Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.
quote by Pierce Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Last Time
That was the last time
you saw her alive
going into a store
with some guy
you assumed
was her husband
and she looked over at you
as you sat opposite the store
and smiled her smile
like she used to
way back in 62
when it was just
she and you
sitting by the pond
or walking through
the small wood
talking as you used to
with youth on your side
and love hanging on
a chain about your neck
and that was back then
that day you were just
an observer outside
a store watching her
walk by with some other
not knowing Mr Death
was trailing her
even then
that cancer
maybe even as she walked
touching her
with its oily finger
oh how men love and lose
but the great memory
of her will hold
and ever linger.
poem by Terry Collett
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Walking Away
Cold winds blow around me,
And I cant help but think of you.
All the things we wanted,
All the things we had to do.
Wrap yourself around me,
We can steal away sometime.
Your whispers surround me,
But its only in my mind.
cuz Im walking away from,
Walking away from things in my own past.
Walking away from,
Walking away from things that just wont last.
You got what you wanted,
But you cant help but think of me.
All the things you wanted,
All the things you got for free.
One thing to remember
Is that I have feelings, too.
I surely would have closed my eyes
If I had known the real you.
cuz Im walking away from,
Walking away from things in my own past.
Walking away from,
Walking away from things that just wont last.
And Im walking away from,
Walking away from things that move too fast.
cuz Im walking away from,
Walking away from things in my own past.
Walking away from,
Walking away from things that just wont last.
And Im walking away from,
Walking away from things that move too fast.
Walking away from,
Walking away from things in my own past...
song performed by by Information Society
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beach Pebble
Everyone has
at one time or other,
picked up a pebble on the beach,
turned it over in their hands,
sensed something of its uniqueness,
how millions of years have gone to the splitting
and the smoothing of the rock,
to the perfect shaping of the pebble.
Few of us stop and think for longer.
It is a momentary glimpse into an eternal process,
but we dropp the pebble and carry on walking along the beach.
poem by Howlin' Dervish
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pebbles
pillow of comfort and ease
like pebbles over the waving stream
soothing, authentic and pebbling
my eyes see each pebble
as it glitters beyond the still water(s)
and smiles back at me in awe
each pebble utters a thousand words
with one but different meanings
for one word
a diverse attitude of meaning,
i rise to my body and pebbled
by the waves on the banks of the river
footing towards, to pick a pebble
as i close(d) my eyes to rest
on my pillow...
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
quote by Isaac Newton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Pebble Justice
he picks up a pebble
and throws it into the sea
from a cliff
he asks: this is not a place
for pebbles
so this is not a pebble
i will return it to the sea
and be with the sands
and shells and
waves and winds
and seaweeds
and crabs
does he not wonder at all
if he has the power to decide where a pebble must be?
sometimes people assume so much
behaving like a god
must he think a little deeper and realize
that what is proper for the people is not proper for a pebble
that pebbles too have minds of their own
and who know if the same pebble to thinks
that the cliff is not the place of man
assuming to be its own god?
must he be considerate enough that pebbles too have
their own invisible feet
and well developed brains
and that when the man throws it into the sea
on the ground only of
impropriety
that the pebble may have objected it vehemently and could have
used its own hidden powers
but only that it did not show it
by reason of pity that this man
is so dumb
and so limited
in the flesh of its
own selfish
understanding?
does he not know that a pebble too demands respect
have privacy
and soon shall take its
inevitable revenge?
'bury mankind! they have thrown us away
without our consent' that is their clamor now
in their own
Pebble Court using their Pebble law
to be judged later
by their Pebble Magistrates.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Colors Of The Stones
walking along the beach
one morning when the seagulls are feeding
i tread upon colored stones
of different sizes
too pleasing to my eyes
that i couldn't pick any
or i pick one
i will be obliged to pick them all
and load myself
with such a beautiful burden
that i can no longer
carry
like all solutions to this indecision
i watch and just keep on walking
amazed and too light
like a bird on its wings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Babies, Moms, Memories and Aromas
Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas
Young baby, helpless and wee
Head reposes on mom’s shoulder
Nestled in soft arms comfortably
Smells the hair of the one who holds her
Mom’s fresh shampoo scent, becomes imprinted deep
A comforting, soothing essence… in
The child’s vast, and unfilled memory keep
Takes up permanent residence
Small, chubby fingers twirling ringlets of hair
While the singular scent of her mother…is
Being tucked away, with loving care
Memories and scents stacked atop one another
Sweet baby powder is the smell on the palm
Of the hand That gently pats the child’s back
The odor re-enforcing a reassuring calm… and
Promptly being added to the child’s memory sack
Mom’s own smell, sweat mixed with soap, sweet and pungent
By the child is inhaled and sequestered forever within
Memory’s medicine, to be used as an unguent
And in her memory, applied by her mother’s hands once again
Baby oil and baby powder, a heady mixture...
An olfactory delight to store in a child’s mind
Another memory to sequester and treasure
Mixed with mothers scent, unique and sublime
Many years in the future, this child now all grown
Will be reminded by scents of the present, and will measure
Her mom’s sweet scent, mixed with her own
And locked in her mind’s vault, to treasure….
Forever and ever
poem by David Whalen
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Child of mine…
To my beautiful child, , ,
Beautiful child, being so small you inspire me big,
Beautiful child, so fragile, you make me so strong,
Beautiful child, so tender your touch your power is great,
Beautiful child, small is your heart, infinite is the love I feel for you;
Beautiful child, your hand I’m anxious to hold, to walk life’s road with you by my side.
Beautiful child, your light will show me the way,
Beautiful child, you came to my life to teach me a lesson that I shall never forget…
Nor riches, nor power can give us the best things of life…
The smile of a child…Is the best of all rewards…
poem by Ale Duncan
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I Remember Once When I Was A Little Child
i remember
when i was a little child
i once climbed a tree
to take a look of those
down below me.
i simply sit there
and feast my eyes
on the tall mountain
far away from me.
i see a winding river
flowing to the sea.
i see memories.
i am a little child.
i am the father of
that sadness that
i left behind a rock.
i am the image of
that little boy
behind your face.
i am not noise.
i am the silence
of a very faraway
memory on that
cone mountain over
there with a snow
cap.I am my
small world like
a bird perched on
a twig. A small patch
of green grass. A handful
of clouds drifting on
my shoulder. I am
a silent memory.
I am listening inside
my little corner.
This heart still
of a little boy.
Always wondering.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Memory Store
We talk about the times
we had there in the past,
and the times that never seemed to last.
They were there for a moment
and then quietly faded away,
and now we remember them
as if they were yesterday.
If only we could bring them back
and the magic, they implored.
Hear the gayety and laughter
around us once more.
Like all good things,
they are gone, locked forever in
our memory store.
Only to be released
on days when life
is down and doubting.
Then we unlock the gilded gates
setting them free once more
from our memory store
so we can dance again
by the light of the moon.
28-29 August 2012
poem by David Harris
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Some Just Want What They See
Wisdom is not accessible,
To anyone walking into a candy store.
With a wish list to pick and choose,
Their experiences.
Assuming they will get a choice to lick,
Through a few samples.
It takes a willingness to bob and weave through thorns.
Crawl on knees already scraped and worn.
For many to pass those tests and failures to admit.
Before any selection made at a candy store,
Can be appreciated for the variety of flavors.
That sit within it.
Ask the one who has the 'key'.
And responsible to pay the bills.
Some just want what they see,
Without knowing what's involved.
To just turn the lights on.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pick A Fight
I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me
You say that I'm the only one
The one you're looking for
Try and keep a straight face when you laugh
You talk to me like I'm a saint
But all your friends just say
We have been so over for some time
And I know that you had the best intentions for me
I know that what you're saying is goodbye
I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me
You say you changed your mind again
You don't know how you feel
Give me some more time is what you say
You wanna use me like a toy
That you get bored with
Now you wanna store me far away
And I know that you had the best intentions for me
I know that what you're saying is goodbye...goodbye
I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me
I can't be happy without you
I can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me
I can't be happy without you
I can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me
You always say what you don't mean
You always say the things that hurt me
Why do you pick a fight with me?
You always say what you don't mean
You always say the things that hurt me
Why do you pick a fight
Why do you pick a fight
You always pick a fight with me
song performed by by Goldfinger from Stomping Ground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Garbage Pick Up
Place your garbage at the side of the road
all that was treasured at one time.
Bikes and some exercise equipment
they had seen their better of times.
Your child has grown up
and your now growing out.
He 's worn off the rubber riding his bike
clothes hung on yours, cause it got too tuff!
Golf clubs never used at all
because dad had that heart attack.
Maybe if he let you come along
you both wouldn't have got so fat?
Garbage pick up man is looking
at all that lay aside the road.
He's looking at it likes it's Christmas Eve
with wealth of gifts untold!
One mans junk is anothers treasure
I've heard someone say.
I guess we shouldn't buy false man made hopes
It's all ends up, Garbage on pick up day!
poem by Linda Winchell
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A Pebble In My Shoe
a pebble in my shoe
i want it removed
a pebble in my shoe
a disturbance
in my mind
a pebble in my shoe
an enemy
in my feet
yet wait
let me recall
a grain of sand
inside the clam
a pearl
in my hand
once a pebble
in my shoe
let me walk again
let me remember
the pearl
in the clam
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Anny In The Mall.
Anny follows just behind.
The mall is crowded but
None see her in her 1940s
Clothes. You see her and
She knows. She gazes deep
In windows of shops and
Stores takes in the bright
Lights and treasures her
Blue eyes childlike see.
But she keeps an eye on
You as often she has before
Moving eyes from you to
Shop and store. Her blue
Ghostly eyes scan the views
Of things on show in big wide
Store windows she passes by.
Her blonde hair catches the
Bright lights above her head.
She follows closer. Her hand
Almost touches yours. That
Small hand that once waved
Goodbye to mother and others
She had loved and missed now
Almost seeks out one of yours.
Her eyes search out your dull
Eyes and seem to speak her
Words in silences and small bits
Spoken fill the air: death camp.
Jew. Child. Auschwitz.1942.
poem by Terry Collett
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Finding A New Pebble
Meeting you is like
Finding a new pebble
Out at sea. I don’t
see
Any similarity
with
The rest
i say
you're unique
And
no one
Believes this pebble
in my hand is
Something significant
In fact
Everyone does
Not really mind
At all
Saying it is
Nothing but a
A very ordinary
pebble
But in my heart
It isn’t
It is something
That
Amazes me
with its texture
of solidity
and
metallic color
it has
Changed the way
i look
At all the pebbles
on the
shore
you lied.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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People pump gas and then they go in the store and pick up some things and pay for them, and they forget to mention the gas.
quote by Joe Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jelly Beans
By the counter of the candy store
several small rumpled heads
are jumping up and down in joy.
They hear the store keeper's tread.
' What do you want? ' is the cry.
The moment he is in sight,
and if their tiny hands are penniless,
How embarrassing the plight.
They eagerly purchase the jelly beans,
They barely get outside
before they open the packages
and have them open wide.
An assortment of jelly beans is enough
to bring forth elated sounds of joy.
Such candy items it takes to please
a small girl or boy.
Oh! Could we all but remember
when the days of youth have fled,
the appreciation in the small things
like jelly beans - green, black, and red.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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