"reminiscences" poems - Hello Poetry

"reminiscences" poems

"Stoner's Poem" I see your snapstories, I see your ask profile. I see how you comment and reply and flaunt your English skills. Trust me, I love your rebuttals, More than Biryani and the Lebanese pornstar. I see your Facebook posts, I see your WordPress, And I see, how you craft your poems flamboyantly, And then, and then, Pilfer my breath, And rob my me. Sometimes, just sometimes, Your deportment bewilders me, More than Lowry-Bronsted's theory. I see how you dance in the rain, Like "All, sin, tan, cos", do in my brain. I see how you frequent every segment of my cardiac muscle, And then desert it, like it's one of the many dilapidated constructions. My reminiscences about your thingness, Escalate me to a higher spiritual level, More than **** does. Oh, that smile, Oh, that look, Oh, the mystique in you. And again, I am writing of Love. And the pen doesn't seem to stop soon, For I have taken a greater risk, Than asking my friend about cathodes and anodes and electrolysis, while I took my last chemistry exam, When the invigilator was around.

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May 14, 2016

May 14, 2016 at 3:55 AM UTC

pratyay-chakraborty

"Stoner's Poem" I see your snapstories, I see your ask profile. I see how you comment and reply and flaunt your English skills. Trust me, I love your rebuttals, More than Biryani and the Lebanese pornstar. I see your Facebook posts, I see your WordPress, And I see, how you craft your poems flamboyantly, And then, and then, Pilfer my breath, And rob my me. Sometimes, just sometimes, Your deportment bewilders me, More than Lowry-Bronsted's theory. I see how you dance in the rain, Like "All, sin, tan, cos", do in my brain. I see how you frequent every segment of my cardiac muscle, And then desert it, like it's one of the many dilapidated constructions. My reminiscences about your thingness, Escalate me to a higher spiritual level, More than **** does. Oh, that smile, Oh, that look, Oh, the mystique in you. And again, I am writing of Love. And the pen doesn't seem to stop soon, For I have taken a greater risk, Than asking my friend about cathodes and anodes and electrolysis, while I took my last chemistry exam, When the invigilator was around.

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is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue, the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's scrubs as they usher in unity, with no imp-unity, the risks, while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued original of what has been painted an uncountable times before, and before… tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful, he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities of this summered simmering, human warming and baking and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers, un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish- ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark, the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm, the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks, nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated, goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place… 7:00am Silver Beach Shelter Island Aug 19 2025

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Aug 19, 2025

Aug 19, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC

this particular day...

is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue, the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's scrubs as they usher in unity, with no imp-unity, the risks, while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued original of what has been painted an uncountable times before, and before… tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful, he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities of this summered simmering, human warming and baking and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers, un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish- ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark, the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm, the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks, nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated, goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place… 7:00am Silver Beach Shelter Island Aug 19 2025

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JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821* (From The Imagination Of The Writer) I am fading, fading fast, Fanny, my love eternal Far away from you and home I am dying, the hours I am counting In what I liken to my grave that is Rome. All that I seek in this dark loneliness is solace Moments of respite thinking Of you and our past exchanges of affection Dissolved by fate with our hopes descending Unto the oblivion that had been pre-ordained Tears are comfortless and what is to come Is but this pain that seared love must bear unknown Only self-felt and suffered without end that renders my heart totally numb. I can’t understand and it defies reason The human heart should bear so much pain While the tranquil stars hold so steadfast and the song Of the nightingale drifts so sublimely in every sweet refrain. Youth once gaily clothed in such beauty but now Grows spectre-thin and here is but fret and fever Where the old and infirm hang their heads down In tearful reminiscences of happy days that have fled forever. And now, my ***** my only love, you alone in this The saddest schemes of things should share This my life so wretched , lost, unfulfilled and joy-bereft I beg forgiveness, only remember my poems—sorrow let us silently bear. John Keats one of the greatest English romantic poets died on 23rd February 1821 in Rome, aged twenty-five

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Sep 3, 2015

Sep 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC

JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821* (From The Imagination Of The Writer)

JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821* (From The Imagination Of The Writer) I am fading, fading fast, Fanny, my love eternal Far away from you and home I am dying, the hours I am counting In what I liken to my grave that is Rome. All that I seek in this dark loneliness is solace Moments of respite thinking Of you and our past exchanges of affection Dissolved by fate with our hopes descending Unto the oblivion that had been pre-ordained Tears are comfortless and what is to come Is but this pain that seared love must bear unknown Only self-felt and suffered without end that renders my heart totally numb. I can’t understand and it defies reason The human heart should bear so much pain While the tranquil stars hold so steadfast and the song Of the nightingale drifts so sublimely in every sweet refrain. Youth once gaily clothed in such beauty but now Grows spectre-thin and here is but fret and fever Where the old and infirm hang their heads down In tearful reminiscences of happy days that have fled forever. And now, my ***** my only love, you alone in this The saddest schemes of things should share This my life so wretched , lost, unfulfilled and joy-bereft I beg forgiveness, only remember my poems—sorrow let us silently bear. John Keats one of the greatest English romantic poets died on 23rd February 1821 in Rome, aged twenty-five

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Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books, I make out your movement, M, the moody turns Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of Family names, you marked me like a maternal Emblem of the generation’s matriarch, You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons Maria Helena from the Midwest, Who crossed the mountains in a wagon, Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles, Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco, And her own daughter, my Mimi, Who muttered merde while she drank martinis. In my own time, you materialized in Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom, The women in which I knew you growing up, Then Molly, who made dreams out of Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette, You embellished my most favorite things. In my monogram, you aimed my impulses in your masts’ diametric directions Towards competence, towards imagination. In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk. You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me To meander among your fundamental family, The sumptuous L of melt and mélange, The meticulous N of man or monk or money. Even W, which matches your mien in mirror It warped wicked witch while you Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined The mutilation of those two majuscules formed My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.

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May 20, 2014

May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC

molly-smithson-callahan

The Melody of M

Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books, I make out your movement, M, the moody turns Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of Family names, you marked me like a maternal Emblem of the generation’s matriarch, You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons Maria Helena from the Midwest, Who crossed the mountains in a wagon, Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles, Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco, And her own daughter, my Mimi, Who muttered merde while she drank martinis. In my own time, you materialized in Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom, The women in which I knew you growing up, Then Molly, who made dreams out of Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette, You embellished my most favorite things. In my monogram, you aimed my impulses in your masts’ diametric directions Towards competence, towards imagination. In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk. You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me To meander among your fundamental family, The sumptuous L of melt and mélange, The meticulous N of man or monk or money. Even W, which matches your mien in mirror It warped wicked witch while you Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined The mutilation of those two majuscules formed My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.

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There is pleasure's sigh, there is despair's sigh, Adorned with a sweet smile or a sour cry, Screaming both in the night with no reply, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. All places of Tokyo change at night, Streets are flowing rivers of gleamy light, Lit-neon signs glowing at every sight, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. More footsteps have been set in these lit-streets, Than the words have been said in these lit-streets, Or the numbers of debt in these lit-streets, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Glamorous in the busy night like pearls, Hostess girls show to men a sight like pearls, With smiles and teeth who're white like pearls, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Girls who're shining like jewels are adored, Who quickly by empty wallets get bored, By the men who these sweet gems can afford, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. As long as bars shine with signs of neon, The crowds in this city are going on, Until they are put out at times of dawn, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Lights are reflected as blurs in each pool, Who distort the sights like the alcohol, Who is served in passionate bars as cool, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Water's flowing in the water business, Who's to the old days a reminiscences, Where the thin rules of the night are boundless, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Unlike the tradition of the flower, Here they paint faces to take a powder, And then embrace the ones with much power, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. The alcohol is poured down like the rain. How hide drunkenness from whiskey and champagne, They put powders on the face to look plain, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Adored, desired and loved is every star, Who strolls around or drinks in every bar, By each man with a luxuriant car, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Mâhî's still to Tokyo a stranger, Both to its pleasure and to its danger, Where the eyes at night only see a blur, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky.

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Mar 21, 2017

Mar 21, 2017 at 6:43 AM UTC

There is pleasure's sigh, there is despair's sigh, Adorned with a sweet smile or a sour cry, Screaming both in the night with no reply, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. All places of Tokyo change at night, Streets are flowing rivers of gleamy light, Lit-neon signs glowing at every sight, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. More footsteps have been set in these lit-streets, Than the words have been said in these lit-streets, Or the numbers of debt in these lit-streets, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Glamorous in the busy night like pearls, Hostess girls show to men a sight like pearls, With smiles and teeth who're white like pearls, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Girls who're shining like jewels are adored, Who quickly by empty wallets get bored, By the men who these sweet gems can afford, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. As long as bars shine with signs of neon, The crowds in this city are going on, Until they are put out at times of dawn, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Lights are reflected as blurs in each pool, Who distort the sights like the alcohol, Who is served in passionate bars as cool, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Water's flowing in the water business, Who's to the old days a reminiscences, Where the thin rules of the night are boundless, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Unlike the tradition of the flower, Here they paint faces to take a powder, And then embrace the ones with much power, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. The alcohol is poured down like the rain. How hide drunkenness from whiskey and champagne, They put powders on the face to look plain, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Adored, desired and loved is every star, Who strolls around or drinks in every bar, By each man with a luxuriant car, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky. Mâhî's still to Tokyo a stranger, Both to its pleasure and to its danger, Where the eyes at night only see a blur, Under the glamorous buildings up high, Who are standing under the blue night sky.

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I once was told In Broooklyn New York I had a lackadaisical attitude. It was the first time I was hearing That whimsical adjective ! So lackadaisical I was ! Looked like an illness The way they said it It seemed I could contaminate. So I stopped a few seconds to think and dissect the word Lackadaisical I lacked a daisy somewhere ! Sounded like I lacked a fuse in my brain ! Next thing I know I was checking the word In my reminiscences of the Oxford English Dictionary Or may be it was Webster's And it said in black and white ferns I lacked purpose I wasn't properly lazy, I just lacked directions I lacked enthusiasm, stamina I was devoid of zest I was blasé Insouciant Careless. Translated into more French I was nonchalant and better said Jemenfoutiste. It was during an encounter group And they threw that lackadaisical attitude ******** to my face And guess what i did ?! I just kept on smiling Jemenfoutiste to the extreme. And they kept saying See what I mean, you 're so ******* lackadaisical , man ! You're so pathetic ! You're so apathetic ! It was Winter in America like Gil Scott-Heron would say And it felt so good, so warm, As far as I could see, To be called lackadaisical And not laconical. I not only lacked a daisy I lacked a bunch of tropical flowers indeed ! Like bouganvillea, orchid or hibiscus Anthurium, jasmine or bromeliad I lacked sun and sea Strange as it was Even though I was near Atlantic Avenue, Coney Island So I was lackaseacal and lackasuncal But what I didn't lack was ants in my pants And until today they make me dance My forever lackadaisical dance.

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Aug 27, 2019

Aug 27, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

I once was told In Broooklyn New York I had a lackadaisical attitude. It was the first time I was hearing That whimsical adjective ! So lackadaisical I was ! Looked like an illness The way they said it It seemed I could contaminate. So I stopped a few seconds to think and dissect the word Lackadaisical I lacked a daisy somewhere ! Sounded like I lacked a fuse in my brain ! Next thing I know I was checking the word In my reminiscences of the Oxford English Dictionary Or may be it was Webster's And it said in black and white ferns I lacked purpose I wasn't properly lazy, I just lacked directions I lacked enthusiasm, stamina I was devoid of zest I was blasé Insouciant Careless. Translated into more French I was nonchalant and better said Jemenfoutiste. It was during an encounter group And they threw that lackadaisical attitude ******** to my face And guess what i did ?! I just kept on smiling Jemenfoutiste to the extreme. And they kept saying See what I mean, you 're so ******* lackadaisical , man ! You're so pathetic ! You're so apathetic ! It was Winter in America like Gil Scott-Heron would say And it felt so good, so warm, As far as I could see, To be called lackadaisical And not laconical. I not only lacked a daisy I lacked a bunch of tropical flowers indeed ! Like bouganvillea, orchid or hibiscus Anthurium, jasmine or bromeliad I lacked sun and sea Strange as it was Even though I was near Atlantic Avenue, Coney Island So I was lackaseacal and lackasuncal But what I didn't lack was ants in my pants And until today they make me dance My forever lackadaisical dance.

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Strung together elegantly Silken ribbons connect smooth shells And kukui nuts. Though it is not vibrant orchids Or a beautiful hibiscus It carries their memories Gently as the waves Kissing the sand. The shells remind them of Past reminiscences Of younger days in rustic Waimea And delighted smiles At Hanauma Bay, Watching colorful fish And gliding sea turtles. The kukui nut keeps them grounded together So as not to drift apart In heart. He strung it around her neck And softly whispered in her ear: aloha aku no aloha mai no

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Aug 17, 2013

Aug 17, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC

frivolous-treasures

Strung together elegantly Silken ribbons connect smooth shells And kukui nuts. Though it is not vibrant orchids Or a beautiful hibiscus It carries their memories Gently as the waves Kissing the sand. The shells remind them of Past reminiscences Of younger days in rustic Waimea And delighted smiles At Hanauma Bay, Watching colorful fish And gliding sea turtles. The kukui nut keeps them grounded together So as not to drift apart In heart. He strung it around her neck And softly whispered in her ear: aloha aku no aloha mai no

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Only if you knew… How it bleeds inside The baby born of blood and flesh Just a hideous beast ruined by time. Single dame- thousand names Only if you knew, How the ice burns my throat How the wills and wants went cold… Only if I knew, What the skies hold for me I didn’t touch the blade, But the stains don’t fade away.. Why the contrition of yesterday Still ****** my soul’s edges Why the sweet reminiscences, Still a gloomy haze? Why the memoirs of divinity Have turned in immoral disgrace? Why the reaper can’t sing in its solace? Thee heart keep running but lost in its pace Why each passing moment moans for the albatross? Only if we knew… The curiosities of life And anxieties open and wide Don’t stop the eyes Now open and searching life Taking my chances, Hiding my grievances I risk the curve Once was jilted and deserted from love I bask in the glow, soak in the sun Step out of the low The Satan takes no pity Leaves the beast with an impaired heart Now the eyes are shut, the dark creeps in The clouds come and lo! they win The stars now astray in a veiled sky Feeble and faint Again leave the beast forsaken But animal instincts they call it It strives again.. Only if you knew…

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Nov 10, 2012

Nov 10, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC

Only if.. You knew

Only if you knew… How it bleeds inside The baby born of blood and flesh Just a hideous beast ruined by time. Single dame- thousand names Only if you knew, How the ice burns my throat How the wills and wants went cold… Only if I knew, What the skies hold for me I didn’t touch the blade, But the stains don’t fade away.. Why the contrition of yesterday Still ****** my soul’s edges Why the sweet reminiscences, Still a gloomy haze? Why the memoirs of divinity Have turned in immoral disgrace? Why the reaper can’t sing in its solace? Thee heart keep running but lost in its pace Why each passing moment moans for the albatross? Only if we knew… The curiosities of life And anxieties open and wide Don’t stop the eyes Now open and searching life Taking my chances, Hiding my grievances I risk the curve Once was jilted and deserted from love I bask in the glow, soak in the sun Step out of the low The Satan takes no pity Leaves the beast with an impaired heart Now the eyes are shut, the dark creeps in The clouds come and lo! they win The stars now astray in a veiled sky Feeble and faint Again leave the beast forsaken But animal instincts they call it It strives again.. Only if you knew…

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Memories and moments we made Are plastered in my mind I try to let them go But they won't budge and are Engraved like your name in my soul Stubborn as my heart is When it comes to let you go A whirlwind of emotions The craziness of this heartbreak Has taken away the tranquil I once possess And made me a mess I can't save Stubborn as my soul is Which can't seem to let you go I made peace with myself Told myself I was not enough But in the silence of the nights My mind wanders to the happy days And a question pops'what went wrong?' You left with just just a line 'It's not you it's me' As if it was enough To forget the good ole' days and breathe Stubborn my mind, my soul, my heart Which just want to hold onto you And torture me with all your Sweet, beautiful reminiscences.

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Jan 14, 2021

Jan 14, 2021 at 7:51 AM UTC

Memories and moments we made Are plastered in my mind I try to let them go But they won't budge and are Engraved like your name in my soul Stubborn as my heart is When it comes to let you go A whirlwind of emotions The craziness of this heartbreak Has taken away the tranquil I once possess And made me a mess I can't save Stubborn as my soul is Which can't seem to let you go I made peace with myself Told myself I was not enough But in the silence of the nights My mind wanders to the happy days And a question pops'what went wrong?' You left with just just a line 'It's not you it's me' As if it was enough To forget the good ole' days and breathe Stubborn my mind, my soul, my heart Which just want to hold onto you And torture me with all your Sweet, beautiful reminiscences.

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That surprise kiss was so surreal, That I fail to believe it was real. The time we kissed was so unreal, The reminiscences of it is each day. I had heard of a sleeping beauty, Not of sleeping beast who got kissed. I know someone inside has changed, Now I shyly look into the mirror. I am the lucky beast that was kissed, You the kind Angel who did the favour.

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Oct 9, 2014

Oct 9, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC

That Surprise Kiss

That surprise kiss was so surreal, That I fail to believe it was real. The time we kissed was so unreal, The reminiscences of it is each day. I had heard of a sleeping beauty, Not of sleeping beast who got kissed. I know someone inside has changed, Now I shyly look into the mirror. I am the lucky beast that was kissed, You the kind Angel who did the favour.

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*if only I knew how to love... for my Victoria winces-grimaces, that these words even leave my fingertips, reminiscences, a chrome bookmark tab full of decades of near misses, instances, subway sideway stolen daily glances of she who would be the only, the one, but one day failed to appear, left to dream peer, and/or decades long of romanced lasses, flying spectacular super crashes, when my heart-blanched, lanced, and the lawyers danced, poems shriveled as dried ink crack'd and words rusted shut, cut by so many p'raps, and ugly motives, beautiful covered up, disguised as synapses of sin and insincerity, and I, the sad man, both the sinner and the sinned against, totalities, of shoulda-woulda-asked/kissed-her-gallantly, activities, when kisses were doorways to trap door rooms and an over decorated monte cristo prison cell ah well the 'and yet,' the 'but for,' a single finger, sealing silenced lips, passions mourned and irrevocable sensations, frittered, fractured, all that I calmly called love was sprigs and broken branches, cut flowers destined to shrivel, not of what I believed in, something akin to a tree rooted, an oaken strong unbreakable love of this certain, all approximations, all failed incantations, for surely, if but only one escaped, could have been saved, and if truthful love it was, I would have known it, for would I have dared to let slip away?

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Jul 14, 2017

Jul 14, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC

if only I knew how to love

*if only I knew how to love... for my Victoria winces-grimaces, that these words even leave my fingertips, reminiscences, a chrome bookmark tab full of decades of near misses, instances, subway sideway stolen daily glances of she who would be the only, the one, but one day failed to appear, left to dream peer, and/or decades long of romanced lasses, flying spectacular super crashes, when my heart-blanched, lanced, and the lawyers danced, poems shriveled as dried ink crack'd and words rusted shut, cut by so many p'raps, and ugly motives, beautiful covered up, disguised as synapses of sin and insincerity, and I, the sad man, both the sinner and the sinned against, totalities, of shoulda-woulda-asked/kissed-her-gallantly, activities, when kisses were doorways to trap door rooms and an over decorated monte cristo prison cell ah well the 'and yet,' the 'but for,' a single finger, sealing silenced lips, passions mourned and irrevocable sensations, frittered, fractured, all that I calmly called love was sprigs and broken branches, cut flowers destined to shrivel, not of what I believed in, something akin to a tree rooted, an oaken strong unbreakable love of this certain, all approximations, all failed incantations, for surely, if but only one escaped, could have been saved, and if truthful love it was, I would have known it, for would I have dared to let slip away?

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Less violence More silence A tear rolls from my eye As I silently wonder why This aching pain Of which you are to blame Consumes me on this day On this bittersweet bed on which I lay No words can keep my sadness From flowing from my fingers Onto this platform on which I type This poem, this writing, these chicken scratches Will serve as nothing but ephemeral reminiscences Of what joy you used to bring me. We can't (couldn't) keep going We have no one to blame but ourselves It is time to keep on trucking Move on And hope for someone/something new It is a brutal, grim, meat hook realization that we are not good for each other and it is very hard to accept. I think, 10 years from now we may either look at this point in our lives as either nothing but a flight of fancy or something we had that we were not able to contain very well that was at times equally magical and horrid. A deep Fear surrounded our relationship and there was not enough Support from either side to make it last. Things fade. Time has a way of showing how Stupid and Miserable everyone was. You fell in love with a drunken ******* I fell in love with a **** disguised as a fallen angel. Looking back one year, we never would have thought this is how we would be spending the anniversary of our first kiss. Our first moment. We were crazy. We still are. I don't want resentment anymore. I don't want your love. I just want acknowledgement today. I want you to find someone in your school that reminds you of me in one form or another and give him a hug, because you need it, I need it and judging who he reminds you of, he probably needs it to. I will acknowledge you today in the only way I know how. Inebriation whilst listening to Elliott Smith. May I never do it again. This is my send off. Jackie Be careful. I still care about you. I wish you nothing but the best. If I didn't I wouldn't have written a poem and a brief essay today. Have fun with life. Now I can be happy. This is a fitting end. Resolution is mine. No violence Just silence

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Sep 23, 2013

Sep 23, 2013 at 6:31 AM UTC

Less violence More silence A tear rolls from my eye As I silently wonder why This aching pain Of which you are to blame Consumes me on this day On this bittersweet bed on which I lay No words can keep my sadness From flowing from my fingers Onto this platform on which I type This poem, this writing, these chicken scratches Will serve as nothing but ephemeral reminiscences Of what joy you used to bring me. We can't (couldn't) keep going We have no one to blame but ourselves It is time to keep on trucking Move on And hope for someone/something new It is a brutal, grim, meat hook realization that we are not good for each other and it is very hard to accept. I think, 10 years from now we may either look at this point in our lives as either nothing but a flight of fancy or something we had that we were not able to contain very well that was at times equally magical and horrid. A deep Fear surrounded our relationship and there was not enough Support from either side to make it last. Things fade. Time has a way of showing how Stupid and Miserable everyone was. You fell in love with a drunken ******* I fell in love with a **** disguised as a fallen angel. Looking back one year, we never would have thought this is how we would be spending the anniversary of our first kiss. Our first moment. We were crazy. We still are. I don't want resentment anymore. I don't want your love. I just want acknowledgement today. I want you to find someone in your school that reminds you of me in one form or another and give him a hug, because you need it, I need it and judging who he reminds you of, he probably needs it to. I will acknowledge you today in the only way I know how. Inebriation whilst listening to Elliott Smith. May I never do it again. This is my send off. Jackie Be careful. I still care about you. I wish you nothing but the best. If I didn't I wouldn't have written a poem and a brief essay today. Have fun with life. Now I can be happy. This is a fitting end. Resolution is mine. No violence Just silence

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**With tears in my eyes, I will smile,** With the shadows perished by, I will be the daylight, With those envisaged grievances, I will emanate fluorescence, **With sadness deep inside, I will rejoice,** With the appalling bruises on my skin, I will still be intact, **With shattered hope, I will remain steadfast,** With fulminations raining aside, I will stay afloat, With vehement reminiscences passed, I will protect and cherish, With love gone awry, I will gather the traces.

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Feb 17, 2015

Feb 17, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC

For you, I will (collab with blythe)

**With tears in my eyes, I will smile,** With the shadows perished by, I will be the daylight, With those envisaged grievances, I will emanate fluorescence, **With sadness deep inside, I will rejoice,** With the appalling bruises on my skin, I will still be intact, **With shattered hope, I will remain steadfast,** With fulminations raining aside, I will stay afloat, With vehement reminiscences passed, I will protect and cherish, With love gone awry, I will gather the traces.

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All of a sudden you're on the floor with wet eyes and wet hands and the only sound in your head is that of screaming But maybe it's you And you feel as if you're being eaten from the inside out by your own malnourished heart You can't actually breathe because your sobs won't allow it and your entire body is trembling and dark red, fading to purple You imagine someone holding a knife beside you Someone who's willing to use it and it doesn't scare you any more than death scares a ghost You're sure you wouldn't feel it So you sleep to fool your brain for a while But you only dream of him and things are alright and well and good and you wake up and you wish you hadn't Some people never know that your chest can feel this empty That your stomach and your throat and your head can beg and beg and beg and you can not know what for And some people don't ever find out that your heart's physical ache is much too real That one would prefer next to any amount of torture if that heart were separate from his

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Feb 4, 2014

Feb 4, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC

Reminiscences of Everyone's Oh-Shit-Oh-No-Wait-My-Heart-I-Think-I'm-Dying Phases.

All of a sudden you're on the floor with wet eyes and wet hands and the only sound in your head is that of screaming But maybe it's you And you feel as if you're being eaten from the inside out by your own malnourished heart You can't actually breathe because your sobs won't allow it and your entire body is trembling and dark red, fading to purple You imagine someone holding a knife beside you Someone who's willing to use it and it doesn't scare you any more than death scares a ghost You're sure you wouldn't feel it So you sleep to fool your brain for a while But you only dream of him and things are alright and well and good and you wake up and you wish you hadn't Some people never know that your chest can feel this empty That your stomach and your throat and your head can beg and beg and beg and you can not know what for And some people don't ever find out that your heart's physical ache is much too real That one would prefer next to any amount of torture if that heart were separate from his

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The ocean cries its freedom with the passion that is older than its waves. Trembling surface searches for the shore but the moonlight never reciprocated its love. I have seen a hundred lifetimes veiled in a thousand lies. A thousand lies scattered in the sky of a million broken stars. The sloping roof planes try to hold onto the river. The river flows away, shattering the heart of the stony terrain And carrying pebbles as the memory of a faraway love. I have witnessed a hundred rivers crying for a thousand birds. A thousand birds escaping the captivity of a million cages. The restless wind tried to gather memories of the fallen leaves. It makes the grass shiver with an incurable heartache. The decaying era of a forgotten monsoon rain Comes back and saturates the pilgrim of time-worn reminiscences. No story left untold. No heart remained unbroken. All tales got entangled into the epic of the universe.

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Aug 3, 2018

Aug 3, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC

SayantanDasgupta

The Universe Carries a Million Love Stories

The ocean cries its freedom with the passion that is older than its waves. Trembling surface searches for the shore but the moonlight never reciprocated its love. I have seen a hundred lifetimes veiled in a thousand lies. A thousand lies scattered in the sky of a million broken stars. The sloping roof planes try to hold onto the river. The river flows away, shattering the heart of the stony terrain And carrying pebbles as the memory of a faraway love. I have witnessed a hundred rivers crying for a thousand birds. A thousand birds escaping the captivity of a million cages. The restless wind tried to gather memories of the fallen leaves. It makes the grass shiver with an incurable heartache. The decaying era of a forgotten monsoon rain Comes back and saturates the pilgrim of time-worn reminiscences. No story left untold. No heart remained unbroken. All tales got entangled into the epic of the universe.

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Do I get seen by this world around me, Or am I invisible to every person. Only for boys to examine my frail body, Just like another fish within the ocean. Am I invisible to everyone around me, For every one around to flaunt. My body is invisible for all to see, And this world it will not haunt. For you will only find the reminiscences, Of my despair and destruction of my mind. Something that is unknown to science, But somewhere I hope I'm still here to find.

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Aug 17, 2019

Aug 17, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC

Do I get seen by this world around me, Or am I invisible to every person. Only for boys to examine my frail body, Just like another fish within the ocean. Am I invisible to everyone around me, For every one around to flaunt. My body is invisible for all to see, And this world it will not haunt. For you will only find the reminiscences, Of my despair and destruction of my mind. Something that is unknown to science, But somewhere I hope I'm still here to find.

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Water of remembrance sprinkled On the mountain crest of recollection. Indulgent mussy memory catapulted Stones of retentiveness into the Courtyard of events like bricole Of battles. Pendulum of reminiscences swinging On oscillating milage of roads like Trotting horse with drippage of sweat And itching foots. Ghost of reminiscences restlessly Roaming with carriage of yesteryear. Final year educatees required Boardinghouse, But list of items engorged dear Mother's treasury "where do l raise money to buy oyinbo mattress, Ilori?" Mind pullulated with weariness. Intonation of worries. Cantillation of wants. Deficiency of measured means. Oyinbo mattress beyond ladder Of reach. Gluttonously waiting to devour Lesser items, But rays of compulsion unslammed The gate of respite. Lordly arrival warmly welcomed by The dorm room's porter, Walking majestically to the bed-space With the acquired cotton wool and raffia leaves mattress. Gamut of items passed through the eagle's eyes of the housemaster. Silver painted pail donated by a neighbour passed through the sentry of inspection, And got its admission. Mother's used cloak turned bedsheets Passed through the rigorous scrutiny. Newly built portmanteau unlocked and neatly dissected, item by item. Agazed eyes focused on the cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress. Expectations rattled mumbling astonishment. Legs stuck in the mud of mystification. Telepathic dews covered ocean of thought. Tranquil silence engulfed vicinity, Deflating the balloon of hope like a litigant awaiting verdict from the jurist's chambers. Porter's gesticulating gesture connoted nothingness of demeaning disapproval, perambulating on the hilly terrain of approval. Akimbo stood l. Now the verdict! Molten volcanic magisterial command erupted in a gestapo gesture, Spudding out from the barytone's baritone voice from the selfsame housemaster, From the bastion of authority, And the house generalissimo like a wild brant squalled, matter-of-factly, "we do not accept bed bugs cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress here". Entreaties collapsed.

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Jan 11, 2019

Jan 11, 2019 at 1:30 AM UTC

OF REJECTED MATTRESS

Water of remembrance sprinkled On the mountain crest of recollection. Indulgent mussy memory catapulted Stones of retentiveness into the Courtyard of events like bricole Of battles. Pendulum of reminiscences swinging On oscillating milage of roads like Trotting horse with drippage of sweat And itching foots. Ghost of reminiscences restlessly Roaming with carriage of yesteryear. Final year educatees required Boardinghouse, But list of items engorged dear Mother's treasury "where do l raise money to buy oyinbo mattress, Ilori?" Mind pullulated with weariness. Intonation of worries. Cantillation of wants. Deficiency of measured means. Oyinbo mattress beyond ladder Of reach. Gluttonously waiting to devour Lesser items, But rays of compulsion unslammed The gate of respite. Lordly arrival warmly welcomed by The dorm room's porter, Walking majestically to the bed-space With the acquired cotton wool and raffia leaves mattress. Gamut of items passed through the eagle's eyes of the housemaster. Silver painted pail donated by a neighbour passed through the sentry of inspection, And got its admission. Mother's used cloak turned bedsheets Passed through the rigorous scrutiny. Newly built portmanteau unlocked and neatly dissected, item by item. Agazed eyes focused on the cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress. Expectations rattled mumbling astonishment. Legs stuck in the mud of mystification. Telepathic dews covered ocean of thought. Tranquil silence engulfed vicinity, Deflating the balloon of hope like a litigant awaiting verdict from the jurist's chambers. Porter's gesticulating gesture connoted nothingness of demeaning disapproval, perambulating on the hilly terrain of approval. Akimbo stood l. Now the verdict! Molten volcanic magisterial command erupted in a gestapo gesture, Spudding out from the barytone's baritone voice from the selfsame housemaster, From the bastion of authority, And the house generalissimo like a wild brant squalled, matter-of-factly, "we do not accept bed bugs cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress here". Entreaties collapsed.

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When the soul seeks the song frozen in time, Divinity obliges by sending a few echoes down my path. They reverberate across the blue champagne waves of inertia to awaken reminiscences of our harmonic rhythm. Moments flow syllable like to find a meaning between the lines etched on destiny's canvas as a presence converges into resonance. Every word is amplified together into honest understanding breaking apart the rational mind icebergs that predominate love.

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Oct 13, 2016

Oct 13, 2016 at 12:49 AM UTC

Resonating again - Co authored with Sara Fielder

When the soul seeks the song frozen in time, Divinity obliges by sending a few echoes down my path. They reverberate across the blue champagne waves of inertia to awaken reminiscences of our harmonic rhythm. Moments flow syllable like to find a meaning between the lines etched on destiny's canvas as a presence converges into resonance. Every word is amplified together into honest understanding breaking apart the rational mind icebergs that predominate love.

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*The sweet reminiscences of a miracle Like an echo's last breath, so spiritual* ***So close, yet so far Always keep your mind ajar Miracles won't manifest in your palace Miracles can only help the callous*** *False hearts of stone reach for greater heights When it takes flesh and bone to taste its delight All the wrong friends With all the wrong foes Transfixes the mind on the black rose Away from the light, dwelling deep in the dark Is a mind too early to expect a spark* ***So close, yet so far Always keep your mind ajar Miracles won't manifest in your palace Miracles can only help the callous*** -Joseph B Schneider

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Sep 9, 2015

Sep 9, 2015 at 4:08 AM UTC

*The sweet reminiscences of a miracle Like an echo's last breath, so spiritual* ***So close, yet so far Always keep your mind ajar Miracles won't manifest in your palace Miracles can only help the callous*** *False hearts of stone reach for greater heights When it takes flesh and bone to taste its delight All the wrong friends With all the wrong foes Transfixes the mind on the black rose Away from the light, dwelling deep in the dark Is a mind too early to expect a spark* ***So close, yet so far Always keep your mind ajar Miracles won't manifest in your palace Miracles can only help the callous*** -Joseph B Schneider

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A stone monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. It has seen many a eon, many civilizations fall and rise, many many years in it's cold position. Its face once that of a mighty god or a worshiped king, is all that remains. It's chiseled grimace forever juxtaposed on its stony countenance. Throughout its still existence, this grimace never disappears. All times will this grimace will endure. The snow falls down over its impenetrable skull. It bears no notice, only surreal patience, as it slowly awaits oblivion. Oblivion! All its thoughtless mind are set on it, forever counting the days it does not know with numbers it does not know. There is no comfort here. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must. Eternally till it is dust, it is counting with numbers it does not know the days it does not know. It reminiscences on past events it witnessed, but does not recall. The wars, the disasters and the plagues.... It has bared through all with the same grimace as the creatures subjected to the horrors kneeled before it in reverence, offering it sacrifices and soul. It towered above these pitiful creatures, it watched with eyes that do not see as they trembled in its wake, following orders it did not speak. Ignoring prayers it did not hear. So obediently did these creatures obey what it did not say! Dutifully did they destroy their own and all around them. Faithfully did they create this ****** field of barren nothingness, thee circumspect watchers of the monolith's will. An empty scourge to what once was. Beautiful landscapes of yesteryear now turned from sprawling green to turn into frozen ash, forever recounting the final moments of misery on this lifeless realm, a misery that surrounded the monolith in its final days. Consistently reflecting off of its stone grimace before it all faded away with the last life. As the eternal years past and the amaranthine smog lies overhead, the monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. There is no comfort here. The snow has turned to thermonuclear ash years ago. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must. Quietly it does. Frozen in place, in a frozen field where nothing grows. The strong face of monolith is all that remains. The face surveys the empty landscape before it forevermore.

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Jan 22, 2012

Jan 22, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC

devyn-batchelder

Laments of a Stone Monolith

A stone monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. It has seen many a eon, many civilizations fall and rise, many many years in it's cold position. Its face once that of a mighty god or a worshiped king, is all that remains. It's chiseled grimace forever juxtaposed on its stony countenance. Throughout its still existence, this grimace never disappears. All times will this grimace will endure. The snow falls down over its impenetrable skull. It bears no notice, only surreal patience, as it slowly awaits oblivion. Oblivion! All its thoughtless mind are set on it, forever counting the days it does not know with numbers it does not know. There is no comfort here. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must. Eternally till it is dust, it is counting with numbers it does not know the days it does not know. It reminiscences on past events it witnessed, but does not recall. The wars, the disasters and the plagues.... It has bared through all with the same grimace as the creatures subjected to the horrors kneeled before it in reverence, offering it sacrifices and soul. It towered above these pitiful creatures, it watched with eyes that do not see as they trembled in its wake, following orders it did not speak. Ignoring prayers it did not hear. So obediently did these creatures obey what it did not say! Dutifully did they destroy their own and all around them. Faithfully did they create this ****** field of barren nothingness, thee circumspect watchers of the monolith's will. An empty scourge to what once was. Beautiful landscapes of yesteryear now turned from sprawling green to turn into frozen ash, forever recounting the final moments of misery on this lifeless realm, a misery that surrounded the monolith in its final days. Consistently reflecting off of its stone grimace before it all faded away with the last life. As the eternal years past and the amaranthine smog lies overhead, the monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. There is no comfort here. The snow has turned to thermonuclear ash years ago. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must. Quietly it does. Frozen in place, in a frozen field where nothing grows. The strong face of monolith is all that remains. The face surveys the empty landscape before it forevermore.

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Focus deeply into the historical crevices of granite Scottish castles, because secrets lie within the virginity of undiscovered mockery. Therefore, my friend, plant your vegetation and cultivate the ground, where spiritual significance is a mere contemporary homage to something that is treacherously misunderstood. Spin the wheels of fortune, and never forget the importance of baking bread at the correct temperature.

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Dec 31, 2013

Dec 31, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC

Fleeting Reminiscences of Aristocracy

Focus deeply into the historical crevices of granite Scottish castles, because secrets lie within the virginity of undiscovered mockery. Therefore, my friend, plant your vegetation and cultivate the ground, where spiritual significance is a mere contemporary homage to something that is treacherously misunderstood. Spin the wheels of fortune, and never forget the importance of baking bread at the correct temperature.

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COUNT these reminiscences like money. The Greeks had their picnics under another name. The Romans wore glad rags and told their neighbors, "What of it?" The Carlovingians hauling logs on carts, they too Stuck their noses in the air and stuck their thumbs to their noses And tasted life as a symphonic dream of fresh eggs broken over a frying pan left by an uncle who killed men with spears and short swords. Count these reminiscences like money. Drift, and drift on, white ships. Sailing the free sky blue, sailing and changing and sailing, Oh, I remember in the blood of my dreams how they sang before me. Oh, they were men and women who got money for their work, money or love or dreams. Sail on, white ships. Let me have spring dreams. Let me count reminiscences like money; let me count picnics, glad rags and the great bad manners of the Carlovingians breaking fresh eggs in the copper pans of their proud uncles.

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1.7k

Carlovingian Dreams

COUNT these reminiscences like money. The Greeks had their picnics under another name. The Romans wore glad rags and told their neighbors, "What of it?" The Carlovingians hauling logs on carts, they too Stuck their noses in the air and stuck their thumbs to their noses And tasted life as a symphonic dream of fresh eggs broken over a frying pan left by an uncle who killed men with spears and short swords. Count these reminiscences like money. Drift, and drift on, white ships. Sailing the free sky blue, sailing and changing and sailing, Oh, I remember in the blood of my dreams how they sang before me. Oh, they were men and women who got money for their work, money or love or dreams. Sail on, white ships. Let me have spring dreams. Let me count reminiscences like money; let me count picnics, glad rags and the great bad manners of the Carlovingians breaking fresh eggs in the copper pans of their proud uncles.

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In the morning, I gather my thoughts of yesterday Like the foraging chipmunk, collecting acorns And stuffing them miserly in my jowls The past is sustenance for a somnolent soul As age condemns my faculties I pull, from my once copious jowl A jewel of sorts A garnet set in fool’s gold My memory is manufactured Assembled and disassembled No longer what was or is or will be But was and is and never has been I confine my thoughts to winter Where barren fields and sterile trees Offer less to recollect And empty my jaws of these useless reminiscences

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Oct 29, 2014

Oct 29, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC

In the morning, I gather my thoughts of yesterday Like the foraging chipmunk, collecting acorns And stuffing them miserly in my jowls The past is sustenance for a somnolent soul As age condemns my faculties I pull, from my once copious jowl A jewel of sorts A garnet set in fool’s gold My memory is manufactured Assembled and disassembled No longer what was or is or will be But was and is and never has been I confine my thoughts to winter Where barren fields and sterile trees Offer less to recollect And empty my jaws of these useless reminiscences

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*There was a time, A time so fair, A zero despair, Cuz She was fair, Life as I knew it was drizzling daisies, Bleeding me the feel like the crazies. Perfect absolutes, Chimerical dilutes. Enchanting moments with ephemeral bliss, Rapt me into blissful abyss. Ambient lightnings, Forming supernova sightings. My soul trapped in her seductive high, Unknowing of her destructive lies. Little was I was aware of her two-tone design, My ****** Valentine An alter ego so divine. Demon with deceitful frames, Unravelling her intimacy games. Her bloodless lips whispering in the corridors of time, Deporting me into her hate grimes. Mutating into odium of torrential far cry, Lies sarcastrophic podium of her mislaid demise. Gagged and bound as me you broke down And I believed everything, As my love for you was logic drowned Round and round I emanated all the way down. Still submerged in the swamp of dummy beliefs, Hoping to heal with concealed appeals, Squeals of her feels reveal choking ordeals, Cuz it was a different belief in a veiled inception, Infinitely drowning with these unconcealed dogmas, Remembrance feels like a past from yesterday, All I am choked with are these Interstellar beliefs, Detonating memories, At the haste of light, Giving me an anguish fright from the down right, Corroding my heart with those Sulphur memories we once called a lifetime. Like those 4 years with 4 million considerations. Still lost in her maze of psychopathic daze, Downward spirals decayed & set ablaze. Reveries of her infinite sentiment once called transcendences. All that’s left now are your radioactive reminiscences, Of a place once called Tomorrowland.*

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Feb 26, 2017

Feb 26, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC

Radioactive Reminiscences

*There was a time, A time so fair, A zero despair, Cuz She was fair, Life as I knew it was drizzling daisies, Bleeding me the feel like the crazies. Perfect absolutes, Chimerical dilutes. Enchanting moments with ephemeral bliss, Rapt me into blissful abyss. Ambient lightnings, Forming supernova sightings. My soul trapped in her seductive high, Unknowing of her destructive lies. Little was I was aware of her two-tone design, My ****** Valentine An alter ego so divine. Demon with deceitful frames, Unravelling her intimacy games. Her bloodless lips whispering in the corridors of time, Deporting me into her hate grimes. Mutating into odium of torrential far cry, Lies sarcastrophic podium of her mislaid demise. Gagged and bound as me you broke down And I believed everything, As my love for you was logic drowned Round and round I emanated all the way down. Still submerged in the swamp of dummy beliefs, Hoping to heal with concealed appeals, Squeals of her feels reveal choking ordeals, Cuz it was a different belief in a veiled inception, Infinitely drowning with these unconcealed dogmas, Remembrance feels like a past from yesterday, All I am choked with are these Interstellar beliefs, Detonating memories, At the haste of light, Giving me an anguish fright from the down right, Corroding my heart with those Sulphur memories we once called a lifetime. Like those 4 years with 4 million considerations. Still lost in her maze of psychopathic daze, Downward spirals decayed & set ablaze. Reveries of her infinite sentiment once called transcendences. All that’s left now are your radioactive reminiscences, Of a place once called Tomorrowland.*

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