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"remembrances" poems
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago, ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories, but not histrionics fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished, powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a, age and yet renews as of, at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom they even  now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of If not now, When? Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg: Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered, now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more, the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the outrageous misfortune of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago   freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity. Enough whining: *I wrote those poems to eject out those pains, and I write this now, once more, to realize that so so many still face uncertain and unrelenting similarities, doing their own sums, and I wish them easing, strength to compose and thereby dispose of the ineloquent and eloquent words of staining suffering* 3:30am Thur July 10 2025
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Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Older poems, new readers, familiar thoughts...
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago, ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories, but not histrionics fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished, powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a, age and yet renews as of, at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom they even  now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of If not now, When? Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg: Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered, now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more, the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the outrageous misfortune of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago   freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity. Enough whining: *I wrote those poems to eject out those pains, and I write this now, once more, to realize that so so many still face uncertain and unrelenting similarities, doing their own sums, and I wish them easing, strength to compose and thereby dispose of the ineloquent and eloquent words of staining suffering* 3:30am Thur July 10 2025
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40
I am tired of my rants like a millions hammers pounding away in my brain constant chatter drowns sanity expectations love and affection comfort insecurities and misadventures regrets lost and found a million lives not lived what could be and what is hauntings and remembrances shadows looming large on today today that is not perfect perfection that is just in mind mind on verge of lunacy constant screams drowned in the agonizing void void that is my life I am tired, very tired tears they have a mind of their own roll down when you least expect open your soul to strangers strangers that glare stay in dark away from glare tucked in blanket of oblivion lost and lonely yet sane lost and lonely yet sane
0
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
zyborg
Tiredness
I am tired of my rants like a millions hammers pounding away in my brain constant chatter drowns sanity expectations love and affection comfort insecurities and misadventures regrets lost and found a million lives not lived what could be and what is hauntings and remembrances shadows looming large on today today that is not perfect perfection that is just in mind mind on verge of lunacy constant screams drowned in the agonizing void void that is my life I am tired, very tired tears they have a mind of their own roll down when you least expect open your soul to strangers strangers that glare stay in dark away from glare tucked in blanket of oblivion lost and lonely yet sane lost and lonely yet sane
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26
Up and lead the dance of Fate! Lift the song that mortals hate! Tell what rights are ours on earth, Over all of human birth. Swift of foot to avenge are we! He whose hands are clean and pure, Naught our wrath to dread hath he; Calm his cloudless days endure. But the man that seeks to hide Like him (1), his gore-bedewèd hands, Witnesses to them that died, The blood avengers at his side, The Furies' troop forever stands. O'er our victim come begin! Come, the incantation sing, Frantic all and maddening, To the heart a brand of fire, The Furies' hymn, That which claims the senses dim, Tuneless to the gentle lyre, Withering the soul within. The pride of all of human birth, All glorious in the eye of day, Dishonored slowly melts away, Trod down and trampled to the earth, Whene'er our dark-stoled troop advances, Whene'er our feet lead on the dismal dances. For light our footsteps are, And perfect is our might, Awful remembrances of guilt and crime, Implacable to mortal prayer, Far from the gods, unhonored, and heaven's light, We hold our voiceless dwellings dread, All unapproached by living or by dead. What mortal feels not awe, Nor trembles at our name, Hearing our fate-appointed power sublime, Fixed by the eternal law. For old our office, and our fame, Might never yet of its due honors fail, Though 'neath the earth our realm in unsunned regions pale.
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7.6k
Aeschylus
Song Of The Furies
Up and lead the dance of Fate! Lift the song that mortals hate! Tell what rights are ours on earth, Over all of human birth. Swift of foot to avenge are we! He whose hands are clean and pure, Naught our wrath to dread hath he; Calm his cloudless days endure. But the man that seeks to hide Like him (1), his gore-bedewèd hands, Witnesses to them that died, The blood avengers at his side, The Furies' troop forever stands. O'er our victim come begin! Come, the incantation sing, Frantic all and maddening, To the heart a brand of fire, The Furies' hymn, That which claims the senses dim, Tuneless to the gentle lyre, Withering the soul within. The pride of all of human birth, All glorious in the eye of day, Dishonored slowly melts away, Trod down and trampled to the earth, Whene'er our dark-stoled troop advances, Whene'er our feet lead on the dismal dances. For light our footsteps are, And perfect is our might, Awful remembrances of guilt and crime, Implacable to mortal prayer, Far from the gods, unhonored, and heaven's light, We hold our voiceless dwellings dread, All unapproached by living or by dead. What mortal feels not awe, Nor trembles at our name, Hearing our fate-appointed power sublime, Fixed by the eternal law. For old our office, and our fame, Might never yet of its due honors fail, Though 'neath the earth our realm in unsunned regions pale.
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41
Remembrances of you remain In the farthest reaches of my mind. But I do not know why I cannot refrain, The reason that you stay on my mind, I cannot find. You're even in my subconscious... At night, you cloud all of my dreams. And I still find myself singing your songs while I'm conscious, I am still not over you, it seems. Somehow all I can hear is your voice, When I hear a song you like on the radio. You've taken up a greater part of my life than anyone has, without a choice, An unbalanced ratio. I will always love you, Infinitely until I find one that can replace... But you are you, and it still stands true, That in a crowded room, I see no other face. I hope you, without condition, love me, As I have hurt you as well. I hate to see you hurt, especially by the cause of me... As I have always wished you well.
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Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
untitledunkown
I Can't Let You Go...
Remembrances of you remain In the farthest reaches of my mind. But I do not know why I cannot refrain, The reason that you stay on my mind, I cannot find. You're even in my subconscious... At night, you cloud all of my dreams. And I still find myself singing your songs while I'm conscious, I am still not over you, it seems. Somehow all I can hear is your voice, When I hear a song you like on the radio. You've taken up a greater part of my life than anyone has, without a choice, An unbalanced ratio. I will always love you, Infinitely until I find one that can replace... But you are you, and it still stands true, That in a crowded room, I see no other face. I hope you, without condition, love me, As I have hurt you as well. I hate to see you hurt, especially by the cause of me... As I have always wished you well.
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20
It turned cold quickly Almost skipping Autumn Reluctant to wear a jacket Or a hat, or gloves Too distant for my arms To keep him warm against my chest He said he never wore a scarf But if he did, he would go Dr. Who style I had to laugh as i looked up the reference Fifteen feet of mismatched stripes Maybe not the stripes, he said I happened upon a huge skein of yarn It felt like a warm blanket in the oddest, Most interesting colors Manly, neutral, and perfect for Fall So i crocheted a scarf and pictured him warm The pattern in those colors was a mess I chuckled at why they would make such an ugly pattern I crocheted every stitch with love Through arthritic hands that felt no pain I crocheted a scarf, stopping only when it dragged the floor when i put it on Two feet short, but ridiculously long I bordered it in shades of green to match Not realizing it was variegated into Brown's and maroons along the way But it matched the odd mix of colors And finally made it almost pretty to me I covered myself in perfume And put it around my neck As I turned I caught a glimpse in the mirror It wasn't a horrible amalgamation of hideous colors It was camouflage, with a matching border I laughed so hard, and felt so bad My hillbilly in camouflage Wearing a scarf way too long Maybe he would hate it Maybe he won't wear it I knew better So, I packed up his bag of gifts And sent it to the frozen mountains He never wore a scarf He opened it and put it on It smells like You, he said in blssful remembrances It's definitely camouflage, he laughed It's perfect baby, I'll wear it whenever it's cold And in the picture he sent I saw its beauty It wasn't in the patterns of crisscrossing colors It wasn't in the accidental way The border perfectly complimented the body It wasn't in the fact that he would be able To wrap himself up in me to stay warm It was in that picture It was the joy that filled his smile It was in his eyes that danced in love It was in the fact that he believes Because i made it, it's perfect Yes, i accidentally crocheted a thirteen foot camouflage scarf And he loves that I can keep him warm.
0
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
prttybrd
To Keep Him Warm
It turned cold quickly Almost skipping Autumn Reluctant to wear a jacket Or a hat, or gloves Too distant for my arms To keep him warm against my chest He said he never wore a scarf But if he did, he would go Dr. Who style I had to laugh as i looked up the reference Fifteen feet of mismatched stripes Maybe not the stripes, he said I happened upon a huge skein of yarn It felt like a warm blanket in the oddest, Most interesting colors Manly, neutral, and perfect for Fall So i crocheted a scarf and pictured him warm The pattern in those colors was a mess I chuckled at why they would make such an ugly pattern I crocheted every stitch with love Through arthritic hands that felt no pain I crocheted a scarf, stopping only when it dragged the floor when i put it on Two feet short, but ridiculously long I bordered it in shades of green to match Not realizing it was variegated into Brown's and maroons along the way But it matched the odd mix of colors And finally made it almost pretty to me I covered myself in perfume And put it around my neck As I turned I caught a glimpse in the mirror It wasn't a horrible amalgamation of hideous colors It was camouflage, with a matching border I laughed so hard, and felt so bad My hillbilly in camouflage Wearing a scarf way too long Maybe he would hate it Maybe he won't wear it I knew better So, I packed up his bag of gifts And sent it to the frozen mountains He never wore a scarf He opened it and put it on It smells like You, he said in blssful remembrances It's definitely camouflage, he laughed It's perfect baby, I'll wear it whenever it's cold And in the picture he sent I saw its beauty It wasn't in the patterns of crisscrossing colors It wasn't in the accidental way The border perfectly complimented the body It wasn't in the fact that he would be able To wrap himself up in me to stay warm It was in that picture It was the joy that filled his smile It was in his eyes that danced in love It was in the fact that he believes Because i made it, it's perfect Yes, i accidentally crocheted a thirteen foot camouflage scarf And he loves that I can keep him warm.
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58
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gelato Nation There is a place, location secret, mine to keep, mine with which you to tease, make you envious, a back room 'office' jealous guarded by a barkeep, whose chosen invites sweeps you into a reality that is what you will it to be. But nota bene, note well, remembrances of things swell from your past be the only tongue spoken here.   Code word entry only, a shared whisper. Perhaps One Woman, may reveal its pleasures, if she so chooses, which are: gelato laughs, poetry snaps, Beatle songs sung ensemble, by rag tag strangers self-collected accidentally, sung de rigeur off key by voices lubricated by cognac, laughter, and the coldest of white wines, issue of the very soil upon which we sit.   Words to value properly, not in my possess to capture the few moments in time when; Strangers transform themselves into a triple A nation united, that will never be S&P; downgraded. A holy alliance celebrating July 4th all night long, all participants signatory witnesses to its gelato conception, as well as pallbearers to its last drink dissolution, the fullness of its lifetime a vintage of a few hours extant, a vintage, once drunk, is a history, forever gone. Mixologists please record: One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist with a dash of museum director, and do not forget the Hundred Year Old Woman, whose Dowager Princess Daughter (she, a mere eighty)' from Central Park West clarifies all of life dilemmas with the singular analytical tool of: But is it good for the Jews? **But t'is the barkeep who is the leavening in this evenings human pastry-petrie dish.** He makes the pastiche,         the ions of personalities, coalesce best, guitar strummer, singer of songs that were our multiple national anthems when we were pseudo-rebels starting out on our long and winding roads.   Long the King of the Keep! Long live the memory of our Gelato Nation, may it stay sweet in our antique collection of the best moments of our intersecting lives. July 2011
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Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Gelato Nation (July 4th, 2011)
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gelato Nation There is a place, location secret, mine to keep, mine with which you to tease, make you envious, a back room 'office' jealous guarded by a barkeep, whose chosen invites sweeps you into a reality that is what you will it to be. But nota bene, note well, remembrances of things swell from your past be the only tongue spoken here.   Code word entry only, a shared whisper. Perhaps One Woman, may reveal its pleasures, if she so chooses, which are: gelato laughs, poetry snaps, Beatle songs sung ensemble, by rag tag strangers self-collected accidentally, sung de rigeur off key by voices lubricated by cognac, laughter, and the coldest of white wines, issue of the very soil upon which we sit.   Words to value properly, not in my possess to capture the few moments in time when; Strangers transform themselves into a triple A nation united, that will never be S&P; downgraded. A holy alliance celebrating July 4th all night long, all participants signatory witnesses to its gelato conception, as well as pallbearers to its last drink dissolution, the fullness of its lifetime a vintage of a few hours extant, a vintage, once drunk, is a history, forever gone. Mixologists please record: One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist with a dash of museum director, and do not forget the Hundred Year Old Woman, whose Dowager Princess Daughter (she, a mere eighty)' from Central Park West clarifies all of life dilemmas with the singular analytical tool of: But is it good for the Jews? **But t'is the barkeep who is the leavening in this evenings human pastry-petrie dish.** He makes the pastiche,         the ions of personalities, coalesce best, guitar strummer, singer of songs that were our multiple national anthems when we were pseudo-rebels starting out on our long and winding roads.   Long the King of the Keep! Long live the memory of our Gelato Nation, may it stay sweet in our antique collection of the best moments of our intersecting lives. July 2011
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86
Blood is the color red. Evil and fire. Love and lust. Rebirth and Jesus. Danger and anger. Blood is the color of red of war. For many who have lost their lives. And shed blood for freedom. Blood represents death. Blood is the color of red running through our veins. Blood shows no prejudice Regardless of our skin color All blood is still the same. Blood is the color of red cloth. The killing in the suberbs. Shows your race. The slang of gangs. Blood is the color of red in red wine. Our grapes of wrath. Fermenting and full bodied. The smell of wickedness. Blood is the color of  red in our love and our passion. Of St. Valentine. Of our hearts and our mind. Days of remembrances. Blood is the color  of red in  " blood red lipstick". Attracts us humans through love and lust. Steals our innocence. Robs our purity. Blood is the color of red of Jesus Blood. It keeps the body of Christ alive. Brings cleansing to the soul. Is the rebirth and resurrection. Blood is a primary color.
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Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
karen-champagne
the color of Blood
Blood is the color red. Evil and fire. Love and lust. Rebirth and Jesus. Danger and anger. Blood is the color of red of war. For many who have lost their lives. And shed blood for freedom. Blood represents death. Blood is the color of red running through our veins. Blood shows no prejudice Regardless of our skin color All blood is still the same. Blood is the color of red cloth. The killing in the suberbs. Shows your race. The slang of gangs. Blood is the color of red in red wine. Our grapes of wrath. Fermenting and full bodied. The smell of wickedness. Blood is the color of  red in our love and our passion. Of St. Valentine. Of our hearts and our mind. Days of remembrances. Blood is the color  of red in  " blood red lipstick". Attracts us humans through love and lust. Steals our innocence. Robs our purity. Blood is the color of red of Jesus Blood. It keeps the body of Christ alive. Brings cleansing to the soul. Is the rebirth and resurrection. Blood is a primary color.
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34
Tonight is a cluster of Recognitions, remembrances Mostly reminiscence Which sift in the breeze Gusting beneath the temporary Tarpaulin tent Backs are slapped Arms embraced Smiles predominate As shiny faces and gleaming foreheads Illuminated by flashing cameras Twinkle like fireflies displaying In a muggy June meadow Photos pulled from stained Billfolds move from hand to hand Displaying glossies of babies, graduations Weddings and “The big catch” Relatives, friends and officials Find their place on folded metal chairs For a wedding ceremony Tonight has become a gathering
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Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
william-a-poppen
Gathering
Tonight is a cluster of Recognitions, remembrances Mostly reminiscence Which sift in the breeze Gusting beneath the temporary Tarpaulin tent Backs are slapped Arms embraced Smiles predominate As shiny faces and gleaming foreheads Illuminated by flashing cameras Twinkle like fireflies displaying In a muggy June meadow Photos pulled from stained Billfolds move from hand to hand Displaying glossies of babies, graduations Weddings and “The big catch” Relatives, friends and officials Find their place on folded metal chairs For a wedding ceremony Tonight has become a gathering
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21
*stepping back into the west chills reverberate up and down my spine chiseling open obsolescent padlocks dangling with dust on ancient treasure chests pallid colors in the attic release a blossoming familiarity faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper granting me access to roads where no map is needed as i peruse the streets my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity caressing each detail i transform to fluid and fuse with the past through fresh strokes of watercolored memories recollections flash before my eyes revealing antiquated stories though thought forgotten an etched history endeavors to define me renewing itself as i turn each corner i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others through synchronicity realization hits that I am all of it yet none of it at the same time familiar faces paint meaning onto me no longer do they know me yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear and coat me with connotations i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine i morph into their canvas temporarily then break free in multi-dimensionality they don't hear me with a new listening no longer invested in their projections once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus an auspicious mist lies around the edges of my former life it is as if i never left yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me a maturation commingles with my former self flushing out on my skin tethering newfound emotions a gentle gratitude for home territory nestles softly inward i listen to the clicks of my scuffed cowboy boots on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks the echoes layering multiple impressions glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges interfacing the evergreens hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents dance in open wounds dazzling homesickness cured a wholeness returned as winter's crystal dawn blooms i realize the depth of my growth for in leaving here and returning i cherish the west my home ©2016 janetaylor
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May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
jane-taylor
returning west
*stepping back into the west chills reverberate up and down my spine chiseling open obsolescent padlocks dangling with dust on ancient treasure chests pallid colors in the attic release a blossoming familiarity faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper granting me access to roads where no map is needed as i peruse the streets my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity caressing each detail i transform to fluid and fuse with the past through fresh strokes of watercolored memories recollections flash before my eyes revealing antiquated stories though thought forgotten an etched history endeavors to define me renewing itself as i turn each corner i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others through synchronicity realization hits that I am all of it yet none of it at the same time familiar faces paint meaning onto me no longer do they know me yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear and coat me with connotations i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine i morph into their canvas temporarily then break free in multi-dimensionality they don't hear me with a new listening no longer invested in their projections once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus an auspicious mist lies around the edges of my former life it is as if i never left yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me a maturation commingles with my former self flushing out on my skin tethering newfound emotions a gentle gratitude for home territory nestles softly inward i listen to the clicks of my scuffed cowboy boots on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks the echoes layering multiple impressions glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges interfacing the evergreens hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents dance in open wounds dazzling homesickness cured a wholeness returned as winter's crystal dawn blooms i realize the depth of my growth for in leaving here and returning i cherish the west my home ©2016 janetaylor
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66
Ach so! thou much-praised and lauded Milwaukee, Thou delightful Wisconsin Stadt of boundless pulchritude, Verily hath History endowed thy blessed name With the noisomely beery breath of immortality! And thank the benign Almighty in highest Heav’n That thy delectable streets and arboreal squares Doth remain heretofore untouched by unseemly civic strife, Despite thy renown as veritable midwife to Sewer Socialism! Yet, tear-inducing recollections have I of this dwelling-place And herewith followeth heart-rending remembrances Of what transpired when I inveigled a plump young Mädchen there For a brief sojourn of untrammelled concupiscence. Alas, alack, after gorging her impetuous appetites On a gargantuan repast of mitteleuropäische delicacies, Methinks her poor heart gave up survival’s uneven battle And, warbling a soft piffero-reminiscent sigh, she expired. ‘Twas too tragic thus to depart this happy welkin in mid-prandials, Emitting a final flatus, sweet adieu, from her rearmost aperture, Leaving me, her poor forlorn swain, bereft and solitary, Faced with mine host’s request for instant monetary rendition. From that naughty place of my bereavement fled I, Clutching to my ***** the contents of her silken purse, Determined to partake in untrammelled ***** licence elsewhere, Ere the chanticleer’s dawn croak wake the inebriated citizens.
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Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
edna-sweetlove
Tragically Gay Memories of Old Milwaukee (poem by Edna's ******** brother Siegfried)
Ach so! thou much-praised and lauded Milwaukee, Thou delightful Wisconsin Stadt of boundless pulchritude, Verily hath History endowed thy blessed name With the noisomely beery breath of immortality! And thank the benign Almighty in highest Heav’n That thy delectable streets and arboreal squares Doth remain heretofore untouched by unseemly civic strife, Despite thy renown as veritable midwife to Sewer Socialism! Yet, tear-inducing recollections have I of this dwelling-place And herewith followeth heart-rending remembrances Of what transpired when I inveigled a plump young Mädchen there For a brief sojourn of untrammelled concupiscence. Alas, alack, after gorging her impetuous appetites On a gargantuan repast of mitteleuropäische delicacies, Methinks her poor heart gave up survival’s uneven battle And, warbling a soft piffero-reminiscent sigh, she expired. ‘Twas too tragic thus to depart this happy welkin in mid-prandials, Emitting a final flatus, sweet adieu, from her rearmost aperture, Leaving me, her poor forlorn swain, bereft and solitary, Faced with mine host’s request for instant monetary rendition. From that naughty place of my bereavement fled I, Clutching to my ***** the contents of her silken purse, Determined to partake in untrammelled ***** licence elsewhere, Ere the chanticleer’s dawn croak wake the inebriated citizens.
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24
Ink Worked in Into skin Patterns emerge Secrets not for me Obvious but hidden Questions arise, why that design What meaning does it hold for you Flowers, skulls, lighthouses, birds and words Intoxicating as they explain why The reasons why they’ve changed themselves now Into who they’ve become today Remembrances and just because It was pretty, it helped Because life is hard And this helps some Remember It goes On.
0
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
roybr
Tattoos
Ink Worked in Into skin Patterns emerge Secrets not for me Obvious but hidden Questions arise, why that design What meaning does it hold for you Flowers, skulls, lighthouses, birds and words Intoxicating as they explain why The reasons why they’ve changed themselves now Into who they’ve become today Remembrances and just because It was pretty, it helped Because life is hard And this helps some Remember It goes On.
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19
We unpack our hearts' words, unfolding our souls We know what we are but not what we may be We are the falling leaf in autumnal wind 'Tis season's shift that mists a souls' content We are a glass full, brimming to be poured out, Fear drives the self toward the drought of selfishness We are song in crescendo, and silence in farewell Yet courage oft' comes like a surprise snowfall We are a wave rising up, only to descend upon the rocks Bringing bitter remembrances of faded pasts We exist in a paradox, whose key rests in the palm of Time We know what we are, but not what we may be
0
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
e
Hamlet & Ophelia, aside
We unpack our hearts' words, unfolding our souls We know what we are but not what we may be We are the falling leaf in autumnal wind 'Tis season's shift that mists a souls' content We are a glass full, brimming to be poured out, Fear drives the self toward the drought of selfishness We are song in crescendo, and silence in farewell Yet courage oft' comes like a surprise snowfall We are a wave rising up, only to descend upon the rocks Bringing bitter remembrances of faded pasts We exist in a paradox, whose key rests in the palm of Time We know what we are, but not what we may be
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12
A cropped haircut, remembrances of time The best way to reduce cuticles to bone And forget what dances behind eyelids Loosed teardrops and wavering dependability Useless porch light, shameful gas tank With shadows which count seconds Stretching over regrowth A cropped haircut, remembrances of time
0
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 2:28 AM UTC
sansara-justinovich
Young Man
A cropped haircut, remembrances of time The best way to reduce cuticles to bone And forget what dances behind eyelids Loosed teardrops and wavering dependability Useless porch light, shameful gas tank With shadows which count seconds Stretching over regrowth A cropped haircut, remembrances of time
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8
Gymnasiums Modern battlegrounds,, Those days... Blood on the floor, And spittle. Rival towns, White - Red. Sitting Bull long gone, Custer long dead. Native sons, Sons of pioneers Still locked in enmities, Remembrances of treaties broken, Lying words, Hatreds long unspoken. So much of fear So little trust, Braggarts claiming coup, Braggarts thinking war Through basketball. So it was one night I slipped and fell In a reservation gym, Heard the hiss and laughter, Felt the rush of fear... Anger came. Before my racist pride Could grow, I felt a hand, Heard a voice, "You okay?' Spike Bighorn Pulled me to my feet Before a silent crowd. A quiet act of bravery That spoke aloud Made me see the way Through hate, Set me on a path To lead me forty years.... An act of kindness In a place of fear Defuses tension, Ends the wars, Shames the cowards, Fills the void With hope. -------------------
0
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
don-bouchard
Spike Bighorn: A Hero
Gymnasiums Modern battlegrounds,, Those days... Blood on the floor, And spittle. Rival towns, White - Red. Sitting Bull long gone, Custer long dead. Native sons, Sons of pioneers Still locked in enmities, Remembrances of treaties broken, Lying words, Hatreds long unspoken. So much of fear So little trust, Braggarts claiming coup, Braggarts thinking war Through basketball. So it was one night I slipped and fell In a reservation gym, Heard the hiss and laughter, Felt the rush of fear... Anger came. Before my racist pride Could grow, I felt a hand, Heard a voice, "You okay?' Spike Bighorn Pulled me to my feet Before a silent crowd. A quiet act of bravery That spoke aloud Made me see the way Through hate, Set me on a path To lead me forty years.... An act of kindness In a place of fear Defuses tension, Ends the wars, Shames the cowards, Fills the void With hope. -------------------
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48
I’m the girl with the loudest laugh in the crowd, who warms the bodies of those who surround with happiness; the girl who puts on a smile and lights up the room, the girl who is there for everyone in their times of lonesome tears and times of trouble. Within my laughs are cries of pain; among my lips is a dreadful control, constantly attempting to stop the quivering muscles; inside the bright room, the shadows wrap around me in their soothing embrace, drawing me into their abyss yet again; I’m the girl who wants to be comforted, calmed, and loved. Notice me, and what I entail. Listen to my words, and try to understand their meaning. Look into my eyes and hear their quiet whispers as they spill out the secrets of sable struggles, a seemly sacrificed soul, and a sensibly sobered sanity. This illness crawls through my brain, embedding the virus deeper into me, and stripping away all remembrances of my wholesome well-being. My body shivers and shutters despite the piles of blankets on top of me, or the two jackets upon my back. This physical cold is nothing compared to the grim cold running through my veins. I’m dawned with illness as my muscles shake and strain from the trifling weight of my own sorrow. With each brush stroke, more hair comes out. The dark, twined mane falls on the floor of my bathroom tub, haunting me with judgment. My nails are peeled, the bags under my eyes darkened, the shine from my hair gone; all to feel normal. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, why am I doing this to myself? ___________________________________ eating disorders, bulimia, depression, lost, lonely, depressed, struggles, pain, coping, mia, ana, life
0
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
priscilla-del-real
Sobered Sanity
I’m the girl with the loudest laugh in the crowd, who warms the bodies of those who surround with happiness; the girl who puts on a smile and lights up the room, the girl who is there for everyone in their times of lonesome tears and times of trouble. Within my laughs are cries of pain; among my lips is a dreadful control, constantly attempting to stop the quivering muscles; inside the bright room, the shadows wrap around me in their soothing embrace, drawing me into their abyss yet again; I’m the girl who wants to be comforted, calmed, and loved. Notice me, and what I entail. Listen to my words, and try to understand their meaning. Look into my eyes and hear their quiet whispers as they spill out the secrets of sable struggles, a seemly sacrificed soul, and a sensibly sobered sanity. This illness crawls through my brain, embedding the virus deeper into me, and stripping away all remembrances of my wholesome well-being. My body shivers and shutters despite the piles of blankets on top of me, or the two jackets upon my back. This physical cold is nothing compared to the grim cold running through my veins. I’m dawned with illness as my muscles shake and strain from the trifling weight of my own sorrow. With each brush stroke, more hair comes out. The dark, twined mane falls on the floor of my bathroom tub, haunting me with judgment. My nails are peeled, the bags under my eyes darkened, the shine from my hair gone; all to feel normal. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, why am I doing this to myself? ___________________________________ eating disorders, bulimia, depression, lost, lonely, depressed, struggles, pain, coping, mia, ana, life
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7
many a night i lie awake with remembrances of your silky touch and a zillion rousing thoughts racing through my occidental mind. each time, longing for that soft embrace laced with the hope of it all. tossing, turning, just waiting.... for the elusive sleep to descend © 2022
0
Jan 2, 2022
Jan 2, 2022 at 8:53 AM UTC
rama-krsna
just waiting
many a night i lie awake with remembrances of your silky touch and a zillion rousing thoughts racing through my occidental mind. each time, longing for that soft embrace laced with the hope of it all. tossing, turning, just waiting.... for the elusive sleep to descend © 2022
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13
The Condition of My Heart by Munir Niazi loose translation by Michael R. Burch There's no need for anyone else to get excited: The condition of my heart is not the condition of hers. But were we to receive any sort of good news, Munir, How spectacular compared to earth's mundane sunsets! Mystery by Munir Niazi loose translation by Michael R. Burch She was a mystery: Her lips were parched ... but her eyes were two unfathomable oceans. I continued delaying ... by Munir Niazi loose translation by Michael R. Burch I continued delaying ... the words I should speak the promises I should keep the one I should dial despite her cruel denial I continued delaying ... the shoulder I must offer the hand I must proffer the untraveled lanes we may not see again I continued delaying ... long strolls through the seasons for my own selfish reasons the remembrances of lovers to erase thoughts of others I continued delaying ... to save someone dear from eternities unclear to make her aware of our reality here I continued delaying ... Keywords/Tags: Munir Niazi, Urdu, Punjabi, translation, Pakistan, Lahore, love, love hurts, heart, heartbreak, condition, mystery, pashto, relationship, delay, delays, delaying, mrburdu
0
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 2:57 AM UTC
michael-r-burch
Munir Niazi translations
The Condition of My Heart by Munir Niazi loose translation by Michael R. Burch There's no need for anyone else to get excited: The condition of my heart is not the condition of hers. But were we to receive any sort of good news, Munir, How spectacular compared to earth's mundane sunsets! Mystery by Munir Niazi loose translation by Michael R. Burch She was a mystery: Her lips were parched ... but her eyes were two unfathomable oceans. I continued delaying ... by Munir Niazi loose translation by Michael R. Burch I continued delaying ... the words I should speak the promises I should keep the one I should dial despite her cruel denial I continued delaying ... the shoulder I must offer the hand I must proffer the untraveled lanes we may not see again I continued delaying ... long strolls through the seasons for my own selfish reasons the remembrances of lovers to erase thoughts of others I continued delaying ... to save someone dear from eternities unclear to make her aware of our reality here I continued delaying ... Keywords/Tags: Munir Niazi, Urdu, Punjabi, translation, Pakistan, Lahore, love, love hurts, heart, heartbreak, condition, mystery, pashto, relationship, delay, delays, delaying, mrburdu
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38
Heart stuck in gray dawn. Subtle remembrances, consume. Longing for more. Lingering for, "used to be".  Vulnerability in pain gambled for strength in love.  Held in place by promises. **Spoken words deny Actions scream in love and pain Hearts splinter and crack** Time cannot heal what was not meant to be broken. Change is slow coming.  Dreams of warmth take hold, trying to leach into reality so abruptly ripped apart.  Something once so perfect, so beautiful in its purity, in its simplicity. Forever tainted by selfless gestures turned selfish motives. **Promises broken Dreams relive yesterday's bliss Stopping tomorrow** What's good for one, not enough to sustain.  Love enough to last, pushed under, forgotten. Lost to fear. Submerged in darkness.  Yet, there lies the sun.  Warm and alive.  More than a seed, a field of flowers ready to bloom.  Still, flowers of love do not bloom in tears of despair. **You are the warm sun Watered by my salty tears Flowers turned to hay**
0
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 8:28 AM UTC
prttybrd
Motionless (a Haibun)
Heart stuck in gray dawn. Subtle remembrances, consume. Longing for more. Lingering for, "used to be".  Vulnerability in pain gambled for strength in love.  Held in place by promises. **Spoken words deny Actions scream in love and pain Hearts splinter and crack** Time cannot heal what was not meant to be broken. Change is slow coming.  Dreams of warmth take hold, trying to leach into reality so abruptly ripped apart.  Something once so perfect, so beautiful in its purity, in its simplicity. Forever tainted by selfless gestures turned selfish motives. **Promises broken Dreams relive yesterday's bliss Stopping tomorrow** What's good for one, not enough to sustain.  Love enough to last, pushed under, forgotten. Lost to fear. Submerged in darkness.  Yet, there lies the sun.  Warm and alive.  More than a seed, a field of flowers ready to bloom.  Still, flowers of love do not bloom in tears of despair. **You are the warm sun Watered by my salty tears Flowers turned to hay**
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12
porcelein face red painted lips and cheeks eyes an unnatural blue dress older than the skin withstanding the trials of time with indifferent eyes and complacent smile full of the remembrances of earth and wisdom of the ancient yet ageless save the cracks of war waiting in contempt silence guiding the sands of time as the grains fall ceaselessly around the palms facing the ceiling of the hourglass proofed of sound and shielded from change lifeless and observing the world turning on its axis orbiting the glass surrounding the body capable of reaching out a hand the embodiment of a forgiving deity if the people weren't unforgiven and the land still pure
0
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
lauren-ashley
doll
porcelein face red painted lips and cheeks eyes an unnatural blue dress older than the skin withstanding the trials of time with indifferent eyes and complacent smile full of the remembrances of earth and wisdom of the ancient yet ageless save the cracks of war waiting in contempt silence guiding the sands of time as the grains fall ceaselessly around the palms facing the ceiling of the hourglass proofed of sound and shielded from change lifeless and observing the world turning on its axis orbiting the glass surrounding the body capable of reaching out a hand the embodiment of a forgiving deity if the people weren't unforgiven and the land still pure
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23
The saints’-bell calls, and, Julia, I must read The proper lessons for the saints now dead: To grace which service, Julia, there shall be One holy collect said or sung for thee. Dead when thou art, dear Julia, thou shalt have A trentall sung by virgins o’er thy grave: Meantime we two will sing the dirge of these, Who dead, deserve our best remembrances.
0
1.7k
Robert Herrick
To Julia (The saints’-bell calls, and, Julia, I must read)
The saints’-bell calls, and, Julia, I must read The proper lessons for the saints now dead: To grace which service, Julia, there shall be One holy collect said or sung for thee. Dead when thou art, dear Julia, thou shalt have A trentall sung by virgins o’er thy grave: Meantime we two will sing the dirge of these, Who dead, deserve our best remembrances.
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8
Its been so many years, since she passed through, yet it seems like yesterday. Her laughter and her smile, gold-green, dazzling eyes, body warm and tender, kisses, candy apple sweet, magical fingers’ silky caresses, moments of blinding passion, bright essence of her being, more than linger upon my mind. Sights, songs and sounds trigger memories of sadness and of ecstasy. Her presence was enchantment as I recall a spirited laughter, deep, penetrating gazes, caring in her touch, tender greetings, long good-byes, quite moments of silence, indelibly imprinted on my soul. Oh Time be merciful and help me to forget, let my spirit heal. Days and nights she haunts me, please show compassion and cleanse lingering recollections, dispel lucid visions of all that was, dismiss joyous remembrances, remove clinging tentacles of cheerful thoughts, erase poignant dreams of what might have been, tear the bonds to pleasant memories, and break this curse that tightly grips my heart. I’m doomed to always remember, if only I had seen, that she was my prayer answered. But I, looking elsewhere, failed to see and realize, that from time to time heaven and earth do meet. An angel came down from heaven and chose to love only me, but I was too busy then and so she flew away leaving only memories.
0
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 6:06 PM UTC
black-swan
Time be Merciful
Its been so many years, since she passed through, yet it seems like yesterday. Her laughter and her smile, gold-green, dazzling eyes, body warm and tender, kisses, candy apple sweet, magical fingers’ silky caresses, moments of blinding passion, bright essence of her being, more than linger upon my mind. Sights, songs and sounds trigger memories of sadness and of ecstasy. Her presence was enchantment as I recall a spirited laughter, deep, penetrating gazes, caring in her touch, tender greetings, long good-byes, quite moments of silence, indelibly imprinted on my soul. Oh Time be merciful and help me to forget, let my spirit heal. Days and nights she haunts me, please show compassion and cleanse lingering recollections, dispel lucid visions of all that was, dismiss joyous remembrances, remove clinging tentacles of cheerful thoughts, erase poignant dreams of what might have been, tear the bonds to pleasant memories, and break this curse that tightly grips my heart. I’m doomed to always remember, if only I had seen, that she was my prayer answered. But I, looking elsewhere, failed to see and realize, that from time to time heaven and earth do meet. An angel came down from heaven and chose to love only me, but I was too busy then and so she flew away leaving only memories.
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42
Here is a long and lonely night has come again in my life.,, Again alone with these tears,, again I am dreading the fact that the night of pain will never be over,,, my tears is trickling down in the dark,,, drop by drop the tears move down to the way of separation from the eyes and the eyes has no grievance why are you leaving them alone.. The affiance of mine is tears... And I know that it would never break.,, affiance of my solitude.. Something has broken me inside due to some one Today i am sulky in the deep of the heart. Everything is constantly.... going away from me.... My scars again changing into wounds.. Today is another new darkest night but my wounds was old.. Let the pain flows in the veins let them allow what they want to say now... I am just sit and smile here,, listening to the beats which is slowing in the remembrances,, I had the affiance of my beloved but she left me somewhere in the corner of the dark,,, who truly care and will hold you close through even the darkest night,, i think no one is here and no body want to be here to be bury in the dark,, but I am constantly talking to my moon in my pain those who not is not infront of me.., with this hapless life I don't want to be myself again,,, i have closed my eyes with my shattered dreams... MGO
0
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
shawan-sharma-azad
ALONE NIGHT
Here is a long and lonely night has come again in my life.,, Again alone with these tears,, again I am dreading the fact that the night of pain will never be over,,, my tears is trickling down in the dark,,, drop by drop the tears move down to the way of separation from the eyes and the eyes has no grievance why are you leaving them alone.. The affiance of mine is tears... And I know that it would never break.,, affiance of my solitude.. Something has broken me inside due to some one Today i am sulky in the deep of the heart. Everything is constantly.... going away from me.... My scars again changing into wounds.. Today is another new darkest night but my wounds was old.. Let the pain flows in the veins let them allow what they want to say now... I am just sit and smile here,, listening to the beats which is slowing in the remembrances,, I had the affiance of my beloved but she left me somewhere in the corner of the dark,,, who truly care and will hold you close through even the darkest night,, i think no one is here and no body want to be here to be bury in the dark,, but I am constantly talking to my moon in my pain those who not is not infront of me.., with this hapless life I don't want to be myself again,,, i have closed my eyes with my shattered dreams... MGO
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40
The u-turn of uninterrupted talk Falls short before the midnight hour And through the remembrances The hushed Echoing of a printed face smiles Among the old and new. But only you know he has gone, For your heart is broken And thrown about the room Where your old man's chair sits alone.... Where you once shared A laugh and a joke, A tear and a smoke, A kiss and a hug, A poem and a mug Of tea, (With a wee dram of Glenmorangie) On a cold night By the firelight, Reading Frost - 'The Grindstone' In candlelight, Listening to Django Reinhardt's 'Crazy Rhythm' On the radio As it beats out a frenetic system Of notes that runs and parts Into segments of your mind. Now you are on your own, You sit back to find What you have lost.... ©Jack Aylward, July 2013
0
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
jack-stuart-aylward
He Passed Away Today
The u-turn of uninterrupted talk Falls short before the midnight hour And through the remembrances The hushed Echoing of a printed face smiles Among the old and new. But only you know he has gone, For your heart is broken And thrown about the room Where your old man's chair sits alone.... Where you once shared A laugh and a joke, A tear and a smoke, A kiss and a hug, A poem and a mug Of tea, (With a wee dram of Glenmorangie) On a cold night By the firelight, Reading Frost - 'The Grindstone' In candlelight, Listening to Django Reinhardt's 'Crazy Rhythm' On the radio As it beats out a frenetic system Of notes that runs and parts Into segments of your mind. Now you are on your own, You sit back to find What you have lost.... ©Jack Aylward, July 2013
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33
I look for Leo, his tawny dress, His noble pride. I see him ever, In silent days his warmth his stride. Our friendship moved, grew a lease With eyes sleepy, tempered, so wise, Always serene. How his waif voice Would purrmurr, did chide and lift Me from my human daze, my king This spring is full of remembrances And mornings that linger with mute Vibrations and greetings. How, now I fear the carpets pressed unmoving And times caress unsoothing. I look For you, with loving pause, and I cry.
0
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
ormond
Elegy for a Cat
I look for Leo, his tawny dress, His noble pride. I see him ever, In silent days his warmth his stride. Our friendship moved, grew a lease With eyes sleepy, tempered, so wise, Always serene. How his waif voice Would purrmurr, did chide and lift Me from my human daze, my king This spring is full of remembrances And mornings that linger with mute Vibrations and greetings. How, now I fear the carpets pressed unmoving And times caress unsoothing. I look For you, with loving pause, and I cry.
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14