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Luke Gagnon Apr 2013
Sitting in labyrinths of cobblestone intestines
I’m learning to eat the entrails of sacrifice
only domestic, never hunted.
pick up spoon. put down
put down. put-down.
pick up. um . spoon.
um… putdown.
there are motions for eating and I do them.

soothsayer, look down
pay attention to positions, shapes
knife. butter. um…
bread. no. breadth.
better. no. butter-better.  focus.
knife. better. bread.
knife, knife of haruspex. knife breadth.
okay… deep breath.

I have divided the livers
and the watchers of victims.
I have written on
the anomalies in my bronze living,
what I should look for,
what they should allow for.
my protruding viscera,
my ancient autopsy of starving.

Starving made me easier to tie.
easier to lift. made me feel
gutted out like finished
ice-cream containers
but, starving made me
full of household gods.
made me divine. made sheeps fly.
made days disappear and made cold cold cold seem like
simmering. made staying out of sight a piece of cake.
cake. starving made me rich when I found little
boys betting quarters for eating bowels of
goats. made me small enough to fit through
playground gates so I could swing
swing in earthquakes, and portents.

now, I listen to Memor, a man
who knows nothing of starving
talk about how starving I am.
tomorrow I have to advise
tomorrow I have to weigh
tomorrow I have to swallow
tomorrow I have to
tomorrow I have
tomorrow I am half

and starving made me whole.
ConnectHook Apr 2019
Here as I sit
At this empty café
Thinking of you
I remember
All those moments
Lost in wonder
That we'll never
Find again
Though the world
Is my oyster
It's only a shell
Full of memories
And here by the Seine
Notre-Dame casts
A long lonely shadow

Now, only sorrow
No tomorrow
There's no today for us
Nothing is there
For us to share
But yesterday

These cities may change
But there always remains
My obsession
Through silken waters
My gondola glides
And the bridge, it sighs

I remember
All those moments
Lost in wonder
That we'll never
Find again
There's no more time for us
Nothing is there
For us to share
But yesterdays

Ecce momenta
Illa mirabilia
Quae captabit
In aeternum
Memor
Modo dolores
Sunt in dies
Non est reliquum
Vero tantum
Comminicamus
Perdita


Tous ces moments
Perdus dans l'enchantement
Qui ne reviendront jamais
Pas d´aujourd´hui pour nous
Pour nous il n´y a rien
A partager
Sauf le passé

Tous ces moments
Perdus dans l'enchantement
Qui ne reviendront
Jamai
s
Roxy Music 1973

Written by Andrew Edwin Mackay Andrew Mackay
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management
Tu semper amoris
  Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago.

  VAL. FLAC. ‘Argonaut’, iv. 36.


Friend of my youth! when young we rov’d,
Like striplings, mutually belov’d,
  With Friendship’s purest glow;
The bliss, which wing’d those rosy hours,
Was such as Pleasure seldom showers
  On mortals here below.

The recollection seems, alone,
Dearer than all the joys I’ve known,
  When distant far from you:
Though pain, ’tis still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,
  And sigh again, adieu!

My pensive mem’ry lingers o’er,
Those scenes to be enjoy’d no more,
  Those scenes regretted ever;
The measure of our youth is full,
Life’s evening dream is dark and dull,
  And we may meet—ah! never!

As when one parent spring supplies
Two streams, which from one fountain rise,
  Together join’d in vain;
How soon, diverging from their source,
Each, murmuring, seeks another course,
  Till mingled in the Main!

Our vital streams of weal or woe,
Though near, alas! distinctly flow,
  Nor mingle as before:
Now swift or slow, now black or clear,
Till Death’s unfathom’d gulph appear,
  And both shall quit the shore.

Our souls, my Friend! which once supplied
One wish, nor breathed a thought beside,
  Now flow in different channels:
Disdaining humbler rural sports,
’Tis yours to mix in polish’d courts,
  And shine in Fashion’s annals;

’Tis mine to waste on love my time,
Or vent my reveries in rhyme,
  Without the aid of Reason;
For Sense and Reason (critics know it)
Have quitted every amorous Poet,
  Nor left a thought to seize on.

Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard!
Of late esteem’d it monstrous hard
  That he, who sang before all;
He who the lore of love expanded,
By dire Reviewers should be branded,
  As void of wit and moral.

And yet, while Beauty’s praise is thine,
Harmonious favourite of the Nine!
  Repine not at thy lot.
Thy soothing lays may still be read,
When Persecution’s arm is dