Poetry Blogs (Memories)

I wonder what happens

To the poorly drawn images

We keep abreast as children,

Sheltered inside our notebooks and their crinkly pages.

I envisage those pages accompanying

Balloons, bubbles and butterflies,

And the colors in them adorning

The sallow face of the sky.

I like to believe that my poorly chalked out blades of grass

Somehow appended the greenery on earth

Or th...

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He orders black coffee,

soup and salad,

steak and potatoes

before his apple pie dessert

at buffets on the other side of town

A routine meal

that would years later

be remembered

as his reward

Dad loves on his Alaskan crab legs

with a side of melted butter

While Mom orders chicken

at a seafood restaurant

She doesn’t offer to pay

while Auntie tells ...

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Life is simple, yet complicated by seemingly insignificant moments that make all the difference in the end.

It is the unfiltered thoughts that escaped from our mouths in our weakest moments

It is the words that ruined relationships because we were too stubborn to apologise

It is the time that has passed between friendships in which too much has happened to reconnect

It is the memo...

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I died yesterday

With a pen in one hand and a diary in the other. 

The latter's pages were inlaid 

With prints of my curry stained fingers, 

And splotches of tea, 

And smudges of ink, 

And spools of memories,

And streams of ridiculous cravings. 

I fashioned the contents with the loose threads 

I'd been stockpiling since forever. 

Vibrant, prismatic, but half-completed...

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The Small Things

A pinecone from a Bavarian forest

A small rock from a glacier in Alberta

A round pebble from a Jamaican beach

A strip of bark from a tree in Wakefield

These are the places touched

The places that have touched

A love letter from a pretty girl

A toy bat-mobile from a friend now lost

A medal given to you by your father

A charm bracelet wor...

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The Dancing Light Of Candles

Flickering shadows cast upon the night

Phantoms leaping on oak panelled walls

Where the final breath of evening gently falls

The white and orange glow of candlelight

Will soothe the nervous child and ease his fright

Or so your aged memory recalls

Flickering

There is no more a sweet magical sight

Than darkness where a defeated demon ...

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Nineteen nighty five
Nominally fourteen;
I was sitting in the sports hall
pen in hand
the desks apart
a teacher I didn’t know
patrolled the aisles
The English paper said ‘write a story
include a river
and an allegory’

The clock at the front clicks
thin hands jerk and tick
I spin my pen
study the air vents above me
there’s a dusty shuttlecock
caught up in the pipework
there’s a br...

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Memories are a funny thing

They can make you laugh but also cry

They are the basis of reliving the past

And for some, staying there

They hold secrets encapsulated in time

They hold feelings hidden from the world

A special place that one can visit as they wish

To hear voices and see smiles

To feel joy and love of those past

Memories, they hold the power to prope...

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this world is a universe

for she is a world 

in herself

at every turn beautiful;

a billion flowers 

in any garden of gloom

would bloom to her smile;

her existence is life

her instance pride

with sadness shied away

the swooned heart

travels miles in a beat; 

every sweet smell 

reminds me of her

the earthy perfume

rain sends forth

the flavored whiff 

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the fragrance of flowers 

gently touched 

by the cemetery breeze

celebrate the silence 

of life being released

the colors of nature

gather around 

that piece of earth

cradling every moment

of time since birth

dark figures fade out

with memories 

replaying in their heads

as the day ends, yet again

death is fed

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I lately watched your video, a Palm Sunday morning show of you and your wife.

Me, your mistress, now ashes of passionate fires, forbidden fires.

Intention of sin in your ideology.

And then this scene of an innoscent couple, the ones who try to pretent what they aren't.

More on:

https://cms.e.jimdo.com/app/cms/preview/index/pageId/2140842394?public=https://magicalwhispers.jimdofree.c...

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Those shadows the epitome of time

let me bruise them so they cannot move,

make those pale moments clearer

in the light of the hurt-

a life no longer drenched

in shapes eclipsing the stopwatch,

now I can pause time when I want to

escaping the minutes for hours,

see the clouds in still shift,

alluding to an illusion

of some fading minute,

the hands of the clock skim ...

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It's good when your mind is Active . It gets you through life . Letting you create and survive . Survive most problems . And helps you see through . Feelings or worry's you have . Just helps you get through .The lonely days .The long days . The Remembering . The lonely and also the happy days . Memories for you to Remember  .

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Ah, the magic of night 

when obligations are over, 

another adulting day in the books. 

I rest my weary body, 

set my boggled mind free 

with a little poetry...

Your words await

like a teen with a corsage

to take me to the prom,

where we twist and twirl

under twinkling dollar store stars

and a paper moon.

Happy memories pop up

among technicolor...

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Those dulcet shadows

chased my figure,

dancing. a motif,

that refrained

to end of those pages,

a requiem of endless sobriety

to those euphoric seconds

lost to me.  

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Walking down Lovers Lane on that cool October evening 
We stopped and lingered there
Stood only inches apart
There wasn’t anything more to say
I wasn’t one for small talk anyway 
We both knew what we wanted
I asked that fateful question,
‘What are you waiting for?’
You kissed me
All I can remember is that time stood still
I lost my breath 
I lost feeling in my legs
I crashed to the gro...

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When sun comes against all odds

And the colours of life just pop

Or when the rain falls

It falls and falls

And you wet your lips

With piping hot tea

With warm biscuit

Savour the crumbs

Cosy and safe

In the arms of a jumper

The padding of the sofa,

Like a huge hug

Or when your face aches,

Your stomach vibrates

Because you are fighting to breathe

Through ...

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One by one counting memories:
an old photograph of us at the beach,
a sweater that won’t rid itself of your scent,
books and CDs that you lent,
I’ve packed them away
They won’t see another day

I’ve packed the boxes, 
made the plans,
the rooms are empty
but I am motionless

Is it that familiar look?
Is it the morning glow
that paints itself through the window?
No, it’s the memories ...

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