How Deep Our Memory Lies
How deep our memories lie,
Beneath the silt and sediment of mind,
Deposited by the turbid stream of life.
Each succeeding springtime thaw swells
The stream of living, burying deeper still,
That memory matter of past forgotten years.
Quietly it lies beneath the strata of time.
It is only when we reach an age of questionable duration
That it seems to rise with haunting recollection, caused
By some stimulation to our senses,
Flooding our apprehending mind with remembrances.
Sound, smell, taste, touch, sight prompts
Those some things long lost in the still deeps of thought,
Overwhelming us in a deluge of emotional reminiscences.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Related quotes
Fundamental of Liar Chapter XLII: What Lies Beneath
beauty lies beneath
sense lies beneath
secret lies beneath
character lies beneath
rule lies beneath
mind lies beneath
past lies beneath
foundation lies beneath
root lies beneath
dark hole lies beneath
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Ghosts
Writers: leo sayer, les nicol & frank farrell
Ghosts
People that I left behind
Wondering lonely in the night
All in my memory
Dreams
Long forgotten flights of time
Flashbacks flooding through my mind
Of all the things you said to me
In the shadows where I walk
In the silence
The wind talks of you
Like a ghost
Haunting the night
So you wander through my life
Ghosts
People that I dont believe
Just what theyve got to do with me
Oh -- I cant see it
Ghosts
Long forgotten -- in time
Look at those flashbacks
Flooding through my mind
Of all the things youve said to me
In the shadows where I walk
In the silence
The wind talks of you
Just like a ghost
Haunting the night
You know you wander through my life
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can't Stop Lovin' You (Though I Try)
Leo Sayer, Les Nicol & Frank Farrell
ghosts
people that I left behind
wondering lonely in the night
all in my memory
dreams
long forgotten flights of time
flashbacks flooding through my mind
of all the things you said to me
in the shadows where I walk
in the silence
the wind talks of you
like a ghost
haunting the night
so you wander through my life
ghosts
people that I don't believe
just what they've got to do with me
oh -- I can't see it
ghosts
long forgotten -- in time
look at those flashbacks
flooding through my mind
of all the things you've said to me
in the shadows where I walk
in the silence
the wind talks of you
just like a ghost
haunting the night
you know you wander through my life
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Separate Long Decades Have Passed
long decades have passed
polar ice caps keep melting
ghost years between all passed away
time lost in sightless mists years
but there was not one no rainbows
time left us alone poles polar apart
yet through all those lost mist years
filled with work time spectral dreaming
your name haunted mind each day
memories came ever unbidden
in thoughts intrusive odd timed
such thoughts were never far away
I hoped lost years to you were gentle kind
lost out of sight never out of memory mind
eternal youth memories face to ages blind
I see you ever in heart’s mind memory
memories that echo through eternity
in this love which endures in perpetuity
long decades have passed
polar ice caps are still melting
ghost years between all passed away
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Subconciously
at the surface is a roy
could be roy something else
you face him
beneath a roy could be a jerry something
that you have met but could not fully
remember
you are determined not to be confused
and so you focus on the road that the the yellow bus is taking you
it is nothing but imagination
you are in the house
doing nothing because writing is actually nothing
beneath you is someone else and it
(a thing or something) is telling you what to write
you are not alarmed
it is nothing it is nothing but words and words are nothing
as a matter of familiarity
beneath your mind is the heart
beneath that heart are so many things
you try to enumerate names
and more names
and places
until you reach a certain marker, shades of red,
pathways of veins, flowing blood, all kept and contained
within the sound system
and then you look at your hands
beneath it
someone so lovely and beautiful
someone you desired for long
beneath you
and then you stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fish with no tail
as i gaze out of nature... i have seen a fish without a tail
impossible but its true, first things came up to my mind
is, ask whether its worth to give time to remember all
the scene or perhaps, just a memories of a simple
goodbye
as the fish swim, deep beneath the crystal blue water, i
couldn't remember the minutes, the hours past, nay i felt
that i haven't taken my meal, it seems all are just a blink
of a second in my eyes
it keeps on bubbling, even in a thousands seconds it
stay in the water, until i notice that the fish fail to surface
beneath the running water, for the absence of the tail
the body is nothing
all is just a mirror of a fish that, every movement of the
body, the twist of the tail has to follow, its a paradox to
believe that we see the tail of other fish, nay never we
saw that we don't have tail of our own
like the fish it swim, with no direction, only an inspiration
that we can do, yet as it goes there we go, tail that swim
in the water stream with no affection of what to do
now i see, how to swim, in water, lou! where i may go...in
the world of stream when everybody is frame......
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Classical Thought
While the trees will give me the thoughts I need,
For the life of roses beneath the leaves,
There's a light for me and for everyone,
To repay the shadows of days and eves.
When the mind remembers the youth of life
And the countless seconds and hours and years,
There runs a stream from within our eyes-
Is a stream of ailing but shining tears.
The time of life begins and ends----
In an epic of thousands of pains and gains.
poem by Osama Waqar
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Memories In The Old Brain
-the smell of water
a scent hanging in the air
a trail through parched, barren land
now greened by rain
in a time of plenty.
the taste of marrow
fresh from the cracked bone,
touched by a fire
that lights the way
to a time of plenty
the sight of a day
over savanna grass,
sight without mystery
without awe
or the art to feel the dawn
and see the light with a new eye
in a time of plenty
the sound of a wild call,
a beast
stirring the heart,
a heart yet to be gripped
by the savage's siren call
to a time of plenty.
Memories deep in my core
of scent, taste, sight, sound
water, fire, light, howl
-memories from a time undefined
-before memory shaped
light and dark into day and night
-before memory became
slave and master of time.
I am a child of these memories,
before and after.
Dancing to the rhythm of time
I am old
in a time of plenty.
poem by Ronald Shields
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I Had a Vision
I dreamed a dream, a vision came to me.
Lost youth imploring, 'God, we beg of Thee! '
With lined and aged face, though they were young,
They plead for mercy, silence had no tongue.
At flooding shore, they streached for higher ground.
Earth slipped beneath them, cries the only sound.
Extending them my hand, they could not reach.
In tides of sorrow, eyes their only speech.
Debauchery engulfed them, steeped in brine.
Their temple housed an hedonistic shrine.
They struggled for the surface, death their fate.
Akashic records were the scrivener's slate.
Past hope, their childhood blossemed all too soon.
Depraved, they thought that life would not impugn.
Within the deep I entered in their mind,
So many broken promises, so blind.
The sadness is: The waste of all those years.
The irony is: The sea was their own tears.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Corridors Of Our Memories
Down the corridors of our memories,
we stroll whenever we can,
finding snippets of our life left behind.
Loves that we wanted but lost,
heartaches that fell upon us
in those long ago days.
We stroll down the corridors
looking for things we forgot
finding little pockets
that we had forgotten about.
Little treasure that made our life full
now only a memory from a faraway hill
that we once climbed,
but will never climb again.
Faces flicker passed as if on some movie screen
of people from our past never to be seen again.
All of them deposited along
the corridors of our memories
where we like to stroll along
every now and then.
poem by David Harris
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Memories in the mind
Memories are made in the mind,
and there if you search, you will find.
There in the mind, so many things,
so many memories it brings.
So many years have passed,
of our youth, away we have cast
some memories happy, some memories sad,
memories have I, when I was a lad.
Memories have I, of a dog named shep,
memories of him, when he kept in step.
Memories of my friends, when we played,
of those days, for ever memories relayed.
Memories of family and fun,
when we talked until the setting of sun.
Memories of washing our fifty-seven Ford,
and wanting things we couldn't afford.
Memories are made in the mind,
long lost, search and you will find,
memories of days gone by,
searching memories, oh how you try.
Memories will fade out,
you have forgotton, what it's about,
memories lost in the mind,
dig them out and you will find.
Strolling down memory lane
Strolling down memory lane
Where the colors begin to fade.
Strolling down memory lane
Is where I want you to come along.
Strolling down memory lane
is a test of time and mind.
Strolling down memory lane
I won’t be afraid.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not lacking in color.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not a big bummer.
Strolling down memory lane
Not a storm in sight
Strolling down memory lane
is joy without bite.
A memory that I have created in my mind,
Stands the test of time.
Memories are like dream, a reflection of the past.
My memories can kiss my…
Ask me no questions I will tell you no lies.
poem by Taran Burke
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Within The Recesses Of Our Mind
Deep within the recesses of our mind
are little pockets
that store the essence of our time.
On odd occasions,
they unlock their barrier
and set some of our time free.
Things of what we’ve half-forgotten,
voices that we’ve heard from long ago,
love we’ve had and lost.
Times we wanted to remember,
but were lost from our memory
that have been stored
deep within the recesses of our mind.
11 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Departure
Be it sight, sound, the smell, the touch.
Theres something,
Inside that we need so much,
The sight of a touch, or the scent of a sound,
Or the strength of an arquebus deep in the ground.
The wonder of flowers, to be covered, and then to burst up,
Thru tarmack, to the sun again,
Or to fly to the sun without burning a wing,
To lie in the meadow and hear the grass sing,
To have all these things in our memories hoard,
And to use them,
To help us,
To find...
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Gallant Lady
Upon every pathway I walk, I see your shadow, and
In every pond and creek, I see your reflection-
Upon these pathways I find the trace of your footsteps.
In every thought I have, your memory is still alive.
You are gone and departed from this world.
I can still feel the sting upon my cheek from the slap of your hand and
The sound of your voice wrathfully scolding me
Forever haunts me.
More haunting and most terrifying is the
Silence that rings and echoes inside of my mind from the
Days you refused to speak to me-
Being just a child, these moments were incomprehensible.
In every mirror, when I do still see your reflection,
Tears stream down my flushed cheeks and I ask myself-
Why, being flooded with the pain of past reminiscences of
Negligence and rejection does my heart, soul and very essence
Feel such longing and agony of loss?
I can almost hear your written words upon that lined yellow paper say
“I love you” and in the back of my mind, I remember
The fun and the good times that we shared as your laughter
Rang out as a sonata throughout every room in our home-
I cannot forget the grin that illuminated your majestically striking countenance,
While I can still feel the sincerity of love in your frequent warm embraces-
Recollections of your own suffering throughout so much of your life
Now comes forcefully towards me as would a whole gale and
Now I realize that you were the best mother that you could ever be.
I still can see your shadow which I yearn to follow and
I can still envision your footprints making a trail before me-
I shall follow those footprints wherever I walk, as
You were a person whose strength I so admire.
I shall forever cherish the memories of a brave person whose life had been difficult-
Memories of a gallant lady whose courage and perseverance shall forever radiate
Inside of my thoughts and shall always touch my spirit, as I shall always be
Proud, although you are no longer with us- to call you my mother…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Love, Grief, Death, Peace and Life Make War
Love, grief, death, peace, and life make war.
Within the grasps of victory, here lies grief.
Striving to keep a soul alive, thriving for life
whispers of sanity fade from the sight of death.
An outstretched limb pleading for a touch of peace
as a memory of happiness fills the heart with love.
Controlling senses fester upon a long lost love,
breathing in deep, it’s the smell of a war.
Muffled cries creep into your soul, pleading for peace.
You lick your blood stained lips, tasting the bitter grief.
piercing voices thunder upon the ground, accepting death
as a memory of loneliness fills their heart with an absence of life.
Tears of blood come forth into a dimension of twisted life.
The air, heavy and hot, hover over you ridding the land of any former love.
A chorus of saints and sinners sing to you, singing the song of death,
”O come ye child, come into my arms and rid yourself of this war.
Gather your mind and venture to the morrow, leaving behind this haunting grief,
for it is not your fault that this world does not know peace.”
You close your eyes, feeling the sensation of eternal peace.
You can not move any aching limb, within an inch of life
you follow the scent of reigning mud, caking itself to the world’s own grief.
Wandering past the forgotten lives to seek the one true love
that carries upon it’s shoulders, a burden of war.
This land can no longer hold itself with peace as all the peace has turned to death.
Forging itself upon your spirit, the lies no longer live, now it is only death
that caresses your body like a mother so tender, illuminating the one and only peace.
Taunting you to go and be afraid no more, taunting and taunting, this is war.
With one last plea, you beg and cry for the voices to take your life
as you know that the searching prisms of hope will find your love
and they will abolish the need of any misery and any grief.
Once more do the saints and sinners sing of your grief
only this time, there is no mourning of war and death.
They’ve come to pour into your heart, a sound so divine. It is love.
”Dear child, dear child, no more shall you weep, we are here, we’re your peace.
Come with us to a land so pure, where love is eternal and death is not near. We will give you life.
With a trust so deep, take our hands and no more, no more, shall this be your burden of war.”
In times of sorrow and fear, lost is the value of love and peace.
All is forgotten while caged by grief and watching the slaughter of life.
You watch your fallen brothers, reaching for help, you hear the despair in all their voices.
You’re the saint and sinner, giving them hope.
You cease your thoughts, you must fight on.
You aim your gun, praying for death. This is war.
poem by Mason Letoto
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Can Streams Flow Along The River Sides?
Can the streams run upto the oceans far?
Can they run along the side of the rivers known?
You were a river and I a stream
Who flowed together once.
Using the sixth sense I read your mind
The one none could read before.
Each line written on your mind
Unveiled a portrait painted never.
You were a river and I a stream..
Aside my failing senses old
Triumphed my sixth sense young.
You, the river got flooded
And I, the stream was drowned.
Denouncing the last reason left you kept even my soul off-
An act someone else could have done.
Each word spoken at my funeral often
Unravelled the mystery of your mind.
Along the side of the river of your ego,
May I flow as a stream entwining you ever in the next life too?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Future Selected
A memory or two
Returning...reappearing
Surprisingly entering our hearts again
Not the same...always rearranged
Haunting and intriguing
Living and dying
Pushing and pulling
Remembering togetherness
Moments of shared hearts
In the midst of isolation
Remembering that we were
Not alone
No longer applying
Such long forgotten
Traces of feeling and thought
Never again will our lives
Be as they were
A future uncertain...
With unknown duration
Past reflected as if present
Selecting each moment
Wondering...searching for meaning
Past changing...as the future
Takes hold of us
poem by Bridgid Patrick
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I Don't Know if I Like It
Why,
Are you in my mind...
More,
Than I'd like to admit.
More,
Than I can resist.
I don't know if I like it.
And...
Why,
Can't I find the time...
To,
Determine the reason or the rhyme...
You are in my mind,
Haunting.
You're haunting every move regardless what I do.
Haunting all my moods,
No matter what I choose...
You are there.
You are,
Everywhere.
Why,
Are you in my mind...
More,
Than I'd like to admit.
More,
Than I can resist.
I don't know if I like it.
Even in my dreams...
And I don't know if I like it.
Even my routines...
And I don't know if I like,
You are there.
You are everywhere.
In different scenes I see,
You are there everythere within me...
Haunting.
Why,
Are you in my mind...
More,
Than I'd like to admit.
More,
Than I can resist.
I don't know if I like it.
Or why it is invited...
To live and breathe so deep in me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sensibility
The five senses of man
sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing
are mandatory.
This makes you feel expeallagrandatory,
For sight for seeing the funny side of life,
Smell for inhaling laughing gas,
Touch for touching the funny bone,
Taste for the good life and,
Hearing for a rib tickling joke.
The sixth sense ESP. is only for the few.
The lucky are blessed with the seventh sense,
A sense of humour.
Like the barman answering the lady penguin’s question
“Have you seen my husband he drinks here a lot? ”
“Lady we get lots of drinkers in here, what does he look like? ”
Most important of all
This humorous sense stands tall,
It opens your emotional sensibilities
So grab your lover for platform seven
To travel on the happy train,
To the fun side of life,
It’s just like heaven.
poem by Ken e Hall
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