"retrospect" poems
Goodnight, the fire burns brightly
Goodnight, you kiss my forehead lightly
Almost paternally now
- We were lovers
Goodnight, clinging to the sheets by your side
Goodnight, heartache in this house tonight
Someday we will forget
- We were lovers
This distance will turn my blood cold
A grave look on a pale face of youth
If I could shrink the ocean to be close
Would you save me anymore
Love became an ugly truth
Goodnight, the fire burns brightly
Goodnight, I held on to the moment tightly
Almost in retrospect
- We were lovers
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
When I met you
You took my breath away
In retrospect
I should have just walked away
And started breathing again
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
1227
My Triumph lasted till the Drums
Had left the Dead alone
And then I dropped my Victory
And chastened stole along
To where the finished Faces
Conclusion turned on me
And then I hated Glory
And wished myself were They.
What is to be is best descried
When it has also been—
Could Prospect taste of Retrospect
The tyrannies of Men
Were Tenderer—diviner
The Transitive toward.
A Bayonet’s contrition
Is nothing to the Dead.
26.5k
Brandon,
To see you grow up and turn into the man you are is a gift... A young man, smart, kind, thoughtful to others. I have no criticisms to offer you in regards to the path and choices you have taken and made. I feel swelling pride for you as I write this and cannot wait to see and hear the adventures you will embark on in your life.
Having you as my cousin touches me and reminds me that I have an impact on the world, and for as long as you have looked up to me as your older cousin, I will always feel a sense of responsibility and caring for you, invigorating in purpose, which helps craft the home in my heart. Seeing time pass as sand in an hour glass, I can only glance in retrospect and see the years and times as a family you have shared with us; if it were a scoreboard, a test, the sum of all of your actions: a resounding win or success story on all counts. You are a gift to those around you and your happiness and caring will change this world for the better as it already has changed mine. Thank you for being my cousin, but more so for being the person you always are. You are a blessing and a light. Don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise or believe differently...
To end my letter to you, I will leave you with this: I can't wait to grow old and share more time with you; to go fishing, to go camping, to carry on our family's traditions and dinners which are so special among families, to share this chance to be alive and breathing, and to share our hearts with others. Go forth Brandon. Go forth and share your love with the world. Light your torch and burn it. I love you Brandon.
Your Cousin,
-Kevin
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
I should not have blamed only my father, but,
he was the first to introduce me to
raw and stupid hatred.
he was really best at it: anything and everything made him
mad-things of the slightest consequence brought his hatred quickly
to the surface
and I seemed to be the main source of his
irritation.
I did not fear him
but his rages made me ill at heart
for he was most of my world then
and it was a world of horror but I should not have blamed only
my father
for when I left that... home... I found his counterparts
everywhere: my father was only a small part of the
whole, though he was the best at hatred
I was ever to meet.
but others were very good at it too: some of the
foremen, some of the street bums, some of the women
I was to live with,
most of the women, were gifted at
hating-blaming my voice, my actions, my presence
blaming me
for what they, in retrospect, had failed
at.
I was simply the target of their discontent
and in some real sense
they blamed me
for not being able to rouse them
out of a failed past; what they didn't consider was
that I had my troubles too-most of them caused by
simply living with them.
I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even
stupidly happy almost without cause
and left alone I am mostly content.
but I've lived so often and so long with this hatred
that
my only freedom, my only peace is when I am away from
them, when I am anywhere else, no matter where-
some fat old waitress bringing me a cup of coffee
is in comparison
like a fresh wild wind blowing.
17.2k
I took the left path where hydrangeas grew and sleepy primroses under woods, edged shady trees.
The empty stream ran quietly dry
With grass cuttings piling high.
If one peeped, one would find tiny creatures
To cast a sparkle here and there, a delight.
So on tip-toe, with sandels bent
Up high I reached to take
The plastic fairy as she twirled a pirouette
In a theatre made by chance.
Reflected in a silver mirror intwinned with ivy branch
A mottled foal tends his dreams and Chrismas robin chirps.
My brother took the right hand path where the trees grew fruit
Ripe berries from the gooseberry bush bulged their prickles.
Dangling from hawthorn now a cowboy with a hat
Looking for his fellow Indian with the yellow back sack.
Sheep gather in a hollow, dark, protected from the sun
And Mr toad, now lost of paint, has turned a bit glum.
And so we leave our woodland friends and travel up the slope
Winding round the rose bed and goldfish where they float.
Then up we climb, the middle route, to jump the pruned clipped
Hedge.
The lawn divided in two halves, a contemporary taste.
Now we're nearly at that place where if one was to turn
Could see down across the land
To the sea and sand.
