and shot them in 2
I'm thinking I'm stopping
being in touch with this kind of
reality
altogether
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
I spent my 20th birthday in a petrified forest
It meant nothing and I sweat very much
I wonder how it feels to be petrified, how it feels for
Nature to memorialize you,
Laid to rest until coal-covered hands unearth you
Gingko and sassafras and yew feel the sun’s aged, dotted hands caress all over
This is how it feels.
A petroglyph carved from ancient basalt
And my dad carrying our dog on his shoulders.
15.5 million years of layered rock and
Worrying about the size of my legs next to yours.
Ice age floods exposed crystalized bark and
You wipe the **** off your shoe and we drive some more.
Dec 2, 2024
Dec 2, 2024 at 11:49 PM UTC
I have come to cherish the lucky-dice nights when the Adderall just lingers, staying late—
much later
than times of near-lethal lethargy
that leads to interrupted comatose slumber
I’ve allied with the recurring habits of winning Most Sober of the Evening, for in my solace, I’m dropping the needle, dancing to Molly's Lips and kicking off damp, muddy socks
I feel somewhere—-myself,
a place you
may
have touched and try to burn a placebo curvature along a place you
may
once have ignited,
your artificial fingertips,
and trace the beginning of a word, but
I lose track where ever the middle
may
have been
Needle scratch, loop, stuck in one, or
many
grooves
Try to exhaust the corporeal, sway,
fall,
slam body against the wall
Memorialize yourself so no one has to,
Your storage-unit temple drinking from a dark green bottle
Shimmy with a crowbar, lift and uncover,
Toss it all in a trash pile
For God to rediscover
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 4:55 PM UTC
When our lips first met,
The fragile sky did not collapse
The vast heavens did not open up
The resting birds did not awake to sing
There were no momentous shifts
Of the earth between our feet.
The world did not change in an instant
To memorialize the moment.
When your lips met mine,
I could feel your warmth in my heart
I told myself that I could do this forever
With you— just you.
And I was surprised by the permanence
Which I wanted to create together,
Like the ink on my skin but deep in my bones.
When my lips met yours.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
Demonize me, idolize and memorialize me.
Act like you’ve memorized me.
Cross your heart and hope to die.
Romanticize me, analyze and angelizise me.
Do anything but rationalize that I’m nothing but human, no better or worse.
Demean me, curse me out, be mean to me.
The same goes for you, I’m not pure saint or pure sin, you cared where I’d been and who’d I’d touched,
Nosy much?
I used to idolize, memorialize and romanticize your every move,
But then something moved,
Unblocked the sun and moon,
And soon I saw less and less of you.
Jan 16, 2018
Jan 16, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
Forever is the moment
The bedside clock strikes midnight
As the insomniac cries,
“How long will I stay awake?!”
Forever is the moment
Staring at the dead of night
Seeing the most starlit skies,
As our lasting Heaven’s sake.
Forever is the moment
Lonesome poets start to write
Words to memorialize
Constant and persistent ache.
Forever is the moment
When finally things feel right
And hopefulness fills the eyes,
And no hearts are left to break.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
The fabric of my pillowcase
Matches your eyes
As I close mine
My mind begins to memorialize
Like adolescents we were
Jumping over a fire
Hand in hand
The love and desire
Embracing one another
Now part of the scenery
The sun begins to fall
Oh, the irony
Gliding through the night
Our tongues collide
With dew on the grass
We hold on for the ride
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC