One Sea-Side Grave
Unmindful of the roses,
Unmindful of the thorn,
A reaper tired reposes
Among his gathered corn:
So might I, till the morn!
Cold as the cold Decembers,
Past as the days that set,
While only one remembers
And all the rest forget, -
But one remembers yet.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Maverick
He remembers the backstabbing laughter.
And the heartfelt pain.
He remembers the innuendoed gossip...
And the slander done to him,
Still within him often remains.
He remembers his loved ones...
As some withered and died.
He remembers crying alone,
With no one to confide.
He remembers his struggles,
With aches in his body that persisted.
He remembers failed relationships...
With those who could not resist,
Communicating nothing but lies and conflict!
He remembers all of it,
And sometimes with a hidden bitterness that sits!
He remembers what it took,
To get released...to become unhooked.
With faith and a stick-to-itness,
Feeling as if dragging cinder blocks on each foot.
He remembers once being called a maverick!
And how today...
His maverick ways,
Bestows upon him a happiness...
Chartered by conviction.
And nothing he read from 'how-to-do' books.
Or afflictions of limiting restrictions.
Could he do it 'all' over again?
Probably not!
And why would he choose to?
To prove what?
And to who?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pain
She crys out in vain
as she watchs the moon
and feels its chill
from the rain of thoughts
that blisters her dreams
She crys out in vain
as she remembers
how she opens her heart
only for it be broken in two
She remembers his smile
when he waves his farewell
as he walked away
from her veiw of pain
She begs to be forgiven
for her cold reception
of dougbts that made
her soul bleed
for a lost love forsaken
She pushed away
the one man that loved her
because of her own doubts
that bleed her heart of pain
All she remembers is the pain
from the past
all she remembers is
crying in vain
she can not will not
put her self though
all this again
She walks away with a broken heart
never to know how much he loved her so
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Memory of Water (for Scarlet)
Water remembers you
falling now on your sleeping face
waking you from dreams
with its surprise
after you fell asleep
at your first pinic.
Water remembers your childish
laughter.
Water remembers you
holding your body
in its body
as you learn not to fear it
as you learn the words float...sink...swim.
Water remembers you
becoming its friend.
Water remembers you
diving into its honeymoon waters
becoming fishes....kisses
lasting from here to eternity.
Water remembers two
delerious skinnydippers.
Water remembers you
crying in its rain
sobbing 'I'll never fall in love again! '
as if you were an old 1950's tune.
Water remembers such tears
hiding them in its rain.
Water remembers you
laughing in the rain
having fallen in love again
so quick to change
your tune.
Water remembers you
laughing here we go again.
Water remembers you
soaking wet in a sudden thunder storm
flowers held in your hand
having lost their heads
presenting her
with nothing but stalks.
Water remembers you
having to wear her old dress
as she dried your clothes.
Water remembers
kisses lost amonst the roar of a fire.
Water remembers you
& is saddened to find you
with no answers
with no questions
here on this bridge
reflecting itself
here in its depths
where only silence lives
holding you
as before
only water
remembers your death.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Boys Poem
The child sits and weeps,
How could this be all that matters,
Why did this have to hurt so deep,
How could this be life?
The child sits with the pain inside,
He sits with his heart in his chest,
‘How could I have died? ’
Is all he thinks, he forgets the rest.
The child’s eyes closed so tight,
His fists clenched so strong
He feels the night,
He knows everything that happened was wrong.
The child stands and looks into the houses light
He stares at not the window,
Not at the sight,
Yet only for the weeping widow.
The child stands holding the gun,
The gun he died holding,
As he remembers his father killing him, his only son
He remembers his father scolding.
He knows he took a life,
Yet he knows his father took his,
He remembers not the taking of his father’s life,
Only the pain of his father stealing his.
His eyes so dark,
His mind so lost,
His hand tracing deaths mark,
As he remembers it’s cost.
He remembers the scene, the time,
He remembers the look in his father’s face,
He remembers doing the crime,
He remembers seeing the pain in his father’s face.
But then his memory stops,
And reality takes place,
For this is when he dropped,
This is when life left his face.
He walks past,
To eternity; to roam
Of all his memories this shall be his last
For this is the dead boy’s poem.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pull
Summertime came too soon,
Summers in kansas often do.
And the air was still,
I felt the pull.
I recall the heat rising from the ground in a way.
And I knew I was the first to pass this way.
I believe I step across some line,
Or I stumble through the doorway in space and time,
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name.
Always feel so alone,
Wherever I am I feel the pull,
And the life Ive left behind the pull.
And in case I have no future, Ive got the past
Theres no telling just how long this play will last.
I believe I step across some line,
Or I stumble through the doorway in space and time,
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name,
Never remembers.
Im down, walking through a storm.
I hear a voice inside, crying,
It calls my name like a judge accusing,
Black robe hanging down, whoah,
Dont forget be brave about your love.
Well I walk across the murky room,
And theres flashes in my eyes,
I dont know what Im doin.
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name.
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name,
Never remembers his name,
I never remember my name.
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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T-bone
Me and t-bone on the road to town
Its like Im walking with a talking machine
Just as soon as he thinks of something else
He wont wait to interrupt himself
Must be something that he cant quite say
He just doesnt want to leave it that way
Although he may not know it yet
Unless I miss my bet
Hes just trying to forget
What his heart remembers
I see that t-bone got an automobile
Low-loping and open to the sky
All night behind the hurricane wheel
Riding in the eye
All day underneath the hood
Mondo bondo, plastic wood
He needs a mile of masking tape
He wants to keep his ship in shape
Someday to escape
What his heart remembers (oh, yes,what his heart remembers)
T-bones not alone, not alone
Looks like he gets a second chance
Its mamarama and lumalamalu
Want to take him to recovery dance
Hes looking like he gets his meat suit back
I guess he must have missed the crack attack
Still hes riding for a fall
cause its written upon the wall
That now he must recall
What his heart remembers (what his heart remembers)
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On an Air of Rameau
A melancholy desire of ancient things
Floats like a faded perfume out of the wires;
Pallid lovers, what unforgotten desires,
Whispered once, are retold in your whisperings?
Roses, roses, and lilies with hearts of gold,
These you plucked for her, these she wore in her breast;
Only Rameau's music remembers the rest,
The death of roses over a heart grown cold.
But these sighs? Can ghosts then sigh from the tomb?
Life then wept for you, sighed for you, chilled your breath?
It is the melancholy of ancient death
The harpsichord dreams of, sighing in the room.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Even As
Even as the sun
remembers to rise,
My body is reminded
to open up my eyes.
I find it easier to do this
when the clouds
don't cover the sun.
Gloomy days depress me
even before the day's begun.
Even as the rain
remembers to fall,
My body is reminded
to listen to it all.
For the sound gives me time
to think of what it means
to give the earth its drink.
Rainy days caress me
like teardrops make me blink.
Even as the moon
remembers to shine,
My body is reminded
to relax and unwind.
The day has been too busy
to appreciate how I
am connected to the moon
and connected to the sky
Even as I breathe.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembrance
Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?
Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?
Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers
From those brown hills have melted into spring:
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!
Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!
No later light has lighten'd up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.
But when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy;
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy.
Then did I check the tears of useless passion—
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.
And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Music Swims Back to Me
Wait Mister. Which way is home?
They turned the light out
and the dark is moving in the corner.
There are no sign posts in this room,
four ladies, over eighty,
in diapers every one of them.
La la la, Oh music swims back to me
and I can feel the tune they played
the night they left me
in this private institution on a hill.
Imagine it. A radio playing
and everyone here was crazy.
I liked it and danced in a circle.
Music pours over the sense
and in a funny way
music sees more than I.
I mean it remembers better;
remembers the first night here.
It was the strangled cold of November;
even the stars were strapped in the sky
and that moon too bright
forking through the bars to stick me
with a singing in the head.
I have forgotten all the rest.
They lock me in this chair at eight a.m.
and there are no signs to tell the way,
just the radio beating to itself
and the song that remembers
more than I. Oh, la la la,
this music swims back to me.
The night I came I danced a circle
and was not afraid.
Mister?
poem by Anne Sexton
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A highly valuable chain of thoughts
HAD cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn,
No man would be a funker
Of whin, or burn, or bunker.
There were no need for mashies,
The turf would ne'er be torn,
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn.
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn,
The big trout would not ever
Escape into the river.
No gut the salmon smashes
Would leave us all forlorn,
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn.
But 'tis an unideal
Sad world in which we're born,
And things will 'go contrairy'
With Martin and with Mary:
And every day the real
Comes bleakly in with morn,
And cigarettes have ashes,
And every rose a thorn.
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream-Land
Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Dream Land
Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1893)
Submitted by anonym
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X
She remembers sounds cracked from words shells
Echoes across abandoned parks
Seashores
Somehow frozen in time
She talks out of tempo
A Stuttering shuffling game
But she is not playing
She watches
stopped still
Outside the life
That keeps turning
She remembers nothing
Not even her name.
X marks the spot
Later her bracelet is found in the mud
It carries her DNA
And the blood of a man she once loved
She will not return again
She remembers nothing
yvette m smith sept 08
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman's birthday but never remembers her age.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everyone who remembers his own education remembers teachers, not methods and techniques. The teacher is the heart of the educational system.
quote by Sidney Hook
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Way!
He’s a man
Who
Remembers me
Every day.
Remembers
Every word
I say!
Yet
Whenever he
Speaks to me
He somehow
Forgets to
Tell me
That he
Loves me
In every way.
Dare I remind him?
No way!
I shall keep his
‘Forgetfulness’
At bay ;)
Or else
When we talk again
He’ll be in total
Disarray!
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A comment on contemporary poetry
Not a true poem, to former minds;
but a poem that remembers truth;
not a good poem, to former minds;
but a poem that remembers goodness;
not a beautiful poem, to former minds;
but a poem that remembers beauty;
myself, as blissful
as a stretching cat.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembrance
Cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee!
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?
Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains on Angora's shore;
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
That noble heart for ever, ever more?
Cold in the earth - and fifteen wild Decembers
From those brown hills have melted into spring:
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!
Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong.
No other Sun has lightened up my heaven;
No other Star has ever shone for me:
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given--
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.
But when the days of golden dreams had perished
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy;
Then did I check my tears of useless passion -
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine!
And even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The tree and the grass
I feel high thinking that I am held high.
I stay high refusing to be held low
I am shy doing anything so low.
Let me stand like a tree to break in storm.
I feel low unmindful of others’ frowns.
I stay low unmindful of others’ applause.
I am shy doing anything bogus.
Let me stand like grass to bow to the breeze.
09.10.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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