Of all the beauties that I've known
Nothing beats this Island home.
Love Mary x
My grandfather’s retirement bungalow was in Totland Isle of Wight.
It was named Innisfail meaning ‘Isle of Ireland’.
Behind, the garden led down to magical and delightful to children who came as visitors. My grandfather would prepare this woodland with some suitable surprises.
The garden and woodland deserved its own name and in retrospect
Is now named ‘Innislandia’ to suggest a separate, mysterious land.
Beyond the real world.
In the poem A Country Lane on page 8 the latched gate is the back gate to my grandparent’s garden and bungalow in Totland as above.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
The essence of your being is here to stay
as it infuses with my skin and heart and eyes and touch
my skin has been tattooed through your caress
and my heart has been mended by the way your eyes peer into my soul you fill me with love and make me whole
in retrospect i truly thought i knew what love was
but this was all a lie until i had met you
masochistic obsession is all i was familiar with
blinking the past away
i am aware of you and our future and our present
and how i will never let that get away
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
Seeing my glass reflection
Everything goes into retrospect
And the day goes black with haze
As the weight of my thoughts sink
Everything disappears
Goes up ablaze
As brain alteration happens in a blink
While watching it burn with infatuation
It's like I'm stuck here
In this odd imagination
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
2002:
today i kicked the door
to history off it's hinges
my jealous frame:
still too proud to say a word
it seems my folks forgot
to pencil in growth marks
cause they thought their boy
would never grow out of small breath
******* dead, years now buried
and i bare his name
too many syllables
for my father to go back
fish & play football
to stand in the yard and play catch
1994:
my mom, the bombshell in retrospect
broke her back in her sleep
a thousand times
since the stairwell in 87'
she still sits for spills
post nuclear about settling
now from the couch
she's a weather report
spouting nonsense
that makes my father
grow grey, crack remotes
& slam doors to dark rooms
abandoning ship
for "cheers" & "scienfeld"
while my mother
sometimes forgets
and sets his place at the table
and my appetite is abducted
by family photos
my mother says things like
"go see your brother today"
-- Johnny's long gone
don't you remember?
we buried him
the day your smile died
2014:
you are inches from me
********* a stray hair
caught in the fabric of your coat
the last remnants of a dog
we laid to rest last week
and here we are
in the hospital again
people don't shake like dogs
finality is found
in the eyes of humans
passing archways
into shallow rooms
where plague and prayer
are the only songs sung
round the stagnant clocks
it makes me wonder
if the clipboards cry
over being the last thing
someone ever writes on
take a number, have a seat
stay a while
i am back, 7 years old
& there are different doors now
they buried the ones
you kicked in that night in '92
when my lungs
were filled with holy water
you never stopped smoking
i never grew out of asthma
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
I lie here.
My eyes caress the ceiling.
My thoughts visit my past,
And bring back with it memories both fond and distasteful.
Artificial lights penetrate the eyes that once saw things differently.
Eyes now glazed with perspective given to them by experience and time.
Eyes that now display with more clarity where my thoughts lie.
Although intangible, I feel my breath dance along my skin.
I conclude there’ll be more of these moments to come.
So I close the eyes that once saw things differently,
As my thoughts stroll aimlessly into my imagination from what once was.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Delayed response to ground control, oh how I was crying.
In retrospect, I was just shallow; like an astronaut only watching
himself as the rest of the world kept steadily spinning.
Impersonal up here, never caring about winning or losing.
The star charts that mentors showed lost to what my mind followed,
A winding path through this sacred space which I unhallowed.
I didn't flinch at blastoff; it wasn't bravery, it was me being a coward.
Sweating in a far away bed, steel round walls with no decoration,
Straining my mind fighting the moments of suffocation.
Spots in my vision, distortion and discoloration.
Seeing stars I glimpsed my comet on exhibition.
I would have to come back around. It was just a matter of my rotation.
Retrospect from ages back and to beyond where we will have gone.
Black holes made that can never be filled, endless they came, endless they will come. To touch down in glory, or stay on the run. Life is just a rocket that departs from the sun. The rest isn't lost, it just hasn't been done.
So as we eventually drift into deep space and age becomes our dawn, remember to look out the window and wave to the passerby's.
They will cheer you on.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
Not to neglect the one above
But the one just south has me
No reference to the man upstairs
Or his foe below
It’s evident the bottom
Was made in heaven
But tempts like the devil
Even though your lips are a pair
I find myself lingering down there
That bottom lip has its own heartbeat
A mind of its own if you will
And I will ... kiss it again
And again
Nibble a bit ... **** and peck
Lick my lips in retrospect
Lying in bed at night
Thinking of twenty different ways
That lip takes shape
And shows emotion
Almost upstaging your face
That gorgeous face
Sometimes lost in the background
For this soft and often pouty lip
Begs for attention
Almost screams for it
And I listen ... do I ever
I can’t help but fall victim
To that oh, so clever
Part of your face
That would make an angel
Leap from grace
And never look back
Not once ... I’d swear on this
For I know the power
Behind that kiss
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
***All that mush
What's the fuss
Life is to live
Oh yes
Love it and live
Love you Zindagi
Love you Zindagi
A crazy you and a crazy me
Holding hands breaking rules
What a lovely pair together we make
Love you Zindagi
A simple smile and a twinkle in the eye
Take away the tears and banish the fear
A beautiful art , warms up the heart
I do what I like
And I like what I do
Right or wrong
Responsibility all mine
A Believer
More of spiritual
Forgive me , Oh Lord
Follow not too many rituals
I do what I like
And I like what I do
Works of a complicated mind
That's what you'd find
In retrospect
Reflect
Yet not regret
A quirky me
Yes that's true
And
Today I turn 42
Love you Zindagi
All that mush
What's the fuss
Life is to live
Oh yes
Love it and live
Love you Zindagi
Love you Zindagi***
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC
1196
To make Routine a Stimulus
Remember it can cease—
Capacity to Terminate
Is a Specific Grace—
Of Retrospect the Arrow
That power to repair
Departed with the Torment
Become, alas, more fair—
5.2k
1142
The Props assist the House
Until the House is built
And then the Props withdraw
And adequate, *****
The House support itself
And cease to recollect
The Auger and the Carpenter—
Just such a retrospect
Hath the perfected Life—
A past of Plank and Nail
And slowness—then the Scaffolds drop
Affirming it a Soul.
5.1k
My last few hours,
In the land of a week's refuge.
Bade goodbye to water towers,
Away with sunsets made of rouge.
Ready to fulfil a previous standing pact
To a life I left and put on hold.
I'll leave you in memories of retrospect.
An experience worth weight in gold.
As always I find myself in the driveway .
Standing all alone, in the dark.
Looking up at what does lay.
Spellbound as usual as the distant dogs bark.
I'm sending wishes into space,
Kisses to the dots in the sky.
Going to miss this place...
As the coming year would go by.
I'd long for you,
My twinkling lovelies in my nights.
Following hours would be through
You'd be replaced by city lights.
For now allow me to drink you to a stupor.
A feast I can't get enough of.
Let these minutes extend into forever...
Goodbye Darwin stars, you have all my love.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
Dear Santa
all i want for Christmas is a penny lover
a women that enjoys the small things in life
the lincolns instead of the benjamins
thrift instead of trendy
peanut butter instead of steak
my bottom shelf written poems instead of polish
the small things in life, Santa
the small things
is that too much to ask for
your gift to me
sans the star spangled spangled
the fireworks
the silver, glitter and confetti
i would endear
can you help me Santa
i dream
i dream real
a simple snowfall
me with her on the bunny trail
doing the bunny hop
later sharing a hot cocoa
borrowing heat, and time
Santa in my dream
i can see my mirror
a pincher
a thinker
wrapped pretty
maybe in ancient ski gear and attire
but together
and maybe in love
santa, in retrospect
i ask for a lot
because my heart would be filled
Merry Christmas
Logan Robertson
12/3/17
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
Oh, may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge men's search
To vaster issues. So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing a beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air,
And all our rarer, better, truer self
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better, -- saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love, --
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever. This is life to come, --
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, -- be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
4.6k
Now since I advised you this Sentiment
Try to apply your Fares with her Mother
And if you win, which is one Compliment
That you use to connect with her Brother
This is just some Counsel from Ben Nevis' View
Hassled to ensure you did the Right Thing
For justly understand this ardent Crew
Is no excuse for Procrastinating
In private this Agent is unaware
For him to barrage out of Deep Respect
Yet keep watch for Feathers dancing in the Air
They turn to Anvils; And hit your Retrospect.
Listen you Two. This is why you will Learn
That Family's knots tied is Best you earn.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
1524
A faded Boy—in sallow Clothes
Who drove a lonesome Cow
To pastures of Oblivion—
A statesman’s Embryo—
The Boys that whistled are extinct—
The Cows that fed and thanked
Remanded to a Ballad’s Barn
Or Clover’s Retrospect—
4k
Young Shepard
Come back home to me, myself
Put ye books back on the shelf
Play with me in the green wheat field
Splash in the stream, tell life to yield
Wise Shepard
O' truth you speak, it is quite grand
I ran and played and breathed the land
You're a fool with flowers and sun
Bills to pay and work to be done
Young Shepard
Blue skies, dream clouds, escape in shapes
Pick apples, eat homemade pies, grapes
Bike hills and valleys, roll in grass
Clouds and life float peacefully past
Wise Shepard
Only if it was possible
To dream I could, I'd be a fool
Beware, retrospect breeds false scope
Family love, blue skies: life, hope
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
In my mind,
I was flattered-
flattered at what
the world sees;
what I saw
no picture can compare.
Yes, I must be right-
right crush has been
sent back to the thought-
the thought of love.
No love can dispel-
without hate- what other
can love?
In my mind,
the right crush
becomes reality
in my mind-
there she finally is.
In retrospect,
you can only believe
your suspicions
of a drained ear
of sorrowful advice-
that advice was clinging
at the point that no
right crush-
is not right for you-
unless you see past
your suspicions of wasted love.
Did you not learn your
lesson- of freedom not
to be joined or forced
by other forces-
but the force to dispel hate.
Otherwise, there is none
other than hate that rules-
there is no right crush!
The right crush-
is what is in your mind
to dispel hate-
and with love comes peace.
This love is the right crush!
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
Sometimes we love, sometimes we hate
We love the wrong ones
We hate the wrong ones
And when we realise, it is a little too late
Sometimes we accept, sometimes we reject
We accept the wrong ones
We reject the right ones
And when we realise, we feel pain in retrospect
Sometimes we hope, when we should not
Then we give up hope, when we should not
Sometimes we stop, when we should walk
Then we say nothing, when we should talk
In love, in life, in our daily dealings
We let go of things which give our lives meaning
and hold fast to fading illusions
If only we could have vision!
Then we would love and accept aright
We would not hate and reject amiss
We would give and take a chance
These visions will make us wiser
But, what if it is man's fate to never be clever?
I hope you find the strength
I hope you go the length
For even if it seems too late, it is better late than never
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
There is a period of time
Immediately proceeding a conversation you had
Where you shared, what you are sure in retrospect,
Was too much
And when they go its nearly silent
Aside from the car engine
Your ears are on fire
On one hand you’re glad you said it
On the other hand
You wish to rewind
And unsay the things you did.
Reverse and greedily fill your arms with all the
Pieces of yourself you’d given away freely.
They’re yours and they don’t own them.
But like a dusty collection of spoons,
From all fifty states,
You know that you have no use
Harboring those thoughts.
Maybe they will somehow affect that person
And help them when they’re feeling down
But you doubt it.
They won’t fully understand,
Because you’re a bad story teller
Who can’t describe the feeling of the sun
On the tops of your legs and interpolated
Between your toes.
And you're selfish and don’t care
You feel incomplete now and hope
That maybe, just maybe
They weren’t even listening to you ramble
Or couldn’t understand you
Or cast the little wads of memories away
Like pencil shavings
Which are fun for a little under an hour.
And you’ve almost convinced yourself
Until you see them, and they see you
And open their mouth to say something-
And like some horror movie
The secrets come swarming.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
In the twilight of immeasurable hope
I run, I pace, I stagger.
A moon of sorts tucks its hefty beams
Behind the gauzy, twisted zephyr,
As if teasing that its crisp, round, clarity
is merely an echo of a distant, convoluted story:
a myth.
One moment I am carrying out my quotidian realities
Unfiltered, unbridled, lucid,
Running my fingers through laughing waves
of golden, auburn richness,
Letting my wavering, billowing hair
slowly melt into the quavering, trembling wind…
When suddenly-
I am caught in the labyrinth of veils.
I, with my hair and my warmth,
I am auriferous.
And these sheets, oh these hangings!
They float like century-worn cobwebs
And they ensnare me so.
This is where the tangled messages
And mangled mixed signals
All wriggle themselves into form
And make their zombie graveyard.
And yet there are sparks,
Little voices trapped in burning baubles
Shining like the ever-loving soul of the universe,
Which whisper the stories of the moon-thing
Beyond the borders of this haze-land.
Sometimes I attempt to fashion
these ethereal sparklings into my hair.
They suggest insanity, so close to my ears,
And I can’t fill my soul with enough…
I cling to the faith that they will lead me out
Into the amaranthine beyond.
I come back here often,
Always hoping that today will be the day
That the beams from above
Will reach to seek me.
For that, I will love the mists,
And carnally sip away
At the nebulous, crepuscular,
Pools of Fantasy.
But in retrospect,
I should never have told you
That your name means “Purple” to me.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC