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Tyler G Dec 2012
I carry the shallow weight of my own regrets.
I carry the guilt of my mother who felt she could’ve done more for my grandmother.
Nights spent, teary-eyed phone calls to the nursing home.
I carry the comprehension of my father.
Hundreds of times he’s defeated me at chess, at card games.
I am his knowledge.
I carry sorrow from soccer games lost and triumph from games won with the stench of wet grass and caked on mud still fresh in my memory.

I carry the weight of high school, the pressure to get into college, the weight of rumors and the regret of not paying attention in class.
Feeling hopeless and defeated when I fail a test, though I remember I can carry the power of success.
I carry the daily jeers and spite of my peers and my teachers.
I carry the burden of my mother’s size eight firmly up my *** when I don’t do what I’m told.
I carry three-day weekends and the joy of a snow day.

I carry my blood, my veins, my organs.
I carry my bones, my cartilage, my flesh and my hair.
I carry my beating heart and the sound it makes letting everyone around me and myself to know that I’m still very much alive.
I carry the ability of perfect hindsight vision, the ability of blind foresight.

I carry my friends, the pressure of their own burdens.
I own the ability to make them smile, the ability to cheer them up when I don’t know how to help myself.
I’ve carried some of them for as long as I can remember; some I can’t carry anymore, and some I’ve just started to carry.

I carry love and passion; I carry hate and abhor.
I carry confusion, delirium, nostalgia of days past.
I carry insomnia and sleepless nights dreaming up at my ceiling of life to come.
I carry my dreams, both physical and mental.
I carry what I aspire to be.
I carry photography, a story of my life through pictures, through captivity, through still frame.
I carry my wishes.

I carry the beach, the waves that crash down onto the shore and onto me and the salty residue that lands on my flesh and hair from staying out too long.

I carry stupidity, I carry charm and I carry luck.
I carry the regret of anonymity and the fear of being alone.
We all carry that; no one wants to spend life alone.
We carry expensive wedding bands and the pressure to say “Yes” and the hope that she’ll say it.

I carry the everlasting gaze of older relatives, some who have passed on to a better world.
They won’t have to carry anything anymore.

I carry countless vacations and holidays spent with my cousins and the millions of laughs we have shared.

I carry reminiscences of vacations and of meeting new people, people who I tried to stay in contact with, but alas, distance prevents friendship.
I carry the knowledge of the traveled world and the confusion of the uninhabited, undiscovered land.
I am a world traveler, I am a superhero; I am what I want to be and I carry that.

I carry a tainted mind.
A mind spoiled by politics, by war, greed and corruption of not only the government, but of my parents as well.
I carry the ignorance of thinking I’m right and everyone else is wrong, the false sense that I know what is really going on in the world and that I, and I alone, can make a difference.

I carry the benefit of living in a prosperous nation, a flourishing town.
I carry the thought of uncertainty of impoverish nations and how they live everyday without food and water, while I sit here and type on my own personal laptop.

I carry teenage angst.
I carry thoughts and memories of former lovers.
Some girls who have grown up to be different than what they once were, some who haven’t changed a bit.
I carry the thoughts of wonder, should I have said something to her?

I carry individualism, not being afraid of letting you know who I am and what I do.
I am myself and if you can’t deal with it then you won’t have to carry me anymore.
I no longer carry these words; my thought have been poured onto this paper.
My future holds the risk of not knowing what I will carry tomorrow, but I know I will carry life.
I know I may not be able to carry this all, but one thing is for certain: I will carry myself.
My wild thoughts
gets frozen
during mid-night hours,
After a breakdown of
a rupture of time,
Your old reminiscences
Bring glimpses of your
Angelic face,
Sunflower eyes
Cherry fruit lips,
Exotic, elegant ****;
Later everything leaves
At heart, like an unfinished
Sketch of rainbow colors


By Williamsji Maveli
www.kallettumkara.net
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsgeorg­e.com
www.thiruthanathilpalacehome.com
Related Links
www.moonmakers.com
www.thefilmmagazine.com
www.mircothemes.com
www.williamsji.com
www.christ-bcom.com
www.ttlonline.net
www.williamsgeorge.com
www.fourangles.com
M Harris Feb 2017
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.
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.
Abbigail Feb 2014
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
David Barr Dec 2013
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.
"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.
Ceyhun Mahi Mar 2017
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.
Jayanta Apr 2014
It is a temple
Where we pray and learn!

It is an abode
Where we congregate and share!

It is a garden
Where everyone blossom!

It is a bastion of contemplation
Each of us sanctify with thought!

It is foliage
Reflects our friendship and wisdom!

It is a castle
Where we find out our hymn to lead a life!

It is a stream
Still flowing and giving elixir of life!
Dedicated to the days of Indian Institute of Forest Management (IIFM), to our teacher, class mate and fellow friends.
Molly Smithson May 2014
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.
SILENCE IS SUPREME
(Bijoylakshmi Das, 9th February 2020)
Silence in the air
Silence all around,
I long to merge deep
In the depth of Silence ' play ground. Silence is Harmony
Silence is Suoreme' s breath,
To regain our felicity fugitive
In our mortal breast -
We dive into Silence' depth.
The One Exprrssion of the unique Sublime -
Amazingly awe-inspiring
Utterly captivating!!!
Silence is the Art
Which makes others live
A joyful living united with the Infinite:
Selfless and all-forgiving!
Silence is the silent throb of the heart
Of the One Highest Breath,
The Consciousness sublime.
Silence is smile
On the face of the One Adorable Being.
Silence is the lone traveller
On the vast expanse of Time,
Silence is the reveller of Joy
Of the never-ending rhyme -
All-pervading!
Silence is vast
Silence is Beauty -
Of the all - transcending Act!
Silence is Immanence
Of Creation's inherent Harmony.
Silence is the Mystic touch
Of the Absolute all-surpassing!
The celestial dwelling
For every loving heart,
Love's resplendent splendour
In life's journey vast!
Silence is perfection
That is never-ending;
The footprints from above
Solace descending!
The rare reminiscences
Of the One Eternal Inhabitant,
The all-shaping Flame
Of the Mystic Fire
Ever vibrant
All-commanding!
Silence is Light
That lies deep within -
Each living and non-living
In their inertial sleeping!
Silence is awakening
From the most senseless stupor,
Silence is the patron -
For earthly life
Solemnly condescending!
Silence is Humility of the highest order,
Silence is Dignity always to remember,
The Beauty and Mirth that in life we seek for
To rise above the mundane self and its self- made disaster.
Silence is Blessedness' Grace
For every grieving soul;
Silence is Symphony
Of the ageless yore.
Silence is the sole companion
Of Spirit's magnificent melancholy,
Silence is Union with the Beloved in ecstasy.
Silence is Poetry
Of our rhythmic thoughts,
Silence is manifestation
Of our formless forms.
Silence sits alone in its Kingdom vast,
Why not make it your Soulmate
Oh Man! In your endless journey of the mortal birth?
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
Sankalp Dharge May 2017
I rinse from my tears, when I got home
Don a black fur, coffee streaked on it, hours back
When we isolated from apiece, weeping
Reminiscences drizzling, cold and warm.

You came into vision, gloomed
My eyes were sealed
Whispering, the lot has altered
You and me, terminated.

In the vein of a tree
Whirling you and me
Slowly, sailing into the deep sea
Where float countless mystery.

Unsurpassed things are memories
Blissful among the alluring winds
Afraid among the moaning waves
Lashing and hammering through my wits.

Hope confers my heart
That mending is no less than an art
Love is the cure that slumps hate apart
Time and again, I wish I could go back to the start.
Atrayee Nov 2012
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…
Sania Muneer May 2014
It's the pain which might overtake the memories.
  It's the memories that will help to live.
  It's the life that gave such moments.
  It's the moments that are made by friends.
  It's these friends who were once strangers.

And now these strangers have become family!

A Family that one would regret not to have.
  A Family that one would love to share secrets, tears and laughter with.
  A Family whose boundless joys glorify their every little achievement.
  A Family that shares immense love and affection.

It is a family of people, who were once strangers!

The anticipation of meeting you all again multiplies the pain.
  The pain that these memories give, the same memories also sweeten it.
  This sweetness is what I’ll crave for,
  This crave will never die as long as I'll survive..

Though the pain might overpower the memories, it’s these memories which will make the pain, sweeter to bear!
Ralph Akintan Jan 2019
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.
Ratula Halder Jun 2016
The glisten of the rain on the mosaic tiles
makes my mind wander and race a thousand miles
Of sorrow and glee alike, long gone days I reminisce
These moments uphold what I dearly miss
On my mind’s canvas I brush my desires with paint
Wonder myself, what for are they meant?
The fresh breeze and the monsoon aroma thrill me wide
Within my head, my thoughts forever hide
I danced in the rain once, not too long ago
Bliss personified, the memories shadow
Varied phases of time, the rain seems to chain
The past flows by a flowery lane
I pray for the rain to bring back to me
what I cherish, so very dearly
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
Äŧül Oct 2014
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.
My HP Poem #674
©Atul Kaushal
onlylovepoetry Jul 2017
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?
7/14/17
LiviKawa May 2014
We call ourselves the reckless youth
Trying to figure out where we are and where we are going
With lyrics tucked under our tongues that say more than our voices ever will
Our sleepless nights that cause purple crescents to appear under our eyes
And the words we replay in our head of past days
We call ourselves the reckless youth
Looking at the world through maroon eyes
With empty bottles that we hold in our warm sweaty palms
And the sheet-ropes we make to climb out of the windows at 3 in the morning
With the uncertainty of tomorrow
Whether we will wake up inside of our beds smelling of lavender
Or in a field sprawled out among other teenage bodies reeking of beer
With the memories of Christmas lights that are over-expired
And of the kisses that won't mean a thing to anyone when the sun starts to wake us up with massive headaches
Because worthless kisses are now more valuable to us
Making up the ones our parents never gave
We call ourselves the reckless youth
Because our generation is made up of lost souls due to the words spat out by our foes
And the scars that line the inside and outside of our bodies
The scars that we hide behind smiles and stories that fill our heads
But be careful of standing too close
You might catch our disease
That comes with the temptation of stealing out to the flowers that grow around campfires
And the reminiscences of lust still stuck to the grass
Where the lingering of fingers that caress the parts of us that are hidden from society
We call ourselves the reckless youth
Our lives making up pages in a novel consisting of skinny jeans and over-sized sweatshirts
Of promises of better days that have yet to come
And the sun that we are still trying to see through broken sunglasses
The tan lines from the 7 am runs because the voices in our heads aren't going away
We call ourselves the reckless youth
Addicted to staring at computer screens and only turning away to measure our waists
And when there is a constant fire outside our door
We will stay inside always trying to create something new
A life of fantasy
A life to burn all of our memories of reality
Because we are misused
Misjudged
We call ourselves reckless
Not because we are not wise
But because our wisdom comes from tidal waves of people crashing upon us tell us we are not good enough
But the flowers in our hair are worth more then the diamonds that line her skirt
We call ourselves the reckless youth
When the adults tell us no
But we insist on saying yes
When we are not afraid of death
We are afraid of living
And at this pace we will be dead before we live
Maybe we are wasting our time
But time is a luxury we just cannot afford
So we will go out
Stripping our bodies of the loosely fitted clothes and dipping out naked frames under cold water
Forgetting what made us tired
What made us upset with the wilting pedals of all the things we did wrong
All the regrets we cannot take back
We call ourselves the reckless youth
Who watch the stars well past midnight
And look for the familiar sight of home within the walls of our imagination
Where reality slips into a blur of pink and orange clouds
We don't merely call ourselves the *reckless youth

Because we decided to escape society and reality rather than ourselves
We *are
the reckless youth
Because we chose to be wise
To be strong
To be unique
*To be infinite
haha long >.<
David Walker Sep 2013
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
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.
bluestarfall Feb 2015
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.
Never ever lose hope. Life is a dark shade of low spirits and high spirits.
Collab with blythe. ^_^
In Bold : blythe
Default : bluestarfall
LiviKawa Mar 2016
We call ourselves the reckless youth
Trying to figure out where we are and where we’re planning on going
With lyrics tucked under our tongues that say more than our voices ever will
Where sleepless nights cause purple crescents to appear under our eyes
And replay words from past days through and through our heads

We call ourselves the reckless youth
Looking at the world through maroon eyes
With empty alcohol bottles that we clench onto with our warm sticky palms
And the sheet-ropes we make to climb out of the windows at 3 in the morning
Dealing with the voices and uncertainties of tomorrow
Wondering whether we will wake up inside of our beds smelling of lavender
Or in a field sprawled out among other teenage bodies reeking of beer

We call ourselves the reckless youth
With the memories of Christmas lights that are over-expired
That brought kisses that won't mean a thing to anyone as morning brings massive headaches
Because worthless kisses are now more valuable to us
Then the ones our parents now forget to give

We call ourselves the reckless youth
Because our generation is made up of lost souls
And scars that line the insides and outsides of our bodies
The same scars that we hide behind smiles and stories that swim in our heads
This is our disease and it is contagious
Coming with the temptation of sneaking out to the flowers that grow around campfires
And the reminiscences of lust still stuck to the grass like dew
Ghosts of the lingering fingers that caressed the parts we’ve hidden from society

We call ourselves the reckless youth
Our lives making up pages in a novel that consist of skinny jeans and over-sized sweatshirts
Of the promise that we’ll see better days
And the sun that is still trying to be shielded with broken sunglasses
Tan lines from 7 am runs because the voices in our heads are way too loud

We call ourselves the reckless youth
Addicted to computer screens and turning away only to measure our waists
Ignoring the constant fire outside our door
Deciding to stay inside a burning house instead of running to safety
Here we continue to try and create something new
A life of fantasy where there will be use of different flames
To destroy all of the memories of reality
Because we are misused
Misjudged

We call ourselves reckless
Not because we aren’t wise
But because our wisdom comes in different forms
Like the tidal waves of people crashing upon us
Who tell us we are not good enough
And the words that continue to build inside our bones
Yet we know that these flowers braided in our hair
Will forever be worth more than the diamonds that line their clothes

We call ourselves the reckless youth
When the adults tell us no
But we insist on saying yes
Because it’s not that we are afraid of death
We are afraid of living
Here in this pace where we’ll be dead
Far before we have the chance to live

And maybe we are wasting our time
Though time is a luxury we cannot yet afford
So we will continue to climb out windows
Sneak through back doors
Where we then strip our bodies of the loosely fitted clothes
Quickly dipping our naked frames under the cold water
Forgetting what has made us tired
What made us upset
Which come with the wilting petals of all the things we did wrong
All the regrets we cannot take back

We call ourselves the reckless youth
When we watch the black sky and its stars well past midnight
And look for the familiar sight of home within the walls of our imagination
Where reality slips into a blur of pink and orange clouds

We don’t call ourselves reckless
Because we decided to escape reality, ourselves and society
And blow out clouds of ***** air from deep within our lungs
Or burn holes in our throats from fermentation
We are the reckless youth
Because we chose to be wise
To be strong
To be infinite
This was my first ever poem, so i went back and revised it ((: super long but its one of my favs i guess
Nikunj Oct 2016
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.
REY Oct 2018
Stop the beating of my heart.
End my life and let everything
Be forgotten like a fossil in an ocean.
Cease me from living.
Bar me from breathing.

**** me!
****** a thousand nails into my chest,
Slit my rasping throat, cut my trembling wrist
And let my blood drip on the floor
Until it forms a sea, enough
For my horrible childhood reminiscences
To drown and walk off the shore,
Where I am the fragments of sand,
Trying to create a stone
Just to be whole, firm, and strong.

