Best Memory Poems

The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
...

How great my grief, my joys how few,
Since first it was my fate to know thee!
- Have the slow years not brought to view
How great my grief, my joys how few,
...

Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
...

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit

Dumb
...

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
...

Roses ruddy and roses white,
What are the joys that my heart discloses?
Sitting alone in the fading light
Memories come to me here tonight
...

I

I have lived with shades so long,
And talked to them so oft,
...

Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind. Air that flowers held
for awhile. Some dove somewhere.
...

Inscribed to a Dear Child:
In Memory of Golden Summer Hours
And Whispers of a Summer Sea
...

Blame me for everything,
Spare me for nothing,
I left behind special thing,
My memory to miss something,
...

A weathered skeleton
in windy fields of memory,
piercing like a knife
...

I'm drawing a circle,
Which is concentrically diminishing,
With each gliding of the pencil on the paper,
Until it becomes a spiral.
...

And you, my friends who have been called away,
I have been spared to mourn for you and weep,
Not as a frozen willow over your memory,
...

O Merlin in your crystal cave
Deep in the diamond of the day,
Will there ever be a singer
Whose music will smooth away
...

When the rose is faded,
Memory may still dwell on
Her beauty shadowed,
And the sweet smell gone.
...

No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
...

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
...

Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes
Hover, hover.
...

A lilac for the anonymity,
Of Mrs. Hinkle's simple poetry.
It shines within the margins of its space,
A single note of captivating grace.
...

Last night your faded memory came to me
As in the wilderness spring comes quietly,
As, slowly, in the desert moves thew breeze,
As to a sick man, without cause, comes peace
...

I thank the loss of my memory
Of those days when I had not a friend
I am thankful to the memory
Of those great moments when we are together
...

When daffodils danced in Chuck Hatch, and white clouds
Drew their own shadowy purple across the hills,
Darkening the valley where the small flint church
The Saxon built stood roofless to the sun,
...

You wrote your Yiddish signature in rain.
I could not match it in a thousand years.
Old words are classic to my memory.
Because of you, my feet have wings this day.
...

Memory, hither come,
And tune your merry notes;
And, while upon the wind
Your music floats,
...

The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
...

That laugh revives a warm memory.
Shoulders rolling hair swinging
That year a familiar territory
as near as last Saturday
...

Here is the incidence, very true of its kind and, has taken place in my life. In one place mother wept for me and in the second place I wept.Both has no bearing on each other but since it was between mother and son, I thought of it putting it to a general public for view.
...

Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
...

I sit beside the hearth fire of your words,
A temporary light by feelings heard.
Beyond the dark rim, winter's killing fields
Encroach upon a heart by memory sealed.
...

In that book which is
My memory . . .
On the first page
That is the chapter when
...

I was seventy-seven, come August,
I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
I've experienced zephyr and raw gust
And (symbolical) flood and simoom.
...

In memory of Leonard Opalov

To me Latvian poets seemed quite rare,
But I knew one called Leonard Opalov.
...

Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands with
these jasmines, these white jasmines.
I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
...

Tallest, suavest of us, why Memory,
forcing you to appear from the past, pass
down a train, swaying, to find me
clear profiled through the window-glass?
...

‘AMNESIA’ [1]….
esspeecee

# Amnesia…
...

Fighting for freedom,
Fall of a valiant soldier
Resting in the Lord
...

Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light -- with its colors, its rays and undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its blue flood -- the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning multiform beast inhales it -- but more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. -- Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world.

Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world -- sunk in a deep grave -- waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. -- The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?
...

* It coasts nothing, but creates much.

* It enriches those who receive without impoverishing those who gave
...

The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee;
and entering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd,
unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon
many a fleeting moment of my life.
...

...

XV

Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
...

We shall not ever meet them bearded in heaven
Nor sunning themselves among the bald of hell;
If anywhere, in the deserted schoolyard at twilight,
forming a ring, perhaps, or joining hands
...

The mirror held your fair, my Fair,
A fickle moment's space.
You looked into mine eyes, and there
...

Memory is a cheating thing-
It only strives to please,
And over bitter clouds creates
A shimmer to deceive.
...

Last night, your long-lost memory came back to me as though
Spring stealthily should come to a forsaken wilderness
A gentle breeze its fragrance over burning deserts blow
Or, all at once be soothed somehow the sick soul's distress.
...

The memory of my father is wrapped up in
white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.

Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits
...

I'll carry you with me here in my heart
From now 'til forever, we never will part,
Though all that we hoped for is now in the past,
Your memory lingers -the mold has been cast;
...

There is a looker-on who sits behind my eyes. I seems he has seen
things in ages and worlds beyond memory's shore, and those
forgotten sights glisten on the grass and shiver on the leaves. He
has seen under new veils the face of the one beloved, in twilight
...

Tongue to vanish earnings
Eye to store memory
Money to craft demand
Friend to spend emotion
...

A rough sound was polished until it became
a smoother sound, which was polished until
it became music.
...

A house breathes through its bones,
Its summits sit like sentries;
Though rafters decompose-
It never denies entry.
...

INTO my heart's treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin,—
...

I’ve known reception
I’ve seen rejection

I’ve known how life gets reduced to a memory
...

OFT, in the stilly night,
   Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
   Of other days around me:
...

...

I should like to relate this memory ...
but it is so faded now ... scarecely anthing is left --
because it lies far off, in the years of my early manhood.
...

I feel the gray rain falling in my mind.
Crying becomes a thousand leaves outlined.
My eyes are mesmerized by red sumac.
A touch of pewter shines against my back.
...

Long, long ago I heard a little song,
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,
That far into my heart it found the way:
...

A good book is like entering a garden,
A place of exotic flowers with romantic messages,
Where pretty butterfly like words flutter into memory,
Where majestic tree like demeanour glow into mind,
...

Turn on again, that old, once new film of your life -
it's called the 'establishing shot'; and as it pans
across your once-favourite city, corny in the sunshine,
arty in the dusk and rain, the home to all your dreams,
...

It's snowing this afternoon and there are no flowers.
There is only this sound of falling, quiet and remote,
Like the memory of scales descending the white keys
Of a childhood piano- outside the window, palms!
...

"Feeling beyond touch, "
the Sorcerer said…

"Knowledge beyond thought, "
...

So many times we do not see,
that all of life is a memory:
Of days gone past both bad and good,
and so we dream, as dream we should:
...

There are no stars to-night
But those of memory.
Yet how much room for memory there is
In the loose girdle of soft rain.
...

When roaring gloom surged inward and you cried,
Groping for friendly hands, and clutched, and died,
Like racing smoke, swift from your lolling head
phantoms of thought and memory thinned and fled.
...

"Tell me, where do ghosts in love
Find their bridal veils?"

"If you and I were ghosts in love
...

...

(For Eduardo Chirinos)

Downstairs I left a candle burning
In its light I'll read a few lines when I return

By the time I returned the candle had burned out
Those few lines had faded like innocence

You walk with me
The way moon walks along with a child sitting in a train window

I stood in the balcony one day
Waved a handkerchief toward the sky

Those who have gone without saying their goodbyes
Will recognize it even from far

In my handkerchief they have left behind their tears
The way early humans left behind their etchings on cave walls

Lyotard said, every sentence is a now
No. Actually it's a memory of now

Every memory is a poem
In our books, the count of the unwritten poems is so much more
...

My April Love is always in my heart
My April Love from me will ne'er depart.
She always brings the 'Joy of Spring' to me,
My April Love forever mine will be!
...

In my memory there you lie,
Precious memories,
Years gone by,
Always the apple of my eye,
...

I don’t remember the word I wished to say.
The blind swallow returns to the hall of shadow,
on shorn wings, with the translucent ones to play.
The song of night is sung without memory, though.
...

Do you ever hear a haunting refrain,
Which takes you back to that moment again,
When memories flow and scenes are set,
And you, once more, relive the time you met.
...

"Do you remember me? or are you proud?"
Lightly advancing thro' her star-trimm'd crowd,
Ianthe said, and lookt into my eyes,
"A yes, a yes, to both: for Memory
...

Return often and take me,
beloved sensation, return and take me --
when the memory of the body awakens,
and an old desire runs again through the blood;
...

^Death Of Innocence

A little girl was playing in the garden 'round her home,
Mischief sparkled in her dark eyes and her curly hair was blond.
...

...

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste.
...

I have no riches but my thoughts,
Yet these are wealth enough for me;
My thoughts of you are golden coins
Stamped in the mint of memory;
...

XIV
I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in thy box—a few small toys for thy memory to play with. With a timorous
...

Lonely as a cloud I was walking on the beach;
Pain of love lost I was trying to forget in Nature.

Reclined I on a sand meadow musing over Moon.
...

O MEMORY, thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain:
...

...

Looking at an opal, a half-grey opal,
I remembered two beautiful grey eyes
I had seen it must have been twenty years before . . .
...

'May his memory
Be measured
As his fans
Treasured
...

Porlock! thy verdant vale so fair to sight,
Thy lofty hills which fern and furze imbrown,
The waters that roll musically down
Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight
...

Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
...

That we've broken their statues,
that we've driven them out of their temples,
doesn't mean at all that the gods are dead.
O land of Ionia, they're still in love with you,
...

Beyond the distant shores of seven seas,
Her sparkling smiles still in my memory,
I hear her whisper in the morning breeze,
Like melodious tunes of whispering bee;
...

In memory of D. W. Prall


The ghosts of James and Peirce in Harvard Yard
...

They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;
...

I still remember my first kiss though fourty years have passed
The beauty of the moment and the thrill will ever last
Etched into my memory as words into a stone
Clearer than the clearest night that I have ever known
...

Destroyed the physical
Evidence of our love;
What to do with
Ones etched in memory?
...

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea,
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.
...

It’s okay love, you can go now,
but set the door ajar as you leave –
just enough for the light of your memory
to shine through.
...

And now she has over her head brown clouds of roots
a slim lily of salt on the temples beads of sand
while she sails on the bottom of a boat through foaming nebulas
a mile beyond us where the river turns
...

At night
I visit

the village
...

If you are angry
face your anger
as a friend, in love.
Meet your anger
...

Lady fair, have we not met
In our lives elsewhere ?
Darkling in my mind to-night
Faint fair faces dare
...

‘AMNESIA’ [3].
esspeecee

# Memory:
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LIST, and in memory bear
These six fond loving pair.
Love, when aroused, kept true
Rustan and Rad!
...