"reminisces" poems
An empty boat glides through a tide-less sea
Echos of thunderous silence reminisces the rowdy sailors once on board
Without fear they sailed across the dark waters
Without the knowledge of forthcoming doom they kept the spirits high
Navigation impaired by the wrath of silence, their abominable gaiety and preposterous hopes were muted for eternity
Life drained, flesh rotted, bones crumbled to dust, and the boat was filled with peaceful death
Though without an inhabitant it still continues to drift towards a predesitned chaos
Its calm trail behind disrupted by an impatient tranquility
Its still path ahead disallows all animations with an unfluent time
Yet it moves forward
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
these tempting and tumultuous times,
when the insect bite of attraction nibbles
your cheek, and first blood thickens with
intrigued,
the blood heated by, with a bewildering new sun's glow,
then bubbling boiling
over
with phantasmagorical fantasies,
and one endeavors to coax, to tease,
to preen, to adduce how best to ******
this persona, imagined or imaginary to be,
whispers a silent "no thankee''
and first bloom curls into a deathly brown doom,
you,
chastened by amorous hastening so quick evolving,
and the hither in come here, withers to a ghostly silencing,
one wonders, reminisces, and sadly recalls then forgets
the entreaties so eagerly received, how one wants to be
deceived,
for the once lay-buried-arousals now well recalled,
and quick to appear, faster to dismiss disappear,
and disaster cones and goes with light-speed velocity,
having fling,
now flung,
having crushed,
now crushing,
you caught laughing at your self,
still evolving long past the time
for youthful deceptions and silly indiscretions,
but not unhappily, for it was an acknowledgement
that good love poetry yet within resides, alas, alas,
it reciprocity seeds need replanting, and that notion
is quite pleasing...
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 9:00 AM UTC
Oh, what a horrible night
Definitely not late December back in '63
These are the Frankie valleys of my days
Night is always black
Night always comes back
Night envelopes us in the abyss
And makes us cherish light
Heightening our senses
To help us handle the unknown
When my days are filled with stimulation
The stillness of night sinks me
Into quicksand mixed by
The current of my mind
Overflowing into the sands of time
And reminds me
Of the stillness of my eyes locked on you
Or the stillness of my actions as you walk by
Or the stillness of my heart when you call me a ******
My frustration boiled
Night's black tar
So I bottled it up
Placed it in a syringe
And medicated my love with darkness
I worked my first job at the local Kroger's
People would leave with everything they wanted
And I'd push their empty carts back into the store
The artificial lights of the street lamps
Lacked warmth
Their hypnotic buzz highlighted
The stillness of night
Making me wonder if there was any way I could be happy
Similar to when activity would die down in rehab
A pitiful wretch left to his faculties
I'd stare out the window
Into the concrete chasm
And wonder if happiness could be found by someone like me
Night continues
Night confines
Day comes
And goes
Night returns
Night reburns
Night relearned
I really hate to see the day come to an end
It'd be alright if I was on the bay with a pen
But I live near sulfur vents
Inside a searing tent
Where the hellacious temperature rises rapidly
Despite the absence of the sun's warmth
The hellfire of night
Reminisces of those
I have thoroughly failed
And my overwhelming remorse
As I stare out my window
Into the bramble ravine
I wonder about the possibility of contentment
The stillness of night answers me
But at least now I can open the door
And charge into the night headstrong
To search frantically
For someone who
Erases my history
And writes my future
And makes me wonder if I could ever be happier
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
You touched me
You filled me
You stretched me
You go so deep when you read me
Even deeper when you hurt me
Deeper still when you want me
My body reminisces on the warmth of you
My hands memorized the feel of you
My mind is so full of you
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 7:58 AM UTC
written June 25, 2013
"The Helpless
She is a broken vase that was knocked over and dusted aside for no one to see
Pieces shattered and left to slowly gather dust year after year
She is the piece of glass that he would step on occasionally, a reminder of his mistakes and how he just brushed her aside like it didnt happen
And that pain he felt in his foot he also feel deep in his heart as he reminisces that feeling of love he once felt
He used to hold that vase so dearly, and delicately never wanting to let it break
But - it did
And as soon as it broke he made her believe like she was worthless
That truth emerged when months later she was replaced by a mug much more antique which lasted about a year
And the day finally came when she was thrown away
And the vase was happy once again
Until...
She is a brand new wine glass,
Beautiful and young
In bewilderment on how this all came to be
The broken watches daily, as he loves this glass just the way he used to love her
And she sits there, helpless for there's nothing she's can do about it
She's just an old forgotten broken vase
Dusted aside to make room for something better
The Powerful
She was a great and beautiful vase
That held the flowers I meant to give to her
But we couldn't be together, and that tore me apart
As the flowers withered, my love only grew stronger
Upset, I threw the vase on the floor
And cried as I brushed away the evidence
A few months later, school was starting up and it was time to move on with my life
I still think about her time to time, as I step on that broken glass piece that I must have missed..it really reminds me of how much I loved her
Now addicted to caffeine, I bought a cheap antique mug
It's beautiful and presses so gently to my lips every morning and night
It's been a year, and the mug didn't seem to capture my attention the way it used to so I threw it away
I will miss it, but I'm not much for coffee after all
Today I brought home a brand new wine glass
It's tall and beautiful and is anything an alcoholic could ever ask for
It feels right in my hand and helps so dearly with the lonely nights
When I am thinking of the past
And glance over at the broken glass
From the vase I once loved
That is now dusted aside for no one to see"
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
sometimes we wonder why bad things happen
when we forget our blessings and count our tragedies
we mourn and grieve and hug and pray
and hug and cry and hug and say
I love you
we spread our fingers to hold numb hands
and we look each other in the eyes and let tears fall
we hold each other and don’t let go
for fear of life disappearing
before and our damp and betraying eyes
we watch in awe as others stand strong
laughing and smiling and honoring her spirit
unbroken unfazed and unforgettable
“Batman and barbies” he reminisces and shares
as composure escapes for a moment
the best daughter, sister, friend and teacher
above in the heavens for all to share
Allison, we love you and miss you dearly
and as we try to go on living in your honor
please forgive us if we break down and cry
You are beautiful and we’ll see you soon
it won’t be long
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 8:28 PM UTC
Under the streetlight, covered by moonlight
I sat upon a bench, waiting to unite
took out my diary, flash-backed our memory
read all your letters, sunken in harmony
listening to the rain drops, took out my umbrella
reminisces your voice, how you call me senorita
buses after buses, all kind had gone by
still neither recieved a call nor a reply
thoughts in my head, ran a sec per mile
my brain submerged in doubt, but heart said to wait
someone took me in arms, hugged so tight
i trusted my heart, so was it you...
Jun 20, 2022
Jun 20, 2022 at 11:45 AM UTC
*Chambord recollections,
exhaling smoky vapors,
wisps of Madagascar aromatics
midst a French Château dream,
dipped in honeysuckle reminisces
of cardamom spice and the pungent
zest of once 'neath a midnight legend*
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
*A poet is omnipresent
Travelling where none has before
Everyone has a secret destination
Loved more than any
So many roads travelled
Yet the poet’s soul is not weary
So many reminisces from ancient times
Poet’s soul is older than time can perceive
Taking notes from the chronicles of universe
Poet is testimony to many anecdotes
Traveling through the length and breadth
Touching lives of multitudes
Poet shall live within the poetry
Conveying the mystical and universe’s secret
A poet is omnipresent
Poetry shall encompass all of existence*
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
A mournful air beyond the fog,
Death can meet among the poisonous rubes,
Beyond the trees and past the deformed log.
The Knight in Shining Armor comes to save the day.
Bearing healing potions from afar in pewter tubes,
But he is much too late; the Fool has already faded away.
His tears are many, for the loss of a brother,
They are heavy and murky against the dreamscape.
Now for his revenge, he seeks a strange other.
On his new, and strangely enlightened quest,
He feels transparent ghouls kissing his nape
Little does he know it is the sign of a Witches test.
Maneuvering among the empty placed grave,
He keeps his hopes on a looming tower.
He approaches his becoming of an honest knave.
He must be quick and tighten his saddle,
Because a pursuing evil is a deadly power,
And this Knight in Armor must be ready for battle.
The danger of our Knight is not known to man.
To survive, the he must unlearn his past.
This evil he faces is formulating a plan.
The towers close in as he passes their gates.
A spicy chill, creeps up the Knights spine,
And he finally grasps the terror of what awaits.
Inside his mind, he questions going back.
But dismisses the though as a man on wine.
He secretly knows this creature is on his track.
As he pushes himself onward,
He reminisces on his brother, and his life.
The only defining thought for him is froward.
He takes his final turn around the final corridor,
Quick on his feet and ready with his knife.
At first sight, he though his vision must have been poor.
A woman whose beauty surpassed any he had ever seen,
Stood with her naked eyes set firmly on him.
This was the witch who had killed all he had been.
Unable to take the life of any woman,
The soldier took a last and final look
And plunged the knife into his abdomen.
The beautiful witch had won yet another soul,
She knew why it was his life she took.
Never mind the Fool, the Knight had been her goal.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 3:20 PM UTC
.
*"Looking down from ethereal skies
Silent crystalline tears I cry
For all must say their last goodbye -
to Paradise..."*
- Paradise Lost by Symphony X
*Head buried
in pillows in the sky,
voraciously consuming
the fluffy whites.
Windy fingers
sieve the air.
Watchful eyes
tracing tails of kites.
He only hears
the faint hymns
from the outstretched wings
of feathered birds.
Leans back weightily
on his throne of clouds.
Notions form haphazard
in so many words.
Casting his gaze,
willing it earth-bound.
Careless trees sway
in synchronised tandem.
Diverse songs merge
seamless in harmony.
Singing in unison,
revelling the gift of freedom.
Silent tears fall
and trickle as rain...
As he reminisces
the images of his forsaken past.
Scored paintings
of a paradise lost.
All must say
their final goodbyes...
He will bid his,
last.*
.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
You may believe home to be an address,
You are wrong.
The co-ordinates I list as my place of residence,
Are subject to change.
As do the seasons,
As my health waxes and wanes,
As my job becomes a harrowing echo,
My home will remain,
Incorrupt,
Unblemished.
As the night-sky,
Glistens and reminisces.
Its nostalgic ribbon intertwines with my soul -
My heart,
Recognises its home.
The waves,
That serenely lap against the shore,
Leaving, once elapsed,
A maze of its belongings,
Like a Nomad on his journey.
Demonstrative tides of exposure,
Against our profane human culture,
To jumble together
In definition,
Our home and our belongings.
Does this translate,
That home is sovereign
Of worldly corruption,
And is therefore
Safe from life’s unpredictability?
Home,
It is a state of mind.
Home is the essence which coats your soul.
Home is the promise of peace.
Home could never be my place of residence,
For between hospitals and the couches I have surfed,
Void of worldly possessions,
I have never once been homeless.
I possess more than the man who cannot see
That a fixed abode in this world is not the true interpretation,
Of a phrase so bespoke.
As I look into the night-sky,
And reminisce;
As the waves serenely lap
Against the borders of land and sea,
I accept that no matter where in the world I may find myself,
The moon will still shine,
The waves will still sing soft melodies to the sand,
And my home,
I forever hold in my hand.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
The spidered light of a September night,
shallow and sparsely flung about the room,
reminisces the sound of a phoenix in flight,
while webs inside the rafters loom.
The phoenix song is like the pallid glow of a chandelier.
Waning, yet resilient,
it coos in mystic merriment
melodies in the key of a rattling nearby mirror.
Every so often the song completely stops,
filling me with a silent bit of despair.
Commonly this follows loud scores of pops
indicating the cycle residing in the flare:
into ashes the song bird bursts again.
It's Rudolphish nose begins to scrunch up ---
I see it even now as I fill my water-cup ---
a sort of reincarnation acumen.
But the bird isn't really real or here;
it's more of a half-truth or memory,
similar to tales of the origins of tea.
It sways, forgetful on my cerebral pier,
nearly falling into the waves of my brain,
dipping it's feather mid-refrain,
repeating it's song again and again,
and again.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
Gentle kisses
Soft-spoken words
A dream, like a whisper, fades and disappears
Your hunger for me dissolves
The memory endures
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
Bonnie squeals as the cart soars past various boxes of cereals and granola bars. She glances at her brother, Clyde, expecting him to share her fright, but is bewildered to see that he is thrashing about in a fit of giggles, enjoying the thrill of the ride. Knuckles white as snow, Bonnie's frail little fingers grasp the side of the red cart with all of their might as her eyes clamp shut. Her heart beats faster than the speed of light, and she questions her motives for agreeing to Clyde's devilish ways.