**** me!
Pour a hundred-gallon of water into my mouth
And let my pain evade and flow out
Of my suffocated body.
Maybe then I can finally say
"I'm fine"
Without trying to extend
My hand above water
Or trying to breathe bit by bit
While my lungs load a river.

**** me!
Pull my eyes out, so I won't feel my tears anymore.
Slice my ears, so I won't hear myself again yowling in mourn.
Break my legs, so I can finally stop myself
From jumping on a deep water like a stupid whelp.
Hook my heart out of my chest.
Bludgeon my head to death.
Maybe then, I won't feel for once
Like I'm a canary underneath
The undertow of an ocean,
Wings ripped off and flight unfound.

**** me
Because I can hardly breathe.
I'm drowning in the thought of being sad
While losing the reason to feel so.
Every day, anxiety drags me to my bed,
But insomnia has this silly prank of hammering my head.
I try to ask anyone for help,
But whenever I see people in my surroundings
All I feel is like eternally drowning.
They make me feel like a terrestrial flower,
Trying to breathe underwater.

Every night, I write poems,
Not to **** boredom
But to **** something that kills me -
Ceaselessly.
Every letter I write on a paper
Feels like the water
Inside an aquarium where
I keep on suffering
And drowning forever.

I'm in the abyssal zone,
Too deep that even light can't penetrate.
Darkness engulfs me,
And light easily burns me
Take me from this depth.
Take me from this kind of death.
This depth makes me lose my breath.

**** me
Because living already feels like dying.
**** me
Not becase I'm tired of living,
But because I'm tired of dying!
**** me
Because it's suffocating.
It's asphyxiating me.
This darkness makes me
Hardly see
Myself.
It feels like I'm dying forever,
And I don't want to die anymore,
I'm drowning.
I can never reach the shore.
Save me!
Joseph Schneider Sep 2015
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
© Joseph B Schneider. All rights reserved
John K Trainer Oct 2014
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
Imagining what it must be to have this dreadful disease.
Viji Suresh Jun 2016
It was good to be quiet,

Let mind fly,

Those narrow paths in the wild...


It felt good to be withdrawn,

Let thoughts fly,

Unreachable heights...


It feels good to feel detached,

Dwell deeper inside,

Guided by the soul to safer plains...


You are alive, you are dead,

I feel the loss,

Worship the treasure you left...


My days I spend thinking of the wealth,

I live, I lost,

Few battles, few titles...


What I never owned,

I can never,

But, guard it like a owner in a secret tower...


It is good to be quite,

Lost in the silence,

My reminiscences heard within me...


It feels good to feel,

the pain withdrawn,

From a wound that doesn't exist anymore...


It feels good to see the lives,

From the footprints, sprang alive

The lives torn from inside.... 

fresh at times, crushed sometimes,

But rising up every time with vigour and power...


I promise to be the land,

When crushed, hold and comfort,

When sprung alive, to look and smile...


It is good to be quite,

Lost in the silence,

My reminiscences heard within me...
Kate Little Jul 2011
Sliding from the silky, satin sheets
Slowly she saunters to the terrace
And scans the sparkling, star-sprinkled sky
  
As slender arms loosely clasp her svelte, ******* swathed silhouette
So too her thoughts encircle her sweetheart
  
She smiles as she recalls their tryst...
  
          His strong embrace holding her safe and secure
          Lips that tease with nearness
          At last bestowing passion-soaked kisses
          Whilst hands slide up to her soft, supple breast
          And trace circles around her sensitive, cerise *******

  
She is lost now
Caught in the exquisite snare of sinfully-sweet reminiscences
Of two lovers seeking to please
And thirsting to be satisfied...
  
          Slow, tantalizing caresses gracefully ****** their souls
          Hearts, minds and bodies of two lovers now aroused
          Suspended over the precipice
          Oh, yes, such blissful anticipation
          And then … surrender
          Surrender to sweet, sweet ecstasy!

