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Victor Tripp Jun 2014
Rememberances of you, each new sun rise put new sweet thougfhts
upon my mind
the graceful way that that you walk into a room and that very special smile
you cast at me, like receiving a gift on Christmas morning
seems to fit my style,I look forward to your hand finding its way
softly into mine,trading glances across the dinner table each
star filled night and when I'm far away knowing within  that
you have the strength and love to make everything  alright
Rememberances of you, make me so thankful that my longed
for dreams within came true
rememberances ,so many rememberances  of you
Caitlin Driscoll Aug 2012
Secret messages that I once understood
Lines and curves that held some meaning
What is it?
Nonsense that was once beyond scholars
Masterpieces now riddled with dust
Will I ever remember?

Time changes everything
Time changes great dreams to forgotten memories
A good man cold
And new eyes blind

Was I once happy?
With these things created in my mind?
They make me feel warmth hear laughter
But all i see is confusion and mess

These once before dreams are like a kite
Soaring, beaming with these bright colors
Then one day it falls, smashes to the ground crumpled, forgotten, and dull

I’m still staring at it
all this paper muddled with hieroglyphics of my past
Craziness that was once pure logic
And all I can do is stare My mind hurdling over barriers of my memory, only to fall in the end Empty handed and disappointed

Do you understand? No, I didn’t think you would.
Perhaps I should be sleeping
Midnight has long since passed
But perhaps I can stay a while
And think these thoughts of you

I still recall so vividly
Your broad smile and bright eyes
When I admitted that I loved you
Taking my hands, so small and pale
Within your large, dark ones

I still feel the coolness by the pond
When we stayed out till midnight
Staring at the water, hand in hand
Soul in soul
Pretending that we didn’t have parents
Who would scold us for missing curfew
Pretending that the serenity surrounding us
Would be eternal

I still remember your troubled glance
And puppy-dog eyes
When you said that this was goodbye
The softness of your skin, in our last embrace
Still itches at my skin

And it never seems to go away.

I still have your letters in my drawer,
The birthday cards your little sisters drew
The delightfully tacky hat on my coat tree
The condoms that we ended up never using
The shirt you lent me
When I wore a tank top in 40 degree weather
As we laughed at my foolishness
That you never took back
That I still inhale to remember your scent

Perhaps it is silly
That I still don’t think you should be gone
But I’d be harassing you to say it
And when I see you passing by
I smile and ask how you are doing
Reilly Cole Aug 2018
im getting sick of the crazy
sick of the never ending reminders
of what has passed and what is yet to come
the fear of rejection that i know is irrational
the loss that i feel isnt that deep but i feel it is

What can i do truly to make this go away
who is to know but me
forever relying on my best friend to always
help me out of situation i dont know how to deal with
this reliance is terrible and debilitating

what once was so beautiful an escape has now
turned into something i cant realise
or escape from, these thoughts of pain
something i held so dearly now anything is just a reminder of the hell im fleeing

these friends i called friends and still see as friends arent what i thought of as friend but these friends are just my pained rememberances of what i consider friend and just feel like a loss, a void of friends

i have one friend that i rely upon to be my voice
reasoning to make it seem like i can do better that i
dont need those people that havent been around for years but now
seem to have been around forever but are my reminders of pain

that friend has almost always been there
and they are great and amazing but not what i long for
which is release so i don’t have to drown my sorrows with a bottle
of numbness and forgetting which i know i do best but is it enough at this point

to just forget and forgive and rely on new memories to swallow the old
has that ever helped before, no it’s only caused lonely and sleepless nights
nights to forget and dissolve what i feel and hold close

my heart my health my mind cannot deal with it
but i strive with this positive attitude in order to survive what once
was a forgiving world that allowed weakness but now
that im older, not even that old, the pain breaks through and makes
things oh so difficult

if only things could change and i could rely on no one but myself
but that takes time that i do not have access to yet
if only i could push these memories and thoughts away
i could thrive in this life of agony

