"recapture" poems
To see more and more
Every time, I used to sit at the train door!!
I didn't capture this imagery before
So, I kept my eyes wide open to store!!
Well, I must agree
You'll get to see
Wide angled views for free
All that I can recapture is a tree
And, It never stops surprising me
Meanwhile, the people who come to ***
Will mistake me for a ********
Thinking that I'd jump off to make my life Departed!!
They'll try hard to get me safe Guarded
Finally, they'll close the door and have me Discarded!!
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give
A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all
He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim
He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown
A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer
There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back
To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent
If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?
Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore
If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
Sometimes the bad times seems to over weigh the good,
because we don't remember the so much better times as much as we should.
Many shadows of good times are buried in the mountain we call time,
memories of the bad times seem to stay right at the front of our mind.
Goodtimes we have were not appreciated and ultimately taken for granted,
the bad we nurture and cultivate in our hearts like weeds we have planted.
Now as the years go on,
the bad forever on our mind,
and we don't seem to remember or realize,
just how much we have wasted our precious time.
So now lets have sometime , a break, from all bad
let go the negative and recapture the good we ones had
Spending more time dwelling on things that are good
And, how to respect one another as much as we should.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Pressed flowers
Forgotten in the pages
Of the that book
Oh what was it called
But anyway,
That book is sitting
In my father's bookshelf
Somewhere between
A history of the civil war
And an encyclopedia from 1949
It is lost in the depths
Of my mother's bookshelf
There the book with the pressed flowers
Covered in dust and memories
Waits for me to recapture the lost moments
Collecting and absorbing the words
And ideas trapped within the binding
Lost flowers, pressed in time
Lost in the pages of my childhood
Bookmarked, forever.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC
Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—
That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children’s dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
3k
Do you ever wish you could turn back time
To relive a moment before it fades
To stay forever would not be a crime
The times these days, unhappy I am made
Why does time slide through your fingers like sand
Why can't the better moments last longer
Memories fade, I'm left with just a brand
A scar of the days that made me stronger
I think back, those days make my heart flutter
I hate times I love, they make me bitter
To know what I have lost makes me shudder
I fall to the ground like scattered litter
I want to recapture the better ones
Before they fade into oblivion
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 8:24 PM UTC
How to describe that moment when we wake at last?
Tentatively emerging from the comfortable cocoon of that early, endless summer
****** into a cold, vibrant land, full of beauty and pain
Equipped with a newfound vigor but fueled by our disillusionment
Here, in the infancy of our societal influence
Fresh off a restful bout of childhood ignorance
We take aim to preserve that magic, for as long as we can
We dance in the summer rain, so it might not fade away…
But when do we lose focus?
When do we become,
The target of long lost laughter,
relenting to the forces of absurdity?
Perhaps when our world comes crashing down
With the weight of a thousand suns
When purity falls prey to the stalking darkness
That lives in the darkened mire
We’re all lost souls in this garden world
As our sanity stumbles with each passing season
From a fleeting glimpse at beauty in the warmth of the spring
to our frozen heart from winter’s endless pain
What is it we really want then?
As we wake up dreaming of a peaceful life,
of blue skies, and free-flowing thoughts
in the warm embrace of a sun-kissed day
But out of darkness, fear does grow
Those memories seem so far away.
Saddled with willing acts of complacency
We trudge on, immune to our nagging decency
For as we stand on the edge of the abyss
Faced by the power of the absurd
We can’t help but look down
Into the unrelenting grimace of finality
Can we recapture, moments lost, memories fallen
from the hardened heart of our war-torn soul?
For deep inside, perhaps we’ll find
A glimpse at a forgotten past
Might we gather one last breath,
A passing whiff of that summer day
So long ago, when we dreamt of a greater purpose and when magic
Enveloped our reality with the warm embrace of mystery and intrigue
Might we realize then that pain makes beauty?
And as we stand on the edge of the abyss
Trading a summer daydream
For a midnight reverie
We take a step back…
Nov 18, 2022
Nov 18, 2022 at 12:37 PM UTC
I'm snuggled up,
all warm and cozy...
wrapped in your lovin' arms,
full body to body,
your leg over mine,
feelin' your breath
on my bare shoulder,
hearin' you softly breathe,
feelin' your heartbeatin'
along with mine-
My dreams are of
you and I...
we're in our home,
in front of the fireplace,
snaps and crackles
comin' from the fire,
we're makin' love
on a sheepskin plush carpet,
candles a'glow on the mantel,
country music playin'
softly in the room,
the scent of roses
in the air-
I awaken feelin'
satisfied and happy...
then I realize I'm in my own home,
my own bed,
all alone,
no candles in sight,
country music playin'
on my own little stereo,
rose scent
non-existant,
room full of daylight-
I roll back over,
tryin' to recapture
that dream~
I guess, I must have been...
Dreamin' In The Daylight!
2007
COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
There is no floor
Below the water there is sand and dust
My feet disappear below the mist
And below that is a floor of nothing.
Lock and key, relative conductivity
Separation of anxieties
Generally elementary
Universal energy
Scientific inquiry
Empirical discovery
What a bunch of crap.
I bathe in fake white plastic
I swim in silent smiles
Dionysian warfare paintings
Classical textual narrating
Fitness, happiness, soporific movies
Genial tendencies, braced for ingenuity
Waiting for a paroxysm to bring forth neologisms
That test the boundaries of scientific truth
That recapture the errant minds of youth
We could make new buildings or lose a tooth
I hold the latter higher than that
I tilt the ladder there and back
Assiduous and wont, *** for tat
All a game, a joke at that
Your domain, provoked and trapped
Impressionistic spinal taps
On canvases of green and black
All from within cerebral shacks
Wind hammers palm trees on windowpanes
Wind tears down houses, rips apart planes
Wind doesn't move me, yet seems urbane
It's so jejune, it's all the same
I'm tired and lonely, powder remains
Pink like reagents in reactive flames
Quick like catalysts jumping inane
Frontal lobes retired my brain.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 12:02 PM UTC
A blinding
Hopeless inclination towards a blending of nostalgia
And something just a twinge surreal.
Too enraptured, perhaps, or too locked inside the senses
The search takes me places, to small shards that I don't quite comprehend.
Still unsure why, if I can't, or I just don't want to.
It's old and familiar
Soaking in solitude, rife with memory.
Touched lightly by the hem of rose tint, blooming in the spreading flames.
As the old wooden paneling, tried as a tinderbox
Begins to peel away, affected by the heat.
A fire, awakening with the first rays of morning.
To warm up the little room, as the walls softly fall, turning to ashes.
Revealing the bare frame.
And the fauna outside begins to show itself
Sprinkled with dew, gently coaxing away the flames.
Rooted too close, it would seem
As they progress, slowly wither under ash
But for now, I still crawl through creation.
Hopeless, I'll never recapture...
Ignoring new context, engulfed in this fruitless rapture
With the past still dancing through my head.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
I find myself repeating the verses,
the tones of hope, and embodiments
of kindness; the surreality of freedom,
and reverence.
I find myself, hoping to go back;
though I regret not my growth nor
bending wakes which have aroused
upon the grieving dismissal
of the elements I cursed
over the sake of the intellect.
I rewind, reform, and inform myself;
“these biddings are none but illusions,
ignorance, bewildered by a tragic coat
of happiness”, yet that blinding
world was much more comforting
that my currents misconceptions - the real ones,
which I have never succeeded to eradicate:
the demons.
Were I in the guiding of a celestial mentor,
would it make a difference?
Or would this guardian unveil me as
I proudly did so myself?
I do not wish for a tone,
I do not wish for a course,
I do not wish to the frightening of my curse;
nor a god.
Yet, in these precious and tumbling days,
I find myself praying.
I pray for nothing other than the essence
that left along with these figures.
The child I abandoned in my search
for reason.
I find myself reciting words I never could
have captured, and actions
I never would have wished to perform.
But it is not the words nor actions which
engrave our being - it is our soul.
Mine is hidden.
Conceptual yet senseless.
I find myself singing
the words which used to fill
the ambience with glow
and truth.
But nothing comes of it,
other than my need to recapture
my previous being, while
tangling on to my current presence
and gladfull knowledge.
Though sadness is cause,
I pay no heed towards commotion,
**for I find myself
finding a reason.**
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
(Song title from Billie Holiday’s catalogue,
by Billie Holiday and Arthur Herzog)
God bless the child who stands alone,
God bless the child who never had a home,
God bless the child I see in the mirror,
Help him recover, help him remember.
God bless the child who fights to be heard,
God bless the child who suppresses his words,
God bless the child I once used to be,
Help him recapture, help him to regain.
God bless the child who runs from the pain,
God bless the child who sleeps out in the rain,
God bless the child I see in the photos,
Help him recuperate, help him restore.
God bless the child who has his own,
God bless the child who struggles to atone,
God bless the child I destroyed inside me,
Help me resolve all his anger to me.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
B cup
C cup
but D cup, the better.
A nip,
a tuck—
reverse the clock.
For beauty’s the past,
and beauty’s the young.
Thus,
reupholster the fruit of the womb
and iron the sags low.
Recapture the past glow,
for after all,
the future is wherever you don’t exist yet.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 5:11 AM UTC
Their are times when I wish I could recapture some of the past
and have good memories that would always last and not fade over time
There are times when I can recapture something if only for a moment
A taste a smell, reminding me of a loved one lost, but for a little while at least I feel happy and content and in a way feel somehow transported back in time.
I call it the tastes of childhood, like when I was in Grandma's kitchen I remember the smell of her M&M; cookies, I have never since tasted cookies so fine
I remember my Dad making polish sausages bought fresh from the local sausage house, my mouth just waters just thinking about it even though I just ate.
Then on Sundays we would all gather around the table together as a family and eat together which was quite a feat, considering a family of nine children, and everyone seemed to scream out I want a leg all at once, which was a problem being chicken fryers back them did not consist of all legs; I still don't know how my parents managed the chaos of all us children
I also remember my dad smelling of Old Spice and I think it was nice
I wonder if you to will be transported down memory lane, if only for a moment
What are your tastes of childhood? feel free to share
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
The rose of love withered on the vine
In lifeless disposition she'd remain
Her syrupy nectar slowly did decline
A bewailing sorrow in ending twain
No recapture of a past happiness
The petals perished browning to dark
Disappearing elation's gleefulness
A flower's heart minus her loving spark
Without the touch of fondness on the bloom
Her brilliant brightness faded well away
Those wondrous days were replaced by gloom
Sombre melancholy of saddest pall's shay
As dusk's hour turns to the dying closeness
Reflect on the rose's mood of dimness
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC
i found an old picture of us
i swear it's perfection
i wish that i could recapture that moment
we were happy together
can we be like that again?
i would love nothing more
than to be in your arms
to kiss your lovely face
but later i guess
not now
we can still be happy
from afar
i love your hugs
but they don't last long enough
how long is long enough
i just want things to escalate
but not quickly
at a steady pace
first you'll hold my hand
then you'll peck my cheek
and so on??
sometimes you talk too much
and i want to kiss you so you'll shut up
sometimes silence is enough
i'm comfortable with you
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
She split minds apart when she walks into the room,
the radiance from the scarlet fabric on her honey milk skin polarizes the world to a central view.
Her competitors already know the battle is lost, because every man floats away like a helium filled balloon
Her magic works to the max, when she waltz across the dance floor like a beautiful witch on a Sunday afternoon.
they wonder the name of the architect responsible for her wicked curves, a unique type of geography, surely she must be new.
They think to themselves. She's probably with a politician, maybe a star who's gone home too soon.
I am not worthy, I stink of my experience with the last two.
As they waste golden moments caving into self doubts and relationship blues,
From the shadows, He steps up to stage to play the game of who's who.
He build's her confidence with an honest joke or two,
she buys into his bold point of view.
He excuses himself; gives her time to process his residue.
He makes his return to harvest the seed they grew,
She indulges, he is a perfect distraction from her new fool.
He steals her away for a chat by the pool.
He whisper's some words in her ears, and she feathers herself to recapture her hue.
He tells her "I have a drink that will make your lips think its hosting a party crew."
He makes a gamble like romeo wrote the rules.
With eyes locked, he shows her what his lips can do
The heats building up, she's waiting on him to put on the other glass shoe.
She wonders how to make the night fair and true.
"Let's go" words, he summarizes in two.
Envy and admiration storms up the crowd, only if they knew.
Later they dig deeper searching for clues.
He tells them and they look confused.
Its not about her or you.
Its about building a bridge that brings together two.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
lightheaded i scatter to the curb
and stare in blank wonder
at the carnival of obscene
open on the ***** street
a father wanders drunk up the
sun dappled lane
singing that tune from childhood
if he could only recapture
even a moment
but time evades him like paper butterflys
and his life flees as he chases the past
a mothers brother lurks in the shadows
hoping to be seen and unseen
in the same moment
his hand clutches the traces of a poison
that hes here to sell to imitation innocence
its the same as the ones in the cars
they just sell a different form of insanity
just another filthy lie
they are trying to hand out with a smile
she lay back in the bent perception
and plays on the dreams that might spark
but benith her bulletproof layers
she is crying for all the tenderness and love
she feels she will never know again
she waits for the bicycle man
she knows he is her escape from the carnival
there is no time to waste
i must escape this vipers nest
this wasteland that lives between the
fast food restaurants
and run down motels
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
Makes demons scatter
They cower in distant lands and await skyfall when only incandescence provide small detours but never refuge.
Sleep ?
Is a demon's bazar
They whirl and cavort gleefull that I have let them in on these rare occasions,much lost time to recapture.
Spectacular spectres. Portents.unbridled daymares with thundering flashing hooves,they gallop with boots reversed in silver stirrups.
A bagpipe dirge is on rotation as goblins and cadavers saunter in with dead carnations pinned where lapels should have been but by now only rotting and putrid skin.
Chain lightenin creases the night.
An eerie glowing light pulastes from atop twin peaks.Castle Frankenstein sits one hundred feet above the witches haunt. An antlike procession crawls to and fro between. Lost souls seeking refuge or small comfort.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
Time,
and time being our greatest asset
what do we do with it?
we
pass it around like a bag of
Maltesers,
it eases the pain but puts time
out of joint.
Let's face it
if
time is curved like space it
comes back
doesn't it?
Don't we recapture those
moments when rapture was
moments away?
Play time
school time
home time
work time and time
to grow old
with a mouthful of
chocolate.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
The table waited
For the father and mother
For the merry children
For a splendid dinner
Beside the fire
Where memories flickered
Of roast turkey
And hot cocoa
And a puppy emerging
In a bright parcel
Of red and green
The festive colors
The walls remember
Candle lit evenings
Where stories were told
Under warm blankets
The children would snicker
And laugh in glee
And excitement
As the mother kissed them
And the father said good night
The porch reminiscing
Bright summer days
Where the family
Played joyous games
And sang with the guitar
The yard misses
Seeing the children
In clean uniform
Marching off to school
And coming home
With tired smiles
And the rusty old car
Creaks his hinges
As he weeps
Remembering the father
Who polished and cleaned
During dusty days
And the curtains were weary
For they wanted to move
To let sunlight in
To recapture moments
When the family
Would chase each other
Around the house
Playing hide and seek
Shrieking and exclaiming
In happy voices
The old tree so ancient
Bent over the house
Missing when the son
Would climb his branches
And when in night
He watches them in silence
Camping under his leaves
Huddling each other
In warm plump arms
And when the tree
Peeks in the window
He would see the daughters
Gladly dressing up
For birthday parties
And the doghouse
The wooden old doghouse
Falling apart
Looks at the past
At a little puppy
Licking at his bone
And then coming out
With dozens of other puppies
And the dusty floorboards
Weak and brittle
Will creak at night
Remembering footsteps
Entering and leaving
The grandiose proud door
With a bronze doorknob
And a chandelier would clink
When the wind passes
Filling the house
With flashbacks
Of a new baby
Of graduations
And weddings
And then of noise
Noises of fun
And laughter
And giggles
They cannot remember
The blind day
When everyone vanished
Not a letter of goodbye
Not a wave of the hand
No words no memories
Nothing
Sadness and peace once again
They all sighed
As the sun vanished
In the edge of the neighborhood
They all wept
For the old wood
In the middle of everyone
Waiting for the family
The sad dining table
In ashes and burnt chairs
The table waited
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
your first pleasures were touch, taste and the arms that held you so dear
when the school bell rang for the first time, you felt fear
then you calmed at the sound of her sweet voice
you learned security
from the first gold star and smiley face
you knew you had promise
and with loving guidance you continued to flourish
you abided
you listened
your artwork told a feeling, it was scary,
but it drew people to you
Oh how they marveled!
you felt pleased and accomplished
what great fun you had joining the band
even earning solo perfomances
you were shy but you did it
your first love stroked your perfect hair
you were accepted
the sound of the wheels
and the feel of the board beneath your feet
brought a thrill
your scarring brought valor
a bounty of achievements
in such a short span of time
you were respected by so many
you felt you accomplished
you had the freedom to be whom-ever
without the pressure of a significant price
what happened?
was it that hard?
you knew what worked
was it your shyness or those who attracted you?
oh, the chemicals took hold and embraced you!
the temporary feeling of greatness that took hold of you
with no fear, accomplishment, promise, valor
it was done in one night with a pill
your arrogance has taken hold
you refuse to abide and listen,
did you ever think those who surround you,
feel so small that they see no way out other than a pill?
why do you think it’s always you?
what will you become if you cannot experience gain or loss?
that’s what molded you
if you only knew, this substance is nothing
it has no feeling,
destroys reputations
depletes your soul
and ages you beyond recognition
the life of promise
and freedom you once had
is fleeting
but my dear,
it is never too late to recapture it
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
A face to light up any room
Tricks that astound
Colorful in the suit
Laughter all-around
Kids enjoy the moment
Adults watch the show
Amazement takes over everybody
We clap and applause for more
If only the world could smile
If only we could recapture yesterday
A clown represents a child in all of us
Before we lost our innocence along the way
Nov 19, 2009
Nov 19, 2009 at 11:35 AM UTC