Reflecting water
Entwine memory pictures
In autumnal woods
haiku by Peter S. Quinn
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A strange thing is memory, and hope; one looks backward, and the other forward; one is of today, the other of tomorrow. Memory is history recorded in our brain, memory is a painter, it paints pictures of the past and of the day.
quote by Grandma Moses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Water so Deep and Profound
Water so sinuous and devious,
And as mystifying as you.
Water is always hiding its true self,
Never in one form.
Water can be the shimmer,
Reflecting off the light of the pond,
Making the pond seem magnificent.
Water can be the rushing sound,
As it escapes the secretive pond,
And runes down into the vast ocean,
Seeking adventure and unfound dreams.
Water can be the feeling of calmness,
As it sits there, overlooking the pond,
With wonder and seeing how it made it what it is.
Water so supple and wondrous,
The pond is born from the water.
Water so deep and profound,
Just like you,
The pond so incomplete without water,
Just like your family.
poem by Music Galore
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A strange thing is memory, and hope one looks backward, and the other forward one is of today, the other of tomorrow. Memory is history recorded in our brain, memory is a painter, it paints pictures of the past and of the day.
quote by Anna Mary Robertson Moses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Coronal
WITH HIS SONGS AND HER DAYS TO HIS LADY AND TO LOVE
Violets and leaves of vine,
Into a frail, fair wreath
We gather and entwine:
A wreath for Love to wear,
Fragrant as his own breath,
To crown his brow divine,
All day till night is near.
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
Violets and leaves of vine
For Love that lives a day,
We gather and entwine.
All day till Love is dead,
Till eve falls, cold and gray,
These blossoms, yours and mine,
Love wears upon his head,
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
Violets and leaves of vine,
For Love when poor Love dies
We gather and entwine.
This wreath that lives a day
Over his pale, cold eyes,
Kissed shut by Proserpine,
At set of sun we lay:
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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No Sight Can Be More Autumnal
No sight can be more autumnal
than that of my garden
Tenanted by an autumnal person
weary of the world!
poem by Sugawara Takesue no Musume
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It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.
quote by P.D. James
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Museum 2
water, air and sunlight fused infallibly into one lovliness,
water, air and sunlight invented by the deity
and dubbed by Him His best creations:
a feast for the eyes, therefore for the heart-
how the young museum goers
pushed each other out of the way, obscured each other's views
to what-take photos? Why,
instead of looking, enjoying, reflecting...
taking pictures?
do they think a camera capyures Nature better than a man's hand?
Maybe they mean to look later, when they have more time-
Why?
Is it more important to record that you've seen something
than to practice the mere exercise of understanding?
Slowly the cabal of naifs disperses, chattering.
Slowly the cabal of naifs moves on
without one among them beginning to see the first thing
of the item they've come so far to observe-
surely a dark age has come upon us:
unseeing, they pass on-
their cameras richly glutted.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Making Love With Memories
You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.
We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.
I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.
And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Infinitely
The hounds of despair, the hounds of the autumnal wind,
Gnaw with their howling the black echoes of evenings.
The darkness, immensely, gropes in the emptiness
For the moon, seen by the light of water.
From point to point, over there, the distant lights,
And in the sky, above, dreadful voices
Coming and going from the infinity of the marshes and planes
To the infinity of the valleys and the woods.
And roadways that stretch out like sails
And pass each other, coming unfolded in the distance, soundlessly,
While lengthening beneath the stars,
Through the shadows and the terror of the night.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
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Pictures In The Sand
And Im gonna spend my time,
Drawing pictures in the sand for you.
And Im gonna ride the tide[? ],
And Im gonna make a rendezvous.
Sitting by the sea,
Sipping at my tea,
Drawing pictures in the sand,
And writing message to you.
Pictures in the sand (drawing pictures in the sand)
There is nothing I would rather do (there is nothing I would rather do)
Than just sit here in the sand (drawing pictures in the sand)
And think of thinks Id like to say to you (I love you true)
Every single day (every single day)
I waste my time away,
Drawing pictures in the sand,
And writing messages to you.
(all together)
Pictures in the sand. (drawing pictures in the sand)
Pictures in the sand.
If I didnt have a dime,
Would you still be loving me?
While I spend my whole life through,
Drawing pictures just for you.
But I could never draw my love,
Its so very hard to do.
Every single day,
I waste my time away,
Drawing pictures in the sand,
And writing messages to you.
Pictures in the sand. (drawing pictures in the sand)
Pictures in the sand. (do-bum, do-bum...)
Pictures in the sand. (drawing pictures in the sand)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Just A Memory
The droplets that fall one by one from the sky touching the land
Remind me of the precious memory we own
Memory of our emotion we keep inside
The flowing water flooding the street
Recollect me of our feeling
Which rushing in my blood through my vein
Making a fond sensation I love
But,
It surely will not be just a memory
Our falling droplets, our flowing water
Will be some things we look after
For ever...
poem by Little Red Apple
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Memory Of Water
(music: marillion lyrics: john helmer)
I wonder if my ropes still hanging from the tree
By the standing pool where you drank me
And filled me full of thirsty love
And the memory of water?
wonder if a king still fishes there
His back toward the burned out air
His laughing catches singing loud
The memory of water
Your taste is blood and ecstasy
But I must drink you all alone
Youre freckled like a speckled egg
A dove but this bird has flown
O stay with me sweet memory
O stay with me
Wonder if my ropes still hanging from the tree
By the standing pool where you drank me
As pain flows through me like champagne
Of the memory of water
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What The Future Holds For Us
What the future holds for us we are not to know
But our past it goes with us to where-ever we go
Your best years in life to the forever gone
But your past in your memory it is living on
Many friends of your past you may never more see
But they do remain young in your memory
And for as long as the gift of memory you retain
Mental pictures of them with you will remain
But the present is what matter as some are known to say
And only in memory we have yesterday
And tomorrow at dawn the songbirds will sing
But who knows what tomorrow for us will bring
But we will live till we die like the sheep or the cow
And we only can live in the here and the now.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Thoughts
Majestic colours
line the room
Red, Orange, Gold.
Champagne bottles
All popped their corks
Stand tall on shelves.
Mirrors, Mirrors
Fretwork frames
Everywhere reflecting
Orange lighting.
Tallow hanging
Like pearl droplets.
Arched doorway
Drapes of velvet
Tied back
Gold sashes.
Pictures, pictures
Hang all around
Past present
Black and white.
Busy, busy
Mind racing
Will I write
I think not..
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Pictures In My Mind
Sweet nighttime pictures in my mind
have made it hard to sleep.
Can't I change them into dreams,
the kind I want to keep?
They've got me wide-awake in bed
wondering why they're here?
I should be sleeping soundlessly
but they just won't disappear.
Pictures of dancing and sweet romancing,
things that are no longer around,
I need to stop these pictures
and keep my feet on the ground.
Pictures of moonbeams shining
with a glow that warms my heart,
I close my eyes and I see you
and now my eyes start to smart.
The pictures become too blurry
for tears have formed in my eyes.
I wipe them and look for the pictures.
They're gone and I realize
that they were pictures of younger days
when all we ever knew
was passion and sweet embraces.
These were pictures of me and you.
And so as I lie here next to you
and wait for sleep to come,
I content myself with these scenes I've had
for I remember where they're from.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Simplistic Style. for J.T.Early
Winter is waiting in the wings
Until his turn to take the stage.
Amused at autumns posturings
He will create a pristine page
On which to paint in black and white
An austere winter beauty show.
Pictures dependent on the light
reflecting from the fallen snow.
He has a limited palette
Displaying his flawless technique.
Paints pictures you will not forget
because each picture is unique.
The gaudy autumn colours go
Replaced by winters coat of snow.
11/10/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Green Woods Of Truagh
In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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Puddle of water
The long mud path, divide by the grass
Where woods tremble by the rains wash,
have left foot print of forming mirrors,
reflecting picture of air.
poem by Luca Menin
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Come As You Are (LP Version)
Come As You Are"
Come, as you are. As you were.
As I want you to be. As a friend.
As a friend. As an old enemy. Take your time.
Hurry up. The choice is yours. Don't be late.
Take a rest. As a friend. As a old memory, memory, memory, memory.
Come. Dowsed in mud. Soaked in bleach.
As I want you to be. As a trend. As a friend.
As an old memory, memory, memory, memory.
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun.
Memory, memory, memory, memory (don't have a gun).
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun. Memory, memory...
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Picture
When I see your picture it brings tears in my eyes,
When I see a picture of you and I makes me want to cry more,
I know that I messed up our relationship but that don’t mean we still can’t be friends,
I can see that your happy with her and that you have better life now that I am out of yours,
All the mean and hateful things we said to each other is in the past,
At last you can rest in peace,
All I can ever see is you and I falling a part from this world,
We are not meant to be I understand that now,
All I want is you to be happy,
Every now on then I go through the pictures and say how sorry I am,
The pictures of you and I won’t get ripped or deleted those are for me to keep as a memory of you and I.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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