but then...i would not be myself

suffering.
PrttyBrd Dec 2010
A thought awakens
Blood rushes, heart pounds, timeless
Dried salt tracks remain
Warm breath rememberances
Held fast by yesterday's dream
copyright©PrttyBrd 13/12/2010- From 14
nicoarty Jun 2016
i see them, your little fingerprints
like footsteps in the snow
   wherever i look, wherever i go,
         there they are, your constant reminders
of a world i no longer know
         whether i'm thinking of my favourite book
looking at my keyboard keys
                      leafing through my school pages
  or raiding a shelf of dvd's
                       my midnight snacks of icecream
                         nolonger warm the world
only serving to open the void
                               with rememberances spilt from your quill
             little flickers here and there
the way we sat, our favourite film, you trying to type with me
every break and lunch time together, climbing hills, falling asleep

i breathe you in and suffocate
                  see your finger prints every where
                       reminding me of the desert void under a burning cold sky
                                                             ­   that endlessly rests there.
                                           there,
           hanging in time
frozen between you and me
as i follow your finger print footsteps
                            and make my own with droplets of me
a tidal wave of memories overflowing and blocking my drain
                    each little piece of me staining
                              the finger prints left in our name
Carla Marie Jan 2014
Just alright are e-books  and
just okay are e-zines
I suppose they have their place in the
natural progression of things
but I
love Books...

Old books and new books
soft books and hard books
to sniff an stroke and even listen to  
when antiquated stiff bindings moan
after sitting unopened for far too long
I just love books...

to pile up beside my bed... and
trip over in the night
to scan and browse and finger  titles
and check dates of copyrights

to feel the vibrations
from cover to cover of
previous generations of
fellow book lovers

to peruse
for forbidden doodles and
marginal ramblings
personal rememberances
and briefly noted things

purposely yet
inadvertently left
for future word finders
like myself

Okay... so...  e-books  and even e-zines
now have their space  
in the way of things
but I still hold
a special place
for
Books...
JAM Feb 2016
RECORD: PARANOID ANDROID
FROGMAN: RADIO HEAD

BEGIN INNERMISSION 1

Frogman of enormous Brisingierdth
(on my mind sHe holds OUR hearth):

Try to imagine minds without throughtkeeping.

you probably can't.
you think you know the intro,
the conclusion,
the thought of the body and mind.

yet all inside you,
throughtkeeping is instinct.

Brads are not late.
a Janet does not check her selfse.
machines do wrinkle rememberances.

WhoMans alone measure throught.
WhoMans alone chime panic.
And because of this.
WhoMans alone suffer a paralyzing Miracle that no other creature can cure.

The Miracle
of throught running out...

END TRANSMISSION 1

Riff Raff: Hello.

Brad: Hi!
           My name is Brad Major Threes, and this is my fiancée, Janet Twice One.
          I wonder if you'd mind helping us.
          You see, our brain broke down a few moments up the road.
          Do you have an ear we might fill?

Riff Raff: You're wet.

Janet: Yes, it's crainving.

Brad: Yes.

Riff Raff: Yes!... I think perhaps you better both com-e inside.

Tic .

Tic .

Tic .

DING!

Janet: You're too kind.
           Oh, Brad, I'm frightened.
           What kind of future is this?

Brad: Oh,
          it's probably some kinda way-outta heare for real wyrdos.

Janet: Oh.

Riff Raff: This way-out.

Janet: Are you forgetting The Parties?

Riff Raff: You've arrived on a rather special wrighte.
                  It's one of the Chaster's afflairs.

Janet: Oh,
           plucky shim.

Magenta: You're plucky,
                  he's plucky,
                  I'm plucky,
                  we're all plucked-ees! Ha haa haaa!!!

STOP: TURN THOUGHT
The Letter-Ing: for real wyrdos
eighth or last
in a series of poems made of quotes
one part to a whole
its sum has yet to be totaled
may be more than its parts
subject to change
aaah geez, heare we go
betterdays May 2014
the currency of
grieving is in....

casseroles and soups,
left with notes,
on the back doorstep

flowers, bright, beautiful
and fragant,
delivered by gangling, teenage boys.

awkard silences and cups
of lukewarm tea.
mumbled condolences and
too tight hugs

late night rememberances,
after,
far too many drinks

tears, laughter and
in-house jokes...
photos, stories and 
space for quiet reflection.

these things are...
the dollars and cents
of  grief for a friend

but when all is, said
and done....

i would much prefer
to be penniless,
begging on the street,
with pockets empty
and moths for friends.
but alas that is not to be...

people's kindness in grief
is both binding and unbinding..... but always
well intentioned
PERTINAX May 2017
It was a plainly written script offering little explanation into the intricacies of life after death.

To quote

"For every new beginning there is a new ending"

Perplexed, I took it upon myself to attempt to explain such vagueness in a way only a poet can.

What follows is to be known as:

The Prime Covenant

As I stand on the thresholds of death
I can see the landscape of my life
Spread out against the horizon in frames
Within one I see my birth
Kicking and screaming as I met the light
(Curious because, in life, this moment was fast forgotten following the burst of new experience)
To take in the sights of my mother
So proud to have her only child
That she clung to me through joyful tears
Then my fresh eyes caught my father
Shaken to the core after experiencing
The recreation of his own birth
For I was like him and he was as me
(In between all these new wonders rose my first breath, which was so sweet that even the frame of the memory shuddered from excitement)
Through it all I see the memory of love
That can only be found in lifes first moment

From the corner of my peripherals
A new frame caught my eye
Where I stood for the first time
Following months of incessant beckoning
From my parents to abandon the crawl
That had led me away from infancy
Flashes of fear and pure joy mingled together
Leading to my first step
Which led to another
To another
So rapidly I couldn't control the momentum
FREEDOM!
And then I was running
(The fastest toddler alive if you ask my father)
My legs taking me far and wide to explore
The wide world around me as the frame shifted

Orienting itself into a picture of me
And my first favorite tree
A magnolia standing taller than any God
A child could hope to fathom
But also small enough a mountain
To not stay my freshly found love of movement
Until I was at the top
Looking down at a world wider than comprehension
As flicks of terror stained the frame red
When the screams of my mother
Snapped me back to the reality
That I was a toddler in a tree
My tree

Driven away by panic the frames spun forward
Like that button on old school casset players
Comprised of two sideways triangles
Where every frame appeared frozen
While also moving
Until I sickened of the pace and settled
On a frame seemingly dark
(Bits of angry red and sad grey completing the new patina)
That revealed a new memory of forgotten times
A time where tears prevailed for all accounted
There stood my father, frozen in the door
(The screen partially open to allow his head to poke through)
And my mother, hand on my arm in a vice
Incoherent through sobs of lost love
As she dragged me away from the door
My arms flailing as I made a futile effort
To reconnect the two
...just two more steps...
Then I was in the car
(An old Ford pento if the frame is to be believed)
Reversing away from the driveway that was my home
From my first moments to my first tree
I wailed in what seemed agony
At my father's outstretched arms
Protruding from a screen door
Illequiped to hide his tears

Within the frames I became lost
Neither direction nor time having meaning
(For what end can be more traumatic then divorce for an innocent five year old?)
Here and there were glimpses into yet more
Beginnings lost to even more endings;
My first day at school...
The death of my grandfather...
My first kiss...
The end of my first friendship...

Friendship

The frame broke my distress and stole my focus
"David, my mom said it was alright if you stay the night at our house!"
I was excited
(Finally a reprieve from traumatic rememberances)
He said "Alright, I'll tell my dad and be over after school!"
He was excited
(His mom had died the year before due to something called 'overdose' and was constantly sad so it felt good to see such life come into him)
The frame grated into place a few hours later
My mother stood in the kitchen of our small trailer
Crying as she told me "I have something to tell you."
(I was eight and seeing her cry made me cry)
"What's wrong mommy?" I asked
She said "honey, we can't afford to live here any longer, your aunt is on her way to pick us up."
(According to the frames this was the fourth such occurance)
"But I invited David over like you said to stay the night!" I pleaded
To no avail as my aunt pulled up to take us away
From my first friendship

Distraught, I raged at the horizon
"Why do you toy with me so?!
You tease these memories of beginnings
Only to destroy them with endings!"
As if in reply the frames shook,
An internal earthquake occurred
And there she stood
My wife
Frozen in the frame of the first time we met
A memory I could never forget
As beautiful as a late afternoon sunset
Fixated, I took her in my arms
Refusing the frame to let go
Holding on through the fast forward
Of our first kiss...
The first time I met our kids...
Our first argument...
To my last breath...
"Though there may be endings to some beginnings, my love for you will never die...
I...
Love...
You..."

The frames ended similar to the last reel of film from an antique video
The light across the horizon faded
Yet I still held her frame
...never to let go...

You see, the Prime Covenant is the deal we make with ourselves upon entering this life.

We agree to feel love as equally as we agree to feel loss.

Life after death is the reward for making this pact so that even in the darkness that follows the light, the most wonderful beginning will always be with you beyond every end.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Let's escape
urban scorching days;
hot cement,
sirens,
and flashings from red to blue
then blue again

Let's excape
where a cool, cushioned green hill
in quiet and stillness awaits
across a narrow steel blue-green bridge
A bridge crossing,weeded, rusty,
broken railroad tracks
that beckons the call
to the other side,
from warlike city
summer shouts and cries

Let's flee abandoned pill-box look-alikes
these homeless homes
Let's flee boundaries of barbed fences and stone,
these monuments of a choking society

Just the same
paradise one block away
denied by our madness
vacantly awaits,
like a non-seduced wooded hill
what impotent partners
we are

And almost never remembered,
those whispering
leafy archways,
where those bending canopy
branches spread
to protect from the sun
the absent human head
A head filled with rememberances
yet forgotten
childhood days of tranquil green,
the smell of grass,
And birds that sing and fly

Forgotten way-up-puffs
of white against blue,
a musical buzzing bumblebe
And a little dancing ladybug
on a mushroom table top
Forgotten parachute seeds,
that fly
and a branch upon the ground,
your swatting stick,
your staff,
your royal rod

All forgotten
KINGS and QUEENS
we are in paradise
just one block away...
This is in Philly around Fairmount park. The area is around
27 th and Pennsylvania Avenue where homes are blocks away and also a literal stone throw away. To get to the park
you have to cross a blue-green bridge. ( Brewery town area)
mark john junor Jul 2013
perception slowly escapes as I lay
entombed in sheets and pillows
the comforting scent of clean
serves up rememberances of childhood
helps relax into slumber

an overhead fluorescent flickers dim light
strobing the darkened room
like flashes of a summer storm
lingering on the edge of perception
miles distant
before even the rain taste can reach
before the air gets heavy

a dream rides forth
and settles in for the night

a old old man
standing in the desert
the noon sun a hammerstroke
that has no end
he wears a simple robe
leans on a thick wood staff

it is just perception
that seperates us from being a dream within a dream
and when that perception fails
they say its maddness

mumbles into his grey beard
in a long dead language
his back bent by
a heavy western wind

gone are the days the old mans family
held him close to their hearts
gone are the salad days when he was loved

now the desert has claimed him

now the desert is his lover,  friend,  his everything
" for Tony Pagan
betterdays Mar 2015
when the tongues of snakes
flicker in your words.

when the day is darker
in my mind,
than the greying of the clouds

when sighs sing, melancholy
refrains.

then from you I am gone....

into a world asunder
a city of  labyrinth alleyways
that lead all to a fountain
of water tainted,
by memories unkind.

it is there,
there you will find
the bare bones of me.
sitting, drinking
at the fountain head,
drinking rememberances
of days gone by,
days desperate, diluted
with desire of a better hope.
writing exercises from therapy(about 15yrs ago)....
Depression :
A. The depressing rememberances
or recollections
of the ultimate
black hole
before the
big bang
B. The conflict
of a body
that wants to live
and a mind that
wants to die
WL Schuett Apr 2018
Remembered sensations
of cut stained glass dawns .
Rich in the embers of
fires from time passed .
Kissed in fury
Lost in tenderness.

The softness
The sweetness
The never diminished
Strafe of femininity.
A gentle peacemaking
roll of thunder .
Surveying the land
for promises kept .
Startled by glimpses
of echoed rememberances .

She was soft and eager
with a dangerous
primitive desire.
A hopeless appeal to
her lawlessness.
With no direction
she turned the corner
abandoning pride
neither giving nor taking .

As he’s finishing a painting
He wonders
would he hear from her again .
Uma natarajan Sep 2018
The writhing rememberances
Bitter Weeping repentances
Tense futile wait for acceptances
Palid light's reflections
Twangling trembling infections
Dot dashing tricks of frictions
Pitch dark woods of addictions
Echoing barks and their inspections
Shuttles striking with aggressions
Groaning desolate night's successions

— The End —