  
As she stands now on the circumference of sensual abyss
She sways slightly
A soft breeze strokes her sun-kissed skin
It whispers to her spirit and begins to sing a song
A song so enticing
So stirring
That small goosebumps rise and glisten
  
So once more she slips betwixt silky, satin sheets
2011
All Rights Reserved

Joel (Bear), your poem 'Sinfully Sibilant', partly inspired this from me!  Thank you.
REY Jan 2019
Here's to hoping that someday,
looking back at the past
will no longer feel
like an aftertaste of a nightmare,
and wishing upon a star
will no longer feel
like stumbling upon my fear.
Someday, I won't see you anymore
from the old books
that tell our broken story,
and my longing poetry
will no longer bleed
out of the memories
we made
from the currents of the seas;
from the sound of the zephyr
as we drank and got wasted
on a starlit rooftop;
from the backseat
of my nostalgic car;
or from the heartbeat
and broken "I love you's"
that molded our scars.
Someday, I will no longer
cry with some bottles of gin
just to try healing
the wounds I got
from failing to win
the battles of our love.
Someday, Paramore's songs
will no longer sound
like you're still the only exception,
like you're sill the one
who wants to fool with me,
like you're still the one
who wants to hear my sad songs
and wants to feel my pain.
Darling, someday,
I'll be able to find happiness
from the memories
that broke our hearts.
I'll be able to see an art
from reminiscing
about the saddest part
of our past.
Darling, someday,
all these memories
will no longer pull
the tears from my eyes,
but rather push my lips to smile.
Someday...
and I hope that day will still come.
Äŧül Jul 2017
An ice candy,
A lollipop.
An orange toffee,
A chocolate.
An apple pie,
A doughnut.
None of them made me obese.
I miss my childhood metabolism as now I have to control my diet

My HP Poem #1638
©Atul Kaushal
Dr Peter Lim Sep 2015
JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821*
(From The Imagination Of The Writer)

I am fading, fading fast, *****,  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
Dan Kipp Feb 2010
Now
read this aloud, mind the punctuation,
and, finally,
enjoy.


amethyst eyes alight with nighttime lightning, clapping lashes spark ruminations rumbling across the savannah of memory imprinting in me the afterimage of Now.   Now, Now makes me hers -- though i’m more willing a captive than she imagines: imprisoned in the present, tasting the electricity resounding in this soundless cell () deafeningly solid --
she grooves before me.
slowly rolls me
me rolls slowly  
molasses boiling tongues twisting towards me
ba-da doom ba-doom doom doom.

i don’t know if it’s the fireflies caught in midnight-amber jars suspended by strands of suicidal curls tumbling down the pitch of your back,
or
your touch, come tentatively, but nonetheless titillating, for it softly pleas me to get grounded, stay a while in the timbre of warm fireside conversation and cocoa,
or
your teacup of a navel compelling i to lift laughter, fish up reminiscences, and transcend time,
or
when you lean close and lick me with your eyelash, as if a butterfly’s kiss,
or
your soft voice smoothly singing songs of four-lettered blues .   .     .

.     .   . my god you’re gorgeous.

dance with me, Now     for two more turns of the moon let’s defy posterity and traverse the curves of each other’s words and purge our selves of self     let’s anesthetize Now, marinate in the moment, savor the silence and become sap-trapped fossils left for the future     let’s live a lifetime together in two more turns of the moon, Now,     so that I may memorize every quark of every electron of every neutron of every proton of every atom of every ion of every molecule of every cell of every sinew of every tissue of every ***** and every system of all your beauty, Now, you are perfect because you are am is and will never be anywhere else but here and nothing else but Now.

feel me?
   feel her?

      feel here?


Now.
nimble
footed
reminiscences
skip
away
from
me    
           i
                          run
                                 ­               after
  and
get
hopelessly
                       ­                                                                 ­                                                

               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                         lost!

-Vijayalakshmi Harish
26.12.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
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.

— The End —