One must always have old memories and young hopes.
--- Chinese fortune cookie



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Poetry about Memories

Editor's Pick:

Will you remember when
I picked you up
The times you fell and skinned
and cut your knees

Will you remember that I
was the one
That wiped your little nose
when it just wouldn't stop

 Will you remember when I was there to hold you
When that bad dream woke you up
Will you remember that I was there when
He did not call you to go out

Will you remember that I was there
When he picked you up for that first dance
Will you remember that I wiped away
Those tears through each and every fight

Will you remember the time that I told you
You will remember this always
as the best day of your life

Now remember this, my little girl,
As I will not remember
Time will rob me of my memories
Remember always that I love you

-- Submitted by Janet Reynolds from Kerrville, Texas


Editor's Pick:

His hands smelled like Cheerios
When he would tuck me in at night
I later discovered that smell to be
Not my favorite cereal
But his brand of cigarette

 He would stand over me singing
Songs I was sure he had made up
I later discovered the songs to be
Not from my father's heart
But the records that he played

 He told me stories of adventure
He and I were the stars of his tales
I later discovered the stories to be
Not from my father's mind
But the books that he read

 He told me I was his life, his love
Words I doubted in troubled times
I later discovered these words to be
Not from mine or my father's imagination
But the truest thing I've ever known

 -- Submitted by Airen from Dallas, Texas

"Poppa John"

We have walked many mountains together
Thru snow storms and nasty weather
We have seen a bear and a buck or two
Rushed back to camp for a cup of brew.

We joked and we laughed, shared many a hunt
Walked many a valley, pulled many a stunt
We cussed at our losses and we had a few
But at the end of the day we had meat for that stew.

We hunted for trophies every year
Laughed and reminisced till our eyes filled with tears
Found each other when we were lost
Kept each other safe at any cost

The hunt will be different, one less rifle to fire
I'll listen for your laughter I'll walk till I tire
I will miss you my friend, as all hunters will
You will be in our hearts though your rifle is still.

-- Submitted by Janet Reynolds from Kerrville,Texas


 She flew the winds on angel wings
But left her songs on golden strings
In melodies both far and near
That many souls will stop to hear

She walked away but left her worth
On footsteps tread upon the earth
So that those who cross her path
Hear echoes of a child's laugh

She skipped along a river's edge
And hid behind a garden hedge
I saw her mark upon a tree
And underneath a bandaged knee

She played in grasses of the field
Where happiness would be the yield
She left behind a teacup's fill
Of daisies on a window sill

She went to bed with peace of mind
With good-night kisses pure and kind
Before the hour of morning dew
She left behind a prayer or two

She left the strength of mighty oak
Some childhood thoughts she never spoke
A million kisses to be kissed
A sunny day that will be missed

For what was lost, so much was gained
More joy she brought than grief or pain
She left within each trembling heart
A love that never will depart

The greatest gift she gave the world
Was when her little hands unfurled
Her fingertips on life were such
They left their mark on all she touched

 -- Submitted by Elizabeth Santos from Pottstown, PA


 When I was little,
you held me in your arms,
and always kept me safe,
from every day's passing harm.
 When I look up into your deep blue eyes,
and feel your sweet embrace,
I look up to the sky above,
and thank the Lord, for the angel
he sent down to earth,
is now, and will forever be
my wonderful and caring dad.
Now that I am older,
my life is changing more every day,
but I still love you,
for you are my hero,
and that will never change.

 -- Submitted by Katie from Washington


I feel your presence in each room
As if these walls could to me speak.
Your memory lingers within these walls
That seem to not want me to leave.
Your picture sits upon the mantle
And on your pillow at night I sleep.
I seem to feel you everywhere
And wonder if these walls have eyes.
I feel a prisoner entrapped within
For from these walls I find no out.
So each passing day, in here remain,
Within these walls that hold your memory.

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina


I met you in a garden where
nothing but weeds seemed to grow
I was so astounded to find a lady
that I've been blessed to know
You were a ray of sunshine
that brightened up my life
One look into your beautiful soul
and I asked you to be my wife

The weeds in the garden started
to disappear and quickly fade away
Your love caused flowers to sprout
and grow that very day
Oh, what a beautiful garden
it has turned out to be
Darlin, I wish you could see the flowers...
They've turned out so beautifully

By the flowers I mean the love
that you so willingly shared with me
That love reaches into the core of my being
and will forever last eternally
Everyday I thank God for the lady that
I was privileged to have held her heart
With your sweet love darlin',
I was blessed right from the start

Although I know now that you
have gone to a much better place
The flowers of your love in our garden
will be a reminder of your beautiful face
In this beautiful garden I found love
so fine, so pure, and so rare
A love equaled to none other...
I was so blessed and privileged to share

-- Submitted by Dan Kelley from Ripley, WV


Where will be home when mama's gone;
When my childhood home is no longer mine?
What will they do with my memories;
When mama's dead and gone?

Will they quietly allow them to live
Within the walls that whisper;
A child's life was painted here;
Where all of her memories live.

Where will be home when mama's gone;
When my childhood home is no longer mine?
Where will I go, when home I want to run;
When mama's dead and gone?

I've moved around from state to state,
But only one do I call home;
Where will it be when my home is gone?
When going home will be too late?

Where will be home when mama's gone;
When my childhood home is no longer mine?
Should it be, I make it mine;
Would it be home with mama gone?

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina


Captured memories
stare back at me
from the pictures in this book
happy smiles
set against blue skies
vacations taken when we were young
the dreams of childhood
forgotten for awhile
then remembered with a rueful smile
I wanted to be an astronaut
a dancer
a fireman
an actress of the first order
my name in lights
my feet on the stage
easy life
but, those were just childish dreams
never worked for
never realized
but tucked away
here in my book of
and dreams

-- Submitted by Carra Wilmoth from Pearl, MS

Here I am again
Lying in my bed,
With oh, so many thoughts
Of you dancing around in my head.

The smell of your aftershave
The softness of your touch,
The words of love you whisper
All these thoughts seem to come in a rush.

The clock keeps on ticking
Time is drifting by.
I see the sun is rising
Out of the corners of my eyes.

Yet sleep has eluded me
Once again I did not sleep,
The love we shared was wonderful
These magical memories linger on,

Treasured days we shared together
Lasting long after you have gone.
Precious moments
Trapped in the corners of my mind,
My sweet precious love
These gifts you left behind.

-- Submitted by Gladys Cairo from Bay Shore, Long Island, NY


Walking among the stalks of corn
Towering overhead,
clutching grandma's apron
As through the rows, she led.

The smell of camphor salve
And fresh homemade bread,
Logs burning in the fire;
Memories in my head.

Plastic fruit in pretty bowls
And fancy braided rugs.
Smell of manure and chickens
And catching lightning bugs.

Writing on walls covered with coal
And freezing in bed when the fire went out.
Santa leaving giant colored books
And remembering times we went without.

Plain house dresses and fancy fur coats,
Business suits and bib overalls,
Winters so cold and snow waist deep,
Icicles and flying snowballs.

Memories of then, of so long ago,
Mixed and scrambled inside of my head.
I look in the mirror and search for that child;
I know she's there somewhere, I know she's not dead.

For often when I'm losing touch,
She brings me back to my beginnings;
Bringing back my memories of then
And sharing with me, all of my feelings.

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina


Our mother died,
Lost now to the wind;
In just eight months,
She pulled our father in.

 She found her peace,
And broke again his heart;
Now they lie cold,
Just steel and earth apart.

 Life passes strange,
Just so, they say, it goes;
And stranger still,
To wear this sad white rose.

 Look deep and close
Inside the blossom fair,
And you will find
The marks of passion there;

 Like drops of blood,
The last to leave the bloom,
Whose beauty fades,
And passes far too soon.

 This day we smile,
The fragrance to recall,
Smiling as tears,
Like white rose petals fall.

 -- Submitted by Aamie Burnley from Paducah, KY


The clock ticks ever so slowly.
I sit very still.
I've stared at almost everything,
detention isn't a thrill.

In a closed off room,
my feet go numb.
I start to fall asleep,
I wish the time would zoom.

And I stopped to think,
If only I would have paid attention,
I wouldn't be sitting here
in detention!

-- Submitted by Jordan S. from Katy,Texas

(This poem is dedicated to one who sadly became a victim to Heroin)


It withdraws and falls
each petal bleeds with blood
the night's cold
the winter, it chills the wood

Unholy drops fill its veins with sadness
Oh how? Winter frost it stings.
There will never be another rose that shines
and used to grow like that one. What devastation it brings.

Brown toxic waste fills its veins with sadness
turns the sunlight into blackness.
Once it was a beautiful white rose
with its healthy leaves in place.
Now just a rotting female.

The rose, it turns to black
and fails to open wide.
Why did my beautiful favourite flower have to die,
barely from a seed.

I named this rose after her, as she died when
her favourite flower in our garden died.

-- Submitted by Natalie Coen from Manchester, England


She came to me on a green line bus,
It stopped outside my door
She looked so good, I fell about in rapture on the floor,
"Hi there Rosie", I called out
glad that she could make it,
"Come inside and sit ye down, I think were gonna make it"

 For weeks and weeks she came around
I thought I had it made,
that green line bus became my pal
a saviour and a friend,
But one day when the bus pulled up and Rose did not allight,
it made me feel my world had crashed,
it was an awful sight.

 A while ago I found out, much to my dismay
the driver of that green line bus had much too much to say,
He had stolen my Rosie's heart and claimed her as his own,
Now that little green line bus don't stop here any more.

-- Submitted by Roger Stewart from Perth, Western Australia
e-mail: rojak1@bigpond .com


I've tucked you away in a corner of my heart
where no wind or rain could reach you.
So deep inside my emotions of you are hidden
Sometimes it's as if you never existed.
Then suddenly for no reason explained you show yourself
like the sun peering through on a cloudy day.
And I am again reminded that my love for you does not fade
but grows stronger with each pounding of my heart. "I love you"

 -- Submitted by Paula from Conway, Arkansas


A thought of you, in the silence, with me,
My living, my loving Aphrodite,
Once we were together, a moment's time,
A moment now captured in common rhyme;

I have not the genius to conjure you,
The soul of you, all of you, born anew
In letters that linger and notes that sing---
A memory's vision is all I bring.

I wander the passages of the past,
The caverns of conciousness, running fast,
To try and remember the day we met,
An hour on which my mind has been set.

I cannot recall it, and that is pain
That pierces the images that remain
Of you in the splendor of summer dawn---
In waking from slumber, you stretch and yawn.

That movement of limbs, the flexing of thighs
The finding of slippers and rubbing of eyes,
As naked as me, you stood without clothes---
To this did I rise, my lover in pose.

That one night alone, fulfilling my dream
Of passionate bliss, that daily I scheme
To bring back to life, in my life at least,
The poetry that you helped me release.

 -- Submitted by Michael James Foley from Columbia, Maryland


I lie awake at night in my bed,
Thinking of all the words you said.
You said that you'd always be there for me,
You said that me and you would always be.
I don't understand why you did what you did,
You don't know how much I hurt,
I keep those feelings hid.
But what was said is said and what was done is done,
But I still wish that I was your only one.

 -- Submitted by Amber from Wisconsin


A famous movie star yelled at me though he did it over the phone.
I worked at an answering service in Provo graveyard and weekends alone.
A struggling new mother helping with bills, I always felt so tired;
A note said not to call in before 3, and basically here's what transpired.

I waited, believing that when I called that in the aftermath,
all would be well for I'd done my job, but I still got this actor's wrath!
He screamed that his meeting was still going on, and why then was I calling?
But I had not done anything wrong, so his shouting at me was galling.

For weeks I had worked and phoned things in to this big shot's secretary,
hoping one day "his" voice I'd hear so charming, not so contrary!
To this very day I think he's terrific in looks and in his acting,
but focusing now on the good in him I find to be distracting.

All for that one time he yelled at me, a someone he didn't know.
I was just a stranger to him, so he let his anger flow.
My voice, of course, I'd not raise to strangers. That is not my style.
Still, when I am feeling bad, do I forget to smile?

To people in this world I've met have I ever rudeness shown?
When strangers couldn't help me out, did I maybe start to groan?
And worse, do I barely give a glance to people serving me?
Do I sometimes go briskly on with my life, forgetting humanity?

Another time I remember when in a department store
another man, once famous, made my aging spirit soar.
I can't recall this singer's name. We know him for a song.
He sang, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight." (His fame did not last long.)

Promoting new Christmas music there with the other guys,
he looked at me, a stranger, and said, "You sure have beautiful eyes."

-- Submitted by Andrea Dietrich from Pleasant Grove, Utah

Poised to leap,
Into the world I once perceived.
Black I breathe,
A dream once inhabited.
This can only get better;
Only better.
Some day I will wake from this
Some day I will wake from this,
And see the beggar I once knew.
All I do is gather space,
Gather time.
I want him to come soon,
We'll wonder again,
Just a breath
Scatters the taut dampness,
of my mind.
I know his small variations
I bend through them.
All over my reflection
This was my texture
Was my torture
My memory.

 -- Submitted by Helen Taylor from New Zealand




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