She reminisces on their earlier arrival at the Local Target. They had come with their mother, planning to do a little grocery shopping and then be on their way. Of course, Clyde had schemed up a way to stray from his mother's side unnoticed. Bonnie still can't fathom how he managed to drag her down with him.
Cautiously, wind whipping through her hair, Bonnie peaks one eye open and instantly regrets it. She let's out an ear - piercing howl as the cart thrusts into a mountain of PopTart boxes large enough to be deemed the Empire State Building's father. She crawls out of the heap only to be met by an eruption of heartfelt laughter spewing from her brother's mocking lips. "You should have seen your face!" Clyde teases as Bonnie sends daggers through his skull.
The two troublemakers step out of the cart and attempt to retrace the way back to their mother. Devastated, they come to the conclusion that the aisles now resemble a maze. As they confidently take on this new challenge and make their way through the unknown, their spirits quickly take a downward spiral upon realizing that they have ended up back where they began. Tired and desperately longing to go home, the two siblings reach a clearing past the aisles and are overjoyed to spy their mother waiting patiently in line at a register with a new cart in hand.
Bonnie and Clyde casually lazy on over to their mother's side and make light conversation as if they had never left.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
It’s all over Weak Man’s MySpace
(might as well be on the news),
it’s in his MSN name;
he has no face to lose.
He’s always been so open,
(worn his heart upon his sleeve);
up pops his Facebook status,
so emotional, every eve.
Then a phone call to his friends
(tears muffling the line).
After listening for hours,
the verdict is “It’s fine.”
His jury is so kind
(one sided sympathy).
They do the trick for Weak Man;
they are what sets him “free”
He looks through some old photos
(sunglasses and a smile)
turns up his brand new ipod,
reminisces for a while.
Up gets Weak Man from his chair,
Looks out his bay window,
and on his face a nice new grin,
who’s the strong man now?
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Across dry plains the tumbleweed dances
off the dusty floor
As a renounced ballerina reminisces
in her old studio
On the corner of the street
towards the west
following the sun
where all dreams go
And where the wind carries the tumbleweed.
The air rustles in the drift
as she sighs
Breathing in the dusty smell
of the grass
Of the room
where she once performed
for her beloved
now carried away
by the same wind
that carries tumbleweeds
and caused dust to dance.
A tear soaks the wooden floor
a small relief from the barren span
for the lonely ballerina
who is forever carried
along the scalding land.
Lost.
Like words unsaid
on lips untouched
cracked by the sun
where all dreams go
And where the wind carries the tumbleweed.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
///
Look! My friend
It is true that
my existence will be graved after death-
you forget me,
as speed squander particle existence--
earth could not remember--
either it will be deformed
or dissolved---
Memory decays as rolling stone-
forget and fade
twinkle childhood,
as daffodils wither at evening---
Today's child
the father of tomorrow
Aye reminisces the past and decide the future,
today's peppy stream with its chime,
tomorrow's buried river-
only articulate history
Civilization, culture and fashion,
those are transfigured by time-
I see, truth has grown as a lie
as the sun rises in the west,
men have made the conversion to lie-
as politics become poly tricks-
Igneous to metamorphic rock,
by the process of nature with time-
the ultimate truth
From summer to winter,
winter to spring -
pouring--
Sweet sweat-
snowflakes-
cuckoo sings
season changeover and being--
But aftermath
my friend,
two things are still ******
untouched,
my love--
my soul--
the power of God----
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
I have been practicing love instead of anger,
but how do I digest the pain my parents silently suffered,
or the losses my mother still reminisces each and every year,
tell me how can I respond with love when they taught my family self-hate,
to hate their home and hair,
to hate their skin and the clothes they wear,
how do I forgive generations of suffering,
and how they made my uncle a martyr,
brainwashed him to die in a war that could’ve been prevented,
how do I forgive the domino effect of life, that made their great grandparents **** mine?
love runs through my veins,
but anger lives within my blood,
I guess I saw it in my mother's eyes,
you can still love without forgiveness,
but it will take room in your mind,
build a home of sadness,
you’ll pass on to your child.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 10:27 AM UTC
*They met on rainy days
when the air was thick,
laden with the
scent of old musky
scrapbook memoirs
& salt tears' reminisces*
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
From one country to another.
From one air to another.
From one heart to another.
I settle down from the sky to the ground.
I miss the people back home,
I miss the familiarity
I reminisces the beauty of the place
I called home.
It takes time to settle
my emotions
and life.
But then as I roam,
I fall in love with the intricacies.
I see the hidden beauty of the country.
As I meet people,
I start building homes in their heart.
And as I breathe the air,
I start to feel like this is home.
But as soon as I felt I was settling in,
when I was finally falling in love,
I have to leave.
I feel my deep intertwined roots in
people's hearts being pulled away.
I feel my heart breaking into pieces
as my hesitant hellos
become aching goodbyes.
My heart has become a hollow,
transitioning swiftly from emotional
to emotionless.
I feel alone once more,
as I depart from the ground back to the sky.
But I know, this cycle would repeat once more.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
A mournful air beyond the fog,
Death can meet among the poisonous rubes,
Beyond the trees and past the deformed log.
The Knight in Shining Armor comes to save the day.
Bearing healing potions from afar in pewter tubes,
But he is much too late; the Fool has already faded away.
His tears are many, for the loss of a brother,
They are heavy and murky against the dreamscape.
Now for his revenge, he seeks a strange other.
On his new, and strangely enlightened quest,
He feels transparent ghouls kissing his nape
Little does he know it is the sign of a Witches test.
Maneuvering among the empty placed grave,
He keeps his hopes on a looming tower.
He approaches his becoming of an honest knave.
He must be quick and tighten his saddle,
Because a pursuing evil is a deadly power,
And this Knight in Armor must be ready for battle.
The danger of our Knight is not known to man.
To survive, the he must unlearn his past.
This evil he faces is formulating a plan.
The towers close in as he passes their gates.
A spicy chill, creeps up the Knights spine,
And he finally grasps the terror of what awaits.
Inside his mind, he questions going back.
But dismisses the though as a man on wine.
He secretly knows this creature is on his track.
As he pushes himself onward,
He reminisces on his brother, and his life.
The only defining thought for him is froward.
He takes his final turn around the final corridor,
Quick on his feet and ready with his knife.
At first sight, he though his vision must have been poor.
A woman whose beauty surpassed any he had ever seen,
Stood with her naked eyes set firmly on him.
This was the witch who had killed all he had been.
Unable to take the life of any woman,
The soldier took a last and final look
And plunged the knife into his abdomen.
The beautiful witch had won yet another soul,
She knew why it was his life she took.
Never mind the Fool, the Knight had been her goal.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 5:26 PM UTC
reminiscing you—
back to the dawn when you unclothed all of the petals
so you can see what kind of love
he's made of & if he can
make the same love with you;
he would want to feel anytime again every touch
that scorched his skin that gave him
the wintry chill of fire
when you breathed him in it felt like an undaunted caress
of sea breeze to his soul & he carelessly
opened to your stranglehold
unafraid to die but also unafraid
that it was how it feels to be alive
like a sea on full tide
you love to drown whatever is on your hands;
wildflowers blossomed in the silent breaking of dawn
when he surrendered to you
by the rural seaside where
you plucked him
into stenchless strips that you laid on his palms when you were ready to leave with feelings he can't keep
& give,
strips you can never put back
once you unclothe a flower
of everything;
𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕, you asked him with a gaze that
would make him want to be with you
but wildflowers don't belong to the sea
𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘, you held his hand
& he's suddenly desperate to fall in love
that before you could ask, he lets you go;
this time by the seaside, it's sunny without you; with eyes closed
he stares into the blue
wondering where would he be now
—if he hadn't said no.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 12:19 PM UTC
***I paused longingly
in your haunting metaphors
in phases of moonglow's perceptions
under enticing whispers of glint'd skies,
a calm filled of scorch'd shudders
& twilight's blossomed delusions
under the influence of divine cravings,
breaths of magnolia's sighs
uttered in shades of nightfall,
dreams aspiring of
scented reminisces
to soar once more***
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC