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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My Memories
Today will be a memory
yesterday is a memory drifting away
memories turn into tears,
tearing us apart.
Fear of moving on, afraid of change,
in a minute this will just be a memory
memories are all pain in vain
memories are like dreams, a reflection of the past.
Memories are vision of what it used to be.
my memories are sadness and struggle
what are yours?
are they sadness and struggle?
You are but a memory
that dwindles as each day passes me by.
and as you slowly vanish
I huddle in my room and cry.
A memory that’s all I have
that’s all that’s left of you
nothing but a mere memory
that still lingers, only for a little while longer in my head.
Don’t forget about the past
without memories there is no yesterday.
make every day one to remember a
memory to move on with no regrets
poem by lizzy Sydney
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The memory river
The memory river painting all of our memories *
Together we passed all of heart solitude*
Followed swift the life flow*
Hoped we love never death*
Constant we needs wrote the story*
The memory river was the picture we have long hopes*
Where all followed the lines of the Lord*
We said was together we have the sorrow*
We said was broken become two*
I'still remember we have ever sitting near in the silent river of silence*
I'still remember we have conscience crying*
Your conscience always said*
Where i'saw sincere from my heart eyes*
The memory river flowed heade the area ocean*
The memory river never dry forevermore*
I'need we said like the river memory*
Never dry we love forevermore*
I Sit On A Tree
i sit on a tree
on a strong branch
below me a river flows
far away at a distance
a snow-capped cone
shaped mountain
some clouds drift
near my shoulder
i am just this little
boy trying to see
my coming world.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Memories
Today will be a memory
yesterday is a memory drifting away
memories turn into tears,
tearing us apart.
Fear of moving on, afraid of change,
in a minute this will just be a memory
memories are all pain in vain
memories are like dreams, a reflection of the past.
Memories are vision of what it used to be.
my memories are sadness and struggle
what are yours?
are they sadness and struggle?
You are but a memory
that dwindles as each day passes me by.
and as you slowly vanish
I huddle in my room and cry.
A memory that’s all I have
that’s all that’s left of you
nothing but a mere memory
that still lingers, only for a little while longer in my head.
Don’t forget about the past
without memories there is no yesterday.
make every day one to remember a
memory to move on with no pain or anymore regrets
poem by Ralph Acosta
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A Silent River Part2
Sunday is a holiday
I'do again
I'makes again
The memories of the silent river
I'come again
To remember
I'have ever love and miss
Here in the silent river, silent so silence
The memories of the silent river
I'felt his love again in this river
I'felt his longing again in this river
I'felt his kindly again in this river
And i'see again his softly face in the water
In this silent river, silent so silence
The silent river
Makes me remember
I'miss again
the silent river
Makes me to get so many things
Sitting nearby silent river
Come to me the lonely
Come to me the long yearning
Come to me the tears
Come to me the rain
The silent river keep my memories good
In the silent river, silent so silence
Save me now, from all the dejected
To spin around all back
This silence is geeting on my nerves
Were i'am so afraid
You were to be lost in thought
And all was lost to me
Here in the silent river, silent so silence
Thru The Eyes Of A Child
When I was a child I climbed the tallest tree that I could find
To see all the beauties that GOD left behind.
I've never been to any snow capped mountain
Or ever climbed the highest peak
But he shows me words and lays them at my feet.
I see the baseball field where my friends and I would play
And I see the patch of grass where my head would lay.
I see myself laying there as the world passes by
Counting every cloud that's high up in the sky.
I feel the summer breeze as it passes through my hair
Ever so gentle- much more than I could bare.
I climbed up higher at least sixty feet above the ground
Just so I could hear all those familiar sounds.
The birds singing tunes to delight the ears
Wiping away all those childish fears.
I gazed across the park taking in all the sights
Watching younger children in the sprinklers
Jumping with delight.
I felt myself getting light headed, but not because of the height
But because of the words which I knew I could not fight.
So I climbed down from the tree, and said a little prayer
For the words he had given me
I knew that I must share.
This was my first inkling for what was in store for me
That was when I knew- I had to write poetry.
poem by Louis Rams
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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
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The Wattlebirds Kept Busy All The Day
The wattlebirds kept busy all the day
From flowering gum trees chasing them away
But wattlebirds though big are not so fleet
And they can't catch purple crowned lorikeet.
Green neck and back and shoulder patch green brown
And reddish face and purple patch on crown
And orange patch on neck and undersides light blue
They live in small flocks as most small lories do.
These lorikeets in many places rare
But in You Yangs park one sees them everywhere
They feed in groups and fly from tree to tree
And make much noise and prove quite hard to see.
Gregarious birds they spend their daylight hours
Taking nectar from the eucalyptus flowers
And wattlebirds kept busy all the day
From flowering gum trees chasing them away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Before The Birth
Oh, little child come in the world
everyone are waiting to you
how will you see
how will you play on the bad
world is old, very old
and you, you are new leaf
so don't worry my little child
you will handle problem
oh my little child.....
you didn't see flowing river and fish also
you didn't see great mountain and forest also
when you see that its more your expectation
every one in that live peacefully
but there is little heumanity like a calamity
so little child you see world feature
then make future
oh little child.........
poem by Sanjay Kirar
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A Memory Shall Flow
Into a melody, a memory shall flow
Guided by an echo, and, ever so slow
O're to the mountains, t'is dancing on a breeze
T'is the echo laughing with the trees.
Into the sky to the path of the unknown
A great many memories, o're the miles have flown
Remember an echo has a memory in tow
T'is yours for the picking, t'is yours to show.
Into an echo conducting its humble chores
When to look upon a memory is completely yours
Building a mountain of memories an echo's test
To pick from a tree, the memories I like best.
poem by M. Rene Riel
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One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father, A child. The meaningful bond
A father whispers to the child
As the child continues to ignore his spoken words
As if his owner was almost invisible from the corner of his eye
The child shouts – silence” the father then trembles disfigured to heart
He stands crying tears of fury with the spark of love of his child’s naivety.
The child carries on his missions, his father watches him do his thing”
When finally one day the child realizes his insane character, the father then
Ignores his presence..
Appreciate what you have here, now, but not always.
because 'you never know'.
poem by Noorie Ali
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Stary Nights
Nights are made of dreams and stars,
memories that last because you didn't go to the bar.
Smiles make men weak,
and for you its an easy feat.
Simply opening those eyes,
just does things to all of us guys.
A memory given, a memory lost,
but that is only a small cost.
So slumber away safe in your bed, just remember,
someone else has you fresh in their head.
poem by Brandon Chiles
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Lifes Like A River
Music :ulrich roth, rudolf schenker
Lyrics:c. fortman
As years are passing by
Silence becomes your friend
You see the world in a different way
Dont be afraid of getting old
Lifes still full of joy
And the beauty of the past is rejoicing your mind
When days are getting short
And winter comes along
Your life slows down and down
Like a river is getting wide
The worlds have lost their voice
You remember your morning flowing to the endless sea
When days are getting short
And winter comes along
Your life slows down and down
Like a river is getting wide
The worlds have lost their voice
You remember your morning flowing to the endless sea
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
Lifes like a river in the mountain
Lifes like a sea without end
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pumping Water At The Old Well....
since there is no electricity
you pump water from the well,
it is still dark, and the chickens are still on the trees,
you sweat it out so you can have water in this village
memories keep flashing scene by scene
when you were once a young boy doing errands for mama
when you were ordered to take the morning bath
but you simply ignored it and climbed instead the balimbing tree
the branch gave way and there you fell
mama was hysterical as you lost consciousness
your memory stopped right there and then
you were always a disobedient boy and now a man
it seems that there is still no difference to speak of
and you remember someone wise enough to say that the child has always been the father of man
you pump more water and now you know what this really means.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Little Child And The Small Bird
THE LITTLE CHILD AND THE SMALL BIRD
When I was a little child
Once in my hands
A small bird I held
Maybe too tight
The small bird didn't move
It had just died
And all now I did
Sorrowfully I cried
My dearest child
Mother gently smoothed me
Your love must have been too strong
The little bird couldn't hold on
And so life goes on
But never could I forget
The little bird's tragic end
When I was a little child
Now when spending time with you
My fear is the same
As my love might be too strong
And I am terrified
Like a little child
Mencita Monoï Angel
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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Read This Aloud
i am beautiful
i am not alone
i am self-sufficient
i am kind
i am happy
i am peaceful
i am living in the grace of God
i am human
i have erred &
i am forgiven
i am exuding happiness
i am a ray of hope
i am the sun of warmth
i am the rain of satisfaction
i fall upon the grass
i give life to the earth
i am like a bird singing on a twig
i am a song in the air
i am a lotus sitting on a pond of water
i am a river flowing peacefully on the banks of the Nile
i am the child of the universe
i am a star
i am a tree
i am a leaf
i am a rose
i am a sailboat sailing peacefully at sea
i am everything that i can be
i am a wish
i come true
i am the happy child of God
i am loved
i know how to love
i love
i am smiling
my eyes speak
my mouth waters
to the sweetness of this world
i am everything
i am this universe within me.
i believe.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember Me, The Child! Michael Jackson: In His Own Words!
Remember me, the child!
Look past the man, deep into the innocence of my eyes
A towering giant of a man before I was grown
Still, searching for the childhood I have never known
Have you seen my childhood, the innocence of my age?
Remember me, the child! A life devoid of its shade!
Remember me, the child!
The child, forced to grow up long before his time
The evil had landed; life, I was outdone
Haunted by the image of the man I have become
A life less wanted, with an ever mounting cost
Remember me, the child! I tried to beat it, but lost
Remember me, the child!
Follow on this journey into the mystery of my life
Dark shadows and buried secrets, controversies reigned
Unable to grow up, mines was more of torture, and pains
Enslaved by the demands of a vindictive ideal
Remember me, the child! The horrors of my ordeal!
Remember me, the child!
A thriller of epic melodies, I sang the songs of life
I danced my way into hearts with a musical rage
Transcended every border, the world was my stage
I bridged the racial, cultural divide, my talent defined me
Remember me, the child! The music, my legacy!
Remember me, the child!
Look past the image, into the innocence of my eyes
Walk with me in an adventure down memory lane
See what it costs to wear the honor of my name
I may be bad, with an attitude, still, I am who I am
Remember me, the child! The legacy, the man!
Remember me, the child!
Like a burnt of flame, there is no more light
The journey has ended, it took flight with wings
In the twinkling of an eye, gone with the wind
The blossom is no longer a flowering bloom
Remember me, the child! Sadly, gone too soon!
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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Through Her Eyes
Nicholas:
She never really had a chance
On that fateful moonlit night
Sacrificed without a fight
A victim of her circumstance
Now that I've become aware
And I've exposed this tragedy
A sadness grows inside of me
It all seems so unfair
I'm learning all about my life
By looking through her eyes
Just beyond the churchyard gates
Where the grass is overgrown
I saw the writing on her stone
I felt like I would suffocate
Inloving memory of our child
So innocent
song performed by by Dream Theater from Metropolis Part 2: Scenes From A Memory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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