En.Citatepedia^®.ro

244

In our old house made of limestone
Many ferns and moss Grow

But though how lush
And numerous have
They become

My memories
Still outnumber them

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Memories Of The Old House

In our old house
Paved with limestones
Many ferns and moss
Grow
But though how lush
And numerous have
They become
My memories
Still outnumber them

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beneath The Lush Of The Nipa Palms

beneath the lush of the nipa palms
are the homes of crabs beside is
the river the niche for the schools of
fish and on the river banks are
glossy pebbles some silent greens
of moss and ferns,
amidst all these beauteous secrets
perhaps we shall remember
how sweetly once we spent the
passionate night together...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beneath The Lush Of The Nipa Palms (2)

beneath the lush of the nipa palms
are the homes of crabs beside is
the river the niche for the schools of
fish and on the river banks are
glossy pebbles some silent greens
of moss and ferns,
amidst all these beauteous secrets
perhaps we shall remember
how sweetly once we spent the
passionate night together...

please, please, take time to remember.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflection 0.2

when you arrive here
there is no stone not a single stone
there is no moss not a single hair of a green moss
then there was the pain of waiting
time is always delaying its coming
trains stopped and cars are having flat tires
but you are faithful you keep on waiting you entertain promises
like dear memories or dreams or wishes that come true somehow
and you waited for so long

now this place is filled with stones and moss grow in each body of the stone
the waters spread their territories and land is emaciated
and the house is covered with water and the roof is gone

and there is nobody here anymore and it is only i who remember you and
i tell them about you and they do not believe me

and i feel like i am a ship that just sunk.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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thick moss
coats the roof of my house
foggy memories

haiku by Chenou Liu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little House Made Out Of Logs

I was raised in a little house
Made out of logs
Had a dirt chimney
Made from moss
Cut out windows
No glass at all
Little house
Made out of logs
Never swept any floor
Made out of dirt
You don't see any more
Kerosene lamps
Water from the spring
Makes me thirsty again
Raised on potatoes and cornbread
Wood stove was all we had
Never thought much about the holidays
Just a season for another time and place
Can't forget how I was raised
Makes you learn to appreciate
I could do the same in time
Little log house
On my mind

poem by Monette Paul
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The Monument Of All Our Wrongs

i build a house
no one likes it.

the house is empty
i put some chairs.

someone comes and
says, this house is

lonely, it needs
a sound

it is boring and needs
a paint

i put a tree beside
its stairs

i grow another
fence

i put a lone bulb
on a post

and leave the house
for good

that is what the
house is made

there is always
missing

something is
always wrong

this is the house
of regret

it is the monument
of all our wrongs.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Own Disater

Just think of this and me,
as just a few of the many things,
to lie around and clutter up your shelves
I wish you wern't worht the wait
cos theres somthing id like to say to you
and i dont think that you knwo what you've been missing
and i dont think that you knwow hat you've been missing
and i dare you to forget
the marks oyu left across my neck
from those nights when we were both at our best
and now i could make this obvious
and you, you could deny me
all in one breath you could shug mr off your shoulders
cos i dont think that you know what oyuve been missing
and i dont hitnk that you knwo what you've been missing
cos i dont think that you,
i said i dont think that you know
cos i dont think that you know what youve been missing
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
hey lush have fun
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
hey lush have fun
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(oh i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(oh i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
forget me its that simple
forget me its that simple
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
no i dont think that you know what youve been missing)
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
forget me, its that simple
just forget me , its that simple

song performed by by Taking Back Sunday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The moss that loves the stone

It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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.

poem by Jim Foulk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of Lost Joy and Faded Memories...

I have suddenly realized I have lost it.
I have lost the joy that was in my life.
When did that happen?

I don't know the exact day...however
as near as I can figure out, it happened
slowly. Ever so slowly...almost unperceptively.

Of course the joy in ones life manifests itself
through that in life that one loves. And so...
mine...my joy, slowly left...as those I love were
no longer in my life. Some of it left, when I
moved...and left behind the drooping willows that
fronted the house I no longer have. The house
where so many beautiful memories were born.

Lots of it left...when the friends of a lifetime
were house in places I no longer went to. It left when
I stopped the ritual of fine dining in places where I
was known by name. It left with scores of doormen,
and servers that I had grow found of.

Most of it...most of my joy, left with family...when came
the day when holidays and other celebrations no longer
was a part of my life.

I miss the joy in my life. I miss all the loved ones
that I shall never see again. Some dead...some
scattered like leaves in the wind, to the far
corners of the earth.

As I grow older, faded memories of joy become less
vivid. Until...a day like today...when something
.or someone reminds me...
Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories.

I have suddenly realized I have lost it.
I have lost the joy that was in my life.
When did that happen?

I don't know the exact day...however
as near as I can figure out, it happened
slowly. Ever so slowly...almost unperceptively.

Of course the joy in ones life manifests itself
through that in life that one loves. And so...
mine...my joy, slowly left...as those I love were
no longer in my life. Some of it left, when I
moved...and left behind the drooping willows that
fronted the house I no longer have. The house
where so many beautiful memories were born.

Lots of it left...when the friends of a lifetime
were house in places I no longer went to. It left when
I stopped the ritual of fine dining in places where I
was known by name. It left with scores of doormen,
and servers that I had grow found of.

Most of it...most of my joy, left with family...when came
the day when holidays and other celebrations no longer
was a part of my life.

I miss the joy in my life. I miss all the loved ones
that I shall never see again. Some dead...some
scattered like leaves in the wind, to the far
corners of the earth.

As I grow older, faded memories of joy become less
vivid. Until...a day like today...when something
.or someone reminds me...
Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost It...I Don't Know When Or

I have suddenly realized I have lost it.
I have lost the joy that was in my life.
When did that happen?

I don't know the exact day...however
as near as I can figure out, it happened
slowly. Ever so slowly...almost unperceptivly.

Of course the joy in ones life manifests itself
through that in life that one loves. And so...
mine...my joy, slowly left...as those I love were
no longer in my life. Some of it left, when I
moved...and left behind the drooping willows that
fronted the house I no longer have. The house
where so many beautiful memories were born.

Lots of it left...when the friends of a lifetime
were house in places I no longer went to. It left when
I stopped the ritual of fine dining in places where I
was known by name. It left with scores of doormen,
and servers that I had grow found of.

Most of it...most of my joy, left with family...when came
the day when holidays and other celebrations no longer
was a part of my life.

I miss the joy in my life. I miss all the loved ones
that I shall never see again. Some dead...some
scattered like leaves in the wind, to the far
corners of the earth.

As I grow older, faded memories of joy become less
vivid. Until...a day like today...when something
.or someone reminds me...
Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories

I have suddenly realized I have lost it.
I have lost the joy that was in my life.
When did that happen?

I don't know the exact day...however
as near as I can figure out, it happened
slowly. Ever so slowly...almost imperceptibly

Of course the joy in ones life manifests itself
through that in life that one loves. And so...
mine...my joy, slowly left...as those I love were
no longer in my life. Some of it left, when I
moved...and left behind the drooping willows that
fronted the house I no longer have. The house
where so many beautiful memories were born.

Lots of it left...when the friends of a lifetime
were house in places I no longer went to. It left when
I stopped the ritual of fine dining in places where I
was known by name. It left with scores of doormen,
and servers that I had grow found of.

Most of it...most of my joy, left with family...when came
the day when holidays and other celebrations no longer
was a part of my life.

I miss the joy in my life. I miss all the loved ones
that I shall never see again. Some dead...some
scattered like leaves in the wind, to the far
corners of the earth.

As I grow older, faded memories of joy become less
vivid. Until...a day like today...when something
.or someone reminds me...
Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories
.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Somewhere...Somehow...I Lost It

I have suddenly realized I have lost it.
I have lost the joy that was in my life.
When did that happen?

I don't know the exact day...however
as near as I can figure out, it happened
slowly. Ever so slowly...almost unperceptively.

Of course the joy in ones life manifests itself
through that in life that one loves. And so...
mine...my joy, slowly left...as those I love were
no longer in my life. Some of it left, when I
moved...and left behind the drooping willows that
fronted the house I no longer have. The house
where so many beautiful memories were born.

Lots of it left...when the friends of a lifetime
were house in places I no longer went to. It left when
I stopped the ritual of fine dining in places where I
was known by name. It left with scores of doormen,
and servers that I had grow found of.

Most of it...most of my joy, left with family...when came
the day when holidays and other celebrations no longer
was a part of my life.

I miss the joy in my life. I miss all the loved ones
that I shall never see again. Some dead...some
scattered like leaves in the wind, to the far
corners of the earth.

As I grow older, faded memories of joy become less
vivid. Until...a day like today...when something
..or someone reminds me...
Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories

I have suddenly realized I have lost it.
I have lost the joy that was in my life.
When did that happen?

