(Memory Chest) Salvaging the Past
How surprised the sea-chest must have been
when it left the sea
began voyaging with me.
No more travelling in the creak of the hold,
bringing home trinkets
from Sorrento and Port Said
Instead
the trunk set out on my Rake's Progress through
West London's bedsits and flatshares,
painted white in my minimalist period,
covered with a kilim in my exotic Ealing phase,
acquired the status of the Holy Ark
when my childhood's relics, unearthed
from my parents' attic,
found no other home than this dark space,
doubly dark, it rested under my own roof
when for three decades my life I
threw down an anchor, moored
and grew stiff with barnacles
When the storm broke.
the trunk was salvaged, and
I added relics of another childhood to its store.
These little shoes that danced,
these pictures from distant Mothers' Days,
concrete evidence of time gone..
And now., what is its fate?
This little chest has held my past
for over forty years. Shall I now inter more relics there?
Or...................?
poem by Janice Windle
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Related quotes
Home Is Home
Here is home
Home is home
No place like home
Home is where u are welcome
Come home,
Come back home
You yearn for their zone
But it can't be your home,
Your relics are here,
You are only there
Where you can only desire
But can never acquire.
They quit you when they please
For you are only there on lease.
Come home with your cream,
Come home with your dream,
Come lets build ours
In these fleeting hours.
poem by Influence Salubi
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Rondeau Reclimbing Childhood Tree
In rhyme reclimbing childhood tree we try
to paint trunk soaring through dark clouds to sky
as tot from cot in garden grot advanced
upon strong branch in innocence. Dream chanced
reclimbing childhood tree.
Tot tottering trotted to Spring sprig so spry
that, tempting, seemed to beckon on the sly:
imagination is thereby enhanced,
reclimbing childhood tree.
Child's venture wild seemed Everest so high,
as on a whim adventured, - tree limbs fly
towards the heavens where their branches danced.
Sage in old age keeps image deep entranced
recalling day way up above grass dry
reclimbing childhood tree.
19 October 2011
poem by Jonathan Robin
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In Another's Garden
The sun was just about to set
when I happened on the scene:
A small and well kept garden
scented with Magnolia trees.
Someone had placed a wooden bench
beside a whispering pond.
I never knew this gem was here
In New York, most green is gone.
There were seasonals and perennials
competing for my senses.
A most welcome distraction
from my dark and somber penses.
So little time remained before
the light would fade away
and their beauty and their brilliance
would be shadowed, dark, and grey.
I thought about my childhood home
and the fruit trees that once grew there.
of the flowers and the vegetables
cultivated with my parents' care.
Concrete now covers every inch
of my remembered home.
They put a housing project
where, upon a time, I roamed.
I felt a sudden pang of loss,
fought back a foolish tear.
Here, in another's garden,
I had travelled back the years.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Days Came Go...but It's Too Late....
and people wonder why i changed
but no one 's ever the same these days
past and past
wen i can't tke out no longer
i take it out on myself
no one ever really cares like your parents
and you wonder why i'm messed up
why i grew up in a messed up family
well they ain't really family
they never really cared, loved me told me i belong in this family
this home, these people these days
i cry myself to sleep
seems like the only reasonable thing to do
i wish i had a normal childhood
hoping i'd wake up in a different home, and different family
a differnt life
but that realy never happens now does it...
i taken up my whole lfe
back flashing, hoping things would change now
peace do they sell it in a store, or have it
seems i need it now or else nothing
everything in mind goes blank....
poem by Alvita Slim
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Childhoods End (live)
Track 9 _Misplaced Childhood_
And it was morning.
And I found myself mourning,
for a childhood that I thought had disappeared.
I looked out the window,
And I saw a magpie in the rainbow, the rain had gone
I'm not alone, I turned to the mirror,
I saw you, the child, that once loved.
The child before they broke his heart,
Our heart, the heart that I believed was lost.
Hey you, surprised? More than surprised,
to find the answers to the questions,
Were always in your own eyes.
Do you realize that you give it on back to her?
But that would only be retraced in all the problems that you ever knew,
So untrue.
For she's got to carry on with her life,
and you've got to carry on with yours.
So I see it's me, I can do anything
And still the child,
'Cos the only thing misplaced was direction
And I found direction.
There is no Childhood's End.
There is no Childhood's End.
Cos' you are my childhood friend.
Cos' you are my childhood friend.
Oh lead me on.
Hey you, you've survived.
Now you've arrived,
to be reborn in the shadow of the magpie.
Now you realize, that you've got to get out of here.
You've found the leading light of destiny,
burning in the ashes of your memory.
You want to change the world.
You'd resigned yourself to die a broken rebel,
But that was looking backward.
Now you've found the light.
You, the child that once loved,
The child before they broke his heart.
The heart, the heart that I believed was lost
So it's me I see, I can do anything.
I'm still the child.
'Cos the only thing misplaced was direction, and I found direction.
There is no childhood's end.
There is no childhood's end.
There is no childhood's end.
I am your childhood friend.
Oh.. lead me on
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Relics From The Past
We never thought they'd disappear
We took them all for granted
But now long gone, it seems quite clear
They've been permanently supplanted
Carbon paper, remember it?
It copied printed matter
Creating files in triplicate
It helped us save our data
Fashion concious men
Covered shoes with spatz
Fashionable women
Wore millinery hats
Cars with rumble-seats
In our driving apparatus
Were driven by elites
As a way of showing status
Since the Frigidaire's displaced it
The ice-box now seems crude
We've frigidly replaced it
As our way of cooling food
Fashionably in style
Oil-cloth covered floors
Now covered flooring tile
Is found on floors indoors
With wooden shafted clubs
Golf courses we abused
For golfing way-ward dubs
Now metal shafts are used
The list goes on and on
Of relics from the past
Looking back, they had their charm
It's sad some didn't last
Perhaps I'm too a relic
Passing through life's stage
Though presently idyllic
Not lasting past old age
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Mothers' Forever Stay
When the storm raged
Fell the trees,
Lightening struck
And cloud burst,
Rain lashed on the roof
And tiny white balls
Gathered at our door;
I remember how I would run
With a pounding heart
And hide my face in your sari folds
Until the storm spent… left.
You took me to the courtyard
And pointed at the mango tree;
See, the trunk, didn’t yield to wilful storm.
It’s grounded with roots deep into the earth.
The top shook like you.
I nodded as if I understood.
All I cared for was her nearness
And familiar fragrance.
As I grew old, her morning chants woke
Me from deep slumber, and I lingered in bed
Listening to her footsteps… reassured.
Looking back, when life threw some difficult tests
I had learnt to anchor myself in my breath.
Now there are no sari folds
But what she told
Guides me through highs and lows.
Mother, your little girl is all grown up now,
Just because you showed her how.
Pray mother,
How did you always know
What to say?
Even today I can feel your presence
For mothers never leave,
They forever stay.
a tribute to my mother on her birthday, written on 1st August.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Heartaches come and go
Heartaches come and go
wounds that are left behind
scars the face of our life
every time!
One by one
they come out every month
scriptures and scribbles
tatooed upon the chest
of some daddy's little girl
Forced into the darkness,
of a cold and damp street
scorned out of her childhood
by a guardian of her life
Hard as a stone, she is
Covered with this indelible art
That sit's upon her heart
Like an eternal scar
Her body is covered in it
She tries to hide behind it
The shame of her livelihood
Her innocence and her screams
Her childhood and her dreams
Are still so very real
Safely stored behind
The façade of her being
Nick Kler
Home
Where is ones home,
As He passes through the corridor's of life
Is it the bed that He was born onto
Or the place, fate chose for him to die.
Where is home for the Sailor
Who sails the world upon a ship
Is home a port He has docked into
Or is home a well remembered crib.
Where youth was a friend and tomorrow a dream.
And sorrow and sadness was never seen.
Where is home for the woman
Who has had many different homes
Where is home for the drifter
Who loves nothing more to roam.
Where wishes are still alive and never to far
Where home is a dew drop, and sleep are the stars.
Where is home for the child
Who has lived many a childhood dream
Where is home for the prisoner
Who someday in life will be freed.
Home is many different things
Its a bedtime story or a childhood dream
A piece of a wall or a blushing wife
Or is it that hazy memory still never out of sight.
Home is not where you lay your bones
After a day of hardened work
Home is not even the place that you stay
When your feet have begun to hurt.
Home my friend it might not even be
The place where you currently do live
For home my friend is not just a word
But it is, where the heart is.....
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Outsider
The many childhood memories that I have
are lonely ones of being an outsider.
I never mixed very well
and was always the last one,
other children wanted to call a friend.
I was a quiet person
who spent much of his time alone
buried deep within his own thoughts.
At classes, I always got the lowest grades,
on vacation I almost always was on my own.
I would sit for hours just pondering on my thoughts.
I never grew out of being an outsider,
different from the rest.
My early life was over shadowed
by younger sister whom my parents adored.
Every achievement that I made
my sister could do it better.
Not only was I an outsider at school,
but also at home a well.
In 1959, I left the shores
of the place I called home
to go back to the place of my birth.
Not until forty-two years later
would, I set foot on that soil again.
Things in the world had changed,
but not so much for me
as I was still a stranger
in the land I called my home.
13 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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In Heart In Mind
In heart in mind there is no time
each moment merges with these moods of mine
others missunderstood and couldn't see
my neediness comes from my childhood days
when i craved love hugs warmth and praise
instead i found anger, hurt and rejection
which comes back to me in moments of silent reflection
these moments which leave others lost and confused
are the times im rembering how i was abused
there is a small child held dear in my heart
who cries each night long alone in the dark
who no one hears exept myself
my sadness effects my emotional health and others to.
to her people are cold, cruel and unforgiving
her life hardly seems worth the effort of living
if no one hears her i know i must
there must be someone for this child to trust
there was no rescue in those distant childhood days
and all these years later i still long to be saved
so when i seem down and reach for your touch
try to understand why i need it so much
don't ignore me when i act juevenille but hug me and hold me for the sake of that child.
poem by Kelly Louise Houseman
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You Are The Dawn
How the dawn brings the light
How the light fill the whole heart
The most sought after dream
From childhood to youthful charm
Keep haunting the chambers dark
Leaving the blind, without a spark.
The bright sunrays pierce all corners
The warm moon light delight all viewers
But the wrecked childhood days
Weaken the living spirit, day after day
The fast approaching phase of youth
Still finds no one to shower some warmth.
In the pre-destined darkness, left to fate
No hand is offered as help, though aghast
Love is the dire need in this crisis hour
Showering faith on us is the only savior
Hold our hand to share feelings for a day
Who’s there except you to show us a way.
Yes, you are the dawn to bring the light
Yes, you are the light to fill the dark hearts.
poem by Dr. Ashok Chakravarthy Tholana
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For Many Life Is A Hard Battle
For many life is a hard battle but most rise again after a fall
And from life babies do begin learning long before they learn how to crawl
It would be nice to stay innocent for a lifetime but the innocence of childhood doesn't last
The years seem to go by so quickly and time as we know ticks on fast
'Tis sad to think some children have their innocence from them stolen and are exploited in the worst possible way
That they cannot look back on a happy childhood does seem so sad to have to say
The crimes committed against children are not easy crimes to forgive
Those guilty of such terrible atrocities with their shame must find it hard to live
I consider myself to be lucky my childhood years I did enjoy
Compared to many I feel privileged I did enjoy life as a boy
In the green countryside west of Millstreet where I grew into a young man
I learned about life from my mentors and my enduring love of Nature began
For so many life is a hard battle and they've never known of happy years
And they must live with their haunting memories of their unhappy childhood years.
poem by Francis Duggan
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New Territory
Sent off to boarding school
at twelve, with a pair of oxfords,
a pair of patents, my sterling
silver christening rosary
and two dozen name tags stitched
like drops of blood onto the collars
of starched blouses, I stare
down the hall, long and dim,
slippery from too many waxings.
Plaster statues of the holy family live
here, in cave-like niches, the Blessed Virgin,
her face soft and chalky, cheeks
powdered pink. Everything about her
is pliable; she is to be our model.
Joseph is nondescript, covered by
a long brown robe. The baby sleeps.
I eye the nuns, black and fluttery,
and my parents, in wool, with fur collars,
giddy with their new freedom.
I unpack my suitcase and survey
the territory. One iron bed,
one chest of drawers, one slender closet.
A crucifix pierces the white wall.
A dark trunk opens its jaws
to swallow my life.
poem by Geraldine Connolly
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Fossilized Relics
That which had been great,
But unappreciated.
Can not be sustained,
On the strains of an aging memory...
Of that which was.
And...
On hype alone.
A significance unknown...
And over time,
Blown out of proportion.
Should be exalted and shown,
By a constant re-examination...
Of a proven existence.
But the flapping of lips,
Describing the influence...
Of this significance,
Is no different than a myth.
Covered by layers of dirt...
To one day be discovered,
By those interested...
In the collection of fossilized relics.
'You were right.
I have found skeletal remains,
With a skull attached to its back.
I've found the evidence.
I can now prove without question...
Their demise had been the creation,
Of a proficient and well executed backbiting'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Rocket
Cape canaveral florida, ready for takeoff stages
Zoom destination an isolated planet mars
On which observed many relics of past ages
On return despite rocks no spars
2nd destination worlds largest planet jupiter
From there obtained some ancient relics
When returned at base -- we want hoopiter!
And we would like some fancy cows milk
3rd destinations many ringed planet saturn
While there darted among the rings
At base had a few thoughts of astral matter
Again at base a welcoming with sings
4th zoom destination to an isolated planet neptune
Whose surface was clear of any vegetation
At base quote -- would like large dirigible balloon
During when there was no hesitation
5th zoom destination smallest planet pluto
On which there are many beautiful sights
It has no vegetation you know
No power to illuminate dark nights.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Roman Gravemounds
By Rome's dim relics there walks a man,
Eyes bent; and he carries a basket and spade;
I guess what impels him to scrape and scan;
Yea, his dreams of that Empire long decayed.
'Vast was Rome,' he must muse, 'in the worlds regard,
Vast it looms there still, Vast it ever will be;'
And he stoops as to dig and unmine some shard
Left by those who are held in such memory.
But no; in his basket, see, he has brought
A little white furred thing, stiff of limb,
Whose life never won from the world a thought;
It is this, and not Rome, that is moving him.
And to make it a grave he has come to the spot,
And he delves in the ancient dead's long home;
Their fames, their achievements, the man knows not;
The furred thing is all to him - nothing Rome!
'Here say you that Caesar's warriors lie? -
But my little white cat was my only friend!
Could she but live, might the record die
Of Caesar, his legions, his aims, his end!'
Well, Rome's long rule here is oft and again
A theme for the sages of history,
And the small furred life was worth no one's pen;
Yet its mourner's mood has a charm for me.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Game Of Senses
That domination loathed me when I danced
And sang my way home, further than the sun.
Those who dominate shall reach the maturity,
Anybody with a reality to conceive shall inherit.
That domination lessened my fortune, futile relic,
This fortune is futile relics, full-time religion.
Blindness mastered by some can bring new sight,
Whereas the deaf-eared regain their senses once again.
poem by Naveed Akram
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How Shall I Remember You?
How shall I remember you
searching memory’s dark, dry rooms?
Under high ceilings and dim attic lamps
I hear only echoes of my childhood’s lost past.
You’re calling me outside, past the dark screen door
onto the back porch, to watch the gathering evening storm,
and there I see the willow tree, dancing in the wind
its long green leaves thrashing the sky, its supple branches bend
when following its sure, straight path, the lightning struck it down
and, like all things ultimately, smashed it dying into the ground.
Although I’ve searched these dry, long years after both of you had died,
my tears are done, I see the sun, and my flashing anger is now satisfied.
poem by Steven Federle
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Home, Sweet Home
The childhood home wherein children, we stayed;
The cottage old in which we ate and prayed;
The humble garden, on our own, we laid;
The roof that leaked in rain, though rent was paid!
The tranquil place where parents gave us love;
The wonderful compound, where we worked, ‘wow! ’
The trees and plants that grew by heaven’s grace;
The sun, moon, rain, at which we loved to gaze!
That was the lovely place, in which we lived;
The home we kept quite clean and chores were shared;
Our parents slogged for us and deeply cared;
We sometimes fought although amity ruled!
Our father’s strictness taught us good conduct;
Our mother’s fondness disciplined our mind;
The help we rendered, made us feel the warmth;
Home, sweet home, was great despite some faults!
Home, sweet home, brings memories evergreen;
Comfortable, our mother’s house, had been;
Those days were most pleasant, despite our toil;
We lost our hearts upon that very soil!
poem by John Celes
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