Essence Of A Memory
Music and laughter drifted from a gazebo on the green lawn
As the spring breeze blew fresh flowery scents into the air;
We were at the park and all I could think about was your hair
Caressing your shoulders in the sunlight.
We were young and we believed that none of our actions
Though amorously brimming over with unconquerable desire
Could be anything but child-like angelic innocence
More heroic than the Garden of Eden.
You held my hand and my pulse rate rose
And my mind was ecstatic with wondrous excitement;
I touched your face with my fingers,
I thought maybe that very moment I would expire.
I don’t remember anything you said
But your voice was like nightingales by an evening stream
Where sages and poets sit to find their dreams,
Your every breath was miraculous and enticing to me.
We fumbled and made naïve inexperienced kisses
That would never make a Hollywood movie gross millions
But I was drunk with more intense happiness
Than most mortals will ever know or express…
The essence of this memory still leaves me enraptured.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Related quotes
To be in Awe of a Woman,
To be in awe of a woman,
The fragrance of sunlight upon her hair,
The way her voice finds resonance within the core
Of your being,
The way the mind sees the beauty of her face
Even while meditatively walking a sunless street,
Her mysterious and penetrating eyes
That seemingly pre-date human existence
To find the seed of eternity.
Everyone must find heroic meaning and purpose
For his sojourn on earth,
Somehow write his history in the stars
And declare I was happily here
For a brief and wondrous moment of joy,
That I saw the woman that painters and art museums
Attempted to capture on glorious canvases
But marvelously failed,
I also failed with every written line to express
The fragile breath-like vision of splendor that I witnessed,
The supernatural power of the feminine essence,
But I saw the entrancing woman and my heart made homage.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Ever Being In Love Again
Desire never ceases
Because she’s gone,
Memory returns her
Tightly into my embrace.
Summer dresses
And lovely jaunts
On flowery streets,
Sunlight laughter
Fills the park.
Forever I’ll recall
Her brown hair
On cloud-white shoulders
And whispering her name
At an Indian restaurant.
It’s hard to live
In a world of unforgiving clocks
Where every passage of time
Takes you further away
From ever being in love again.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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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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Receptive
This late afternoon breeze...
In the midst of June,
Pleases me.
In a Spring quietness,
As I sit in Elizabeth Park...
Digesting its beauty.
With a peace of mind from it I get.
It is comforting,
In this timelessness at rest.
As I overlook the Rose Garden,
Encircling a loveliness...
Centered by a gazebo set.
'Too much is not enough of this',
I think.
With wishes unrestricted.
I sit,
Receptive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I’m Not Your Lover But that’s A Minor Detail
Let’s write poems upon our skin
And make unique t-shirts to wear in the summer.
I’ve got a lion’s heart and want you as my prey,
Tell me that you’ll stay and enjoy the nature design
Of this desire.
Is it such a wild idea to fall in love at first glance?
To banish loneliness and learn to exist
In someone else’s essence?
I want to escape into a dream at the amusement park,
Every fiber of my being is crying to marry you
At the gazebo decorated with flowers.
Saying hello is required in the sunlight of positive thoughts,
Let’s kiss at the concession stand waiting for our favorite movie to begin
At the eternal theater of happiness.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Autumn Leaves
I still hearken a little deep
from the rolled out time
the last song of cuckoo
humming through the hot winds.
The scents of last spring-flower
still drift through
my dried up nasal lanes.
Today walking silently
over the crackling autumn leaves
I rue for the withered
bed of roses that once paved my way
towards a breathing heaven of verve.
The parched earth and naked trees
stand before me
like fossils
of the deceased last spring.
The desiccated bed
of my garden-pond
it seems,
has no tears to shed
at her robbed off
once brimming water wealth.
Where are those bunnies
and little squirrels that sprinted,
rollicked and rocked
over my grassy lawn?
Where's grass?
Where's lawn?
Under the searing Sun
where are smiles, glee, bliss and prank?
The dead autumn leaves
under my feet
whispered in husky, crackling tones
the secret of seasons:
"We're dead...interred we reach soon
our mother roots' bed.
We'll sprout again
as leaves tender, sleek and charming...
no death to us...
no dearth
for green-green wealth.
Every autumn is followed
by a new spring.
poem by Sathya Narayana
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To She Who Is Too Light-hearted
Your head, your gesture, your air,
are lovely, like a lovely landscape:
laughter’s alive, in your face,
a fresh breeze in a clear atmosphere.
The dour passer-by you brush past there,
is dazzled by health in flight,
flashing like a brilliant light
from your arms and shoulders.
The resounding colours
with which you sprinkle your dress,
inspire the spirits of poets
with thoughts of dancing flowers.
Those wild clothes are the emblem
of your brightly-hued mind:
madcap by whom I’m terrified,
I hate you, and love you, the same!
Sometimes in a lovely garden
where I trailed my listlessness,
I’ve felt the sunlight sear my breast
like some ironic weapon:
and Spring’s green presence
brought such humiliation
I’ve levied retribution on
a flower, for Nature’s insolence.
So through some night, when the hour
of sensual pleasure sounds,
I’d like to slink, mute coward, bound
for your body’s treasure,
to bruise your sorry breast,
to punish your joyful flesh,
form in your startled side, a fresh
wound’s yawning depth,
and – breath-taking rapture! –
through those lips, new and full
more vivid and more beautiful
infuse my venom, my sister!
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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An Interlude
IN the greenest growth of the Maytime,
I rode where the woods were wet,
Between the dawn and the daytime;
The spring was glad that we met.
There was something the season wanted,
Though the ways and the woods smelt sweet;
The breath at your lips that panted,
The pulse of the grass at your feet.
You came, and the sun came after,
And the green grew golden above;
And the flag-flowers lightened with laughter,
And the meadow-sweet shook with love.
Your feet in the full-grown grasses
Moved soft as a weak wind blows;
You passed me as April passes,
With face made out of a rose.
By the stream where the stems were slender,
Your bright foot paused at the sedge;
It might be to watch the tender
Light leaves in the springtime hedge,
On boughs that the sweet month blanches
With flowery frost of May:
It might be a bird in the branches,
It might be a thorn in the way.
I waited to watch you linger
With foot drawn back from the dew,
Till a sunbeam straight like a finger
Struck sharp through the leaves at you.
And a bird overhead sang Follow,
And a bird to the right sang Here;
And the arch of the leaves was hollow,
And the meaning of May was clear.
I saw where the sun’s hand pointed,
I knew what the bird’s note said;
By the dawn and the dewfall anointed,
You were queen by the gold on your head.
As the glimpse of a burnt-out ember
Recalls a regret of the sun,
I remember, forget, and remember
What Love saw done and undone.
I remember the way we parted,
The day and the way we met;
You hoped we were both broken-hearted,
And knew we should both forget.
And May with her world in flower
Seemed still to murmur and smile
As you murmured and smiled for an hour;
I saw you turn at the stile.
A hand like a white wood-blossom
You lifted, and waved, and passed,
With head hung down to the bosom,
And pale, as it seemed, at last.
And the best and the worst of this is
That neither is most to blame
If you’ve forgotten my kisses
And I’ve forgotten your name.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The girl with the raven tresses
What smile made this soul quiver?
Shiver on this day in her audible stare
Each fingertip touch made the world
Tremble at the thought of caressing
A tress of her raven hair.
What love is held aloft in the sky
By each thought we forget is nought
But the desire we have given
In the quiet embrace of fortune,
In the tresses of her raven hair.
Electric touches find their spark
On yielding skin dappled in tense
Desire, quaking in raptures moved
By the bliss of moment oblivion,
Scented by tresses of her raven hair.
This world shakes off its slavery
And wakens the soul the moment
Each tress of raven hair
Lay rooted on a pillow
Next to your own, asleep.
poem by Resten Swondo
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Our Blessings
Sitting to-day in the sunshine,
That touched me with fingers of love,
I thought of the manifold blessings
God scatters on earth, from above;
And they seemed, as I numbered them over,
Far more than we merit, or need,
And all that we lack is the angels
To make earth a heaven indeed.
The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,
The spring brings a promise of flowers
That summer breathes to fruition,
And autumn brings glad, golden hours.
The woodlands re-echo with music,
The moonbeams ensilver the sea;
There is sunlight and beauty about us,
And the world is as fair as can be.
But mortals are always complaining,
Each one thinks his own a sad lot;
And forgetting the good things about him,
Goes mourning for those he has not.
Instead of the star-spangled heavens,
We look on the dust at our feet;
We drain out the cup that is bitter,
Forgetting the one that is sweet.
We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower,
Forgetting its odour and bloom;
We pass by a garden of blossoms,
To weep o'er the dust of the tomb.
There are blessings unnumbered about us, -
Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
And the fault is our own - not the Giver's -
That we have not an Eden below.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Pink Roses upon a Midnight Beach
I will saunter my way
Into the daylight of a new dream
Escaping every clinging sadness of the past,
Cherishing the wine of excitement and happiness
Along my paths of desire;
I will sing songs to the sunset
And be enraptured by the moon.
Sweet angel that I’ve known
Since I was only a child,
I’ll pick you up at Friday dusk
And we’ll drive laughing into the city,
The rock and roll and heartbeat drums
Of our mutual rhythm playing so loudly
To the car stereo speakers rocking my soul with yours.
Ah, we’re going to dance into the starlight,
I’ll kiss both of your eyes beneath streetlights,
I’m going to tattoo your name upon my chest
And give you pink roses upon a midnight beach
Lovely July embrace of something powerful
To redeem every lost minute we were not together.
I’m not afraid of tomorrow,
I’m going to trust my Romeo smile
To make everything magically fall in place,
The sunlight fragrance of your hair
And the gentleness of your face,
I know we’ll walk together
Through a flowery field of eternity!
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Where Dreams Make You
Ah, to awaken in the aegis of your amorous embrace,
Entranced by the awe-inspiring beauty of your Angelic face,
Ever-enraptured and enamored by your amazing grace-
An emotion embossed upon my soul, which time itself may not efface!
If only wondrous dreams could marry reality
And an existence as this, supplanted the duality
I now live, betwixt what is veridical and mere fantasization;
If but I may conjure it up, with my imagination,
Then I may learn to fashion verity, from thought,
To make my dreams come true, where now, they are not!
For now my beloved, all I have are fanciful dreams,
Where you are made real-or so, to me, it seems,
As I somniate in a state where my dreams may make true
All I have ever wanted-where dreams make you!
-Maurice Harris,17 August 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Love Beneath Bashful Stars
Follow me, lovely girl,
I’ll show you the hillside
Where the poets howl
Beneath the drunken moon
And where the wine dreams
Dispel all gloom,
I’m high on your lavender dress,
Your pale shoulders and perfume.
Poetry is the purity of unadulterated desire
Like fucking at midnight in the backyard
Beneath an apple tree while blushing stars
Cover their eyes with leaves.
There is no sin in the heaven I cherish,
The heaven of angelic innocence
Of boys and girls naked without meanness
And filling their hearts with laughter.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Just One
With one hand I held your hand
And with the other hand I held to my heart
As you are the one who made me complete
So never from you will I leave or part.
With one voice I said that I loved you
But not for just today but forever more
And with that same voice I said that I need you
As you are the happiness that I was looking for.
With one arm I held you to protect you
And with the other arm, for you it will provide
To give you all you need or what you might want
While defending you and keeping you at my side.
With these fingers they will write for you
They will speak of our love and also your beauty
And also so proudly they will wear your ring
As that will be their joy my pride and also my duty.
With one eye I will look forward towards our future
And with the other one it will be here for us today
Always together they will be wanting just to see you
As you are the always for which I had prayed.
With one brain you are always on my mind
With one soul you are all that i’ve got
With one memory you are all that I want to reminisce
And with one smile you are whom I had sought.
With my life to you alone I do give
With you at my side I shall forever go on
Woman may remember and man he might forget
But GOD will know that all it took was just one.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Rose
In my hand I held the rose
As I would a woman dear,
Within my fingers I held it tight
As I wished it would not disappear.
From the touch, sight and beauty that I knew,
When the kiss of beauty, once had blew.
I held the rose as I would a love
As I had held in memory and thought,
And then the rose I could not let go
For the same as a lover, she became my soul.
The stem became the body and the petals became the skin,
Then I held her lightly, within the wind.
The rose held me, as I had held her
The two of us had become one
Then the act of God had prevailed that day
For he commanded the wind to take the rose away.
And towards the heavens She had flew,
As though to join the love that I once had knew.
In my hand there laid a thorn
Though to remind me of the sting of death,
So upon the Earth, I then laid the thorn
So love of life could again be reborn.
I buried the thorn as you would a dream,
Knowing never again, will it be seen.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Tender Reprieve
I am naïve about relationships and kisses,
About the dreams that weave themselves
Around a fragile heart,
And I do not know how to protect
Myself from love.
Emotional before photographs of you,
I break like pottery to see you smile,
I crumble like autumn leaves
In a child’s hand
To remember your shimmering brown hair
And the perfection of your neck
That someone else touches.
And I have also lingered lost in thought
About the lighter brown hair of another girl
Who captivated me for a moment, but less excruciatingly:
I nearly fell in love with your best friend
To merely hear her speak your name;
No one will ever understand how much
Those lovely vowels and consonants mean to me.
I need to be granted a tender reprieve
From the languishing agony of not seeing you,
To be set free from the prison of sunless days
Where perfume no longer lingers upon a pillow,
Where flowers fail to form beautiful bouquets
Because I don’t know the way to bring them to you.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Rape...
A horrible crime
Rape.....loss of innocence,
didn't have a choice,
Nobody heard my voice,
memory of the past,
hope it crosses my mind
erases out of my memory,
so i don't have to remember the past
i wish she didn't tell me to go to the park
so I would still have it
my innocence i mean
I used to be so clean
now i'm violated, unclean and dirty
and the guilt is killing me
even though its not my fault
i feel as though it is
when she left something told me to go i could have left
I should have listened to that voice
and ran.....but no.....i choose to stay
and he accomplished his mission
what he set out to do
i was only 13 years old.....he was 16
i hated every minute of it
I closed my eyes and imagined I was invisible
but he took all the invisibility
inside of me and i still remember the day
the scene keeps playing in my head like a movie
Rape.....didn't have a choice
Rape.....nobody heard my voice.
poem by Brittany Mischel
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Memories
I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Settled in Nettles
I remember climbing nettles-
Nettles climbing our wooden fence,
The excitement of touching,
The thrill of the blisters-
The red and the oozing
Beneath my long sleeves.
I remember nettle necklaces
Burning the fingers that linked
The green leaves- big green leaf
To big green leaf- How
My neck had red blotches
Itchy and sore. I scratched
And then bled and then wore fluffy scarves.
I remember Justin Whiles
Who scrunched up his face and bit
On his lip and tied me with rope
And dragged the green nettles
Over my skin and asked, 'Why
Did we do this again? '
And now in my cabinets are nettles
In jars- jar after jar- big glass
Jars, brimming with nettles,
Their thick green leaves.
And sometimes the night
Gets quiet and cold
And I walk to my cabinets
And pull down the jars
And pull out the nettles
And bite on the leaves
And bite and then chew
And then swallow the leaves-
Leaf after leaf-
Jar after jar-
Till the night's not so silent.
Till I throw up green mulch
In my hands.
poem by Alicia Adams
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Love in all its Glory
Within the petals of the rose
Captured in the fragrance of the orchid
Nurtured by the holy water of love
Drenched in the sunlight of your being
My love is kept safe in the woman
That is you
Within your eyes there is a flame
Born of passion, fuelled by a sacred trust
A woman beyond Michael Angelo’s imagination
Beyond the dreams of first love.
Your face worthy of every love poem ever written
With a smile that my dreams can,
Play over and over again in a world,
That only you and I know
Where we can walk, hand in hand
Through dreams that have not yet spoken
Down paths where our emotions merge
Where two hearts beat as one
In this glorious thing we call love
Here our souls can lay down together
Away from this troubled world
To make love, for angels to envy
Where your kisses heal the man that is me
To bring me back from the abyss
To see the sunrise through your eyes
Hand in hand with my one true love
And when we are three
I pray that our child will grow
To find love and happiness
Just like you and me
poem by Steven Cooke
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