I don't know the exact day...however
as near as I can figure out, it happened
slowly. Ever so slowly...almost unperceptively.

Of course the joy in ones life manifests itself
through that in life that one loves. And so...
mine...my joy, slowly left...as those I love were
no longer in my life. Some of it left, when I
moved...and left behind the drooping willows that
fronted the house I no longer have. The house
where so many beautiful memories were born.

Lots of it left...when the friends of a lifetime
were house in places I no longer went to. It left when
I stopped the ritual of fine dining in places where I
was known by name. It left with scores of doormen,
and servers that I had grow found of.

Most of it...most of my joy, left with family...when came
the day when holidays and other celebrations no longer
was a part of my life.

I miss the joy in my life. I miss all the loved ones
that I shall never see again. Some dead...some
scattered like leaves in the wind, to the far
corners of the earth.

As I grow older, faded memories of joy become less
vivid. Until...a day like today...when something
..or someone reminds me...
Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Fading Memories

I have suddenly realized I have lost it.
I have lost the joy that was in my life.
When did that happen?

I don't know the exact day...however
as near as I can figure out, it happened
slowly. Ever so slowly...almost unperceptively.

Of course the joy in ones life manifests itself
through that in life that one loves. And so...
mine...my joy, slowly left...as those I love were
no longer in my life. Some of it left, when I
moved...and left behind the drooping willows that
fronted the house I no longer have. The house
where so many beautiful memories were born.

Lots of it left...when the friends of a lifetime
were house in places I no longer went to. It left when
I stopped the ritual of fine dining in places where I
was known by name. It left with scores of doormen,
and servers that I had grow found of.

Most of it...most of my joy, left with family...when came
the day when holidays and other celebrations no longer
was a part of my life.

I miss the joy in my life. I miss all the loved ones
that I shall never see again. Some dead...some
scattered like leaves in the wind, to the far
corners of the earth.

As I grow older, faded memories of joy become less
vivid. Until...a day like today...when something
.or someone reminds me...
Of Lost Joy...And Fading Memories.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Indian Springs

I KNOW a shady hollow 'neath the pines,
Rich floored with velvet moss and trailing vines,
Where grouping ferns grow lusty, tall, and green,
With sipping from the bowl o'er which they lean;
And crimson berries on the margin cling,
Like drops of blood about the Indian spring.

On this same spot these many years ago
A graceful figure knelt and, bending low,
Wrist-deep in moss, one hand curved to a cup,
The water to her scarlet lips dipped up.
A heron's wing drooped from her dusky hair,
Which draped her rich-hued cheeks and shoulders bare.

Swift, stealthy footsteps took her by surprise;
She started, flushed, and met his eager eyes,—
A noble figure, young and lithe and tall,
With one proud eagle feather crowning all.
A pause, a word, and lo! the heron's wing
Brushed with the eagle's there above the spring.

Two cruel eyes gleamed from the piny shade,
Fixed on the bended heads of man and maid;
Sudden, a gray goose feather with a twang
Of hate and envy from the darkness sprang.
One shrilling cry—the heron wing was fled;
Low lay the eagle plume; the spring ran red.

The years have gone; new mosses veil the ground,
New ferns, new vines:—but here the spring I found,
And here the gray goose shalt its story told,—
A heart of flint 'neath moss and years of mold
And vines to which the blood-red berries cling,
I found an arrow by the Indian spring.

poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 22, Issue 4 (1897)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Rebellious Vine

One day, the vine
That clomb on god’s own house
Cried, “I will not
grow

And, ‘I will
not
grow,’
And, I
will
not grow,’
And,
‘I
will not grow,’
So God leaned out his head,
And said:

‘You need
not
Then the vine
fluttered its leaves, and cried to all the winds:
‘Oh have I not permission from the Lord?
And may I not begin to cease to grow?’
But that wise God had pondered on the vine
Before he made it.
And all the while it laboured not to grow,
It grew; it grew;
And all the time God knew.

poem by Harold Monro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memories

Memories of good times
Memories of bad times
Memories of our love
So many memories

Memories of us crying
Memories of us laughing
Memories of our commitment
So many memories

Memories of us hugging
Memories of us kissing
Memories of those late nights
So many memories

Memories of how we met
Memories of how you left
Memories of what you said
So many memories

Why did you leave me
with so many memories
Did you ever realize
that my memories are yours

Everything we did together
stays within our memories
I remember getting hurt
Do you hurt too

Let's make a new memory
that we can both share
Let's love again
in our memories

poem by Adam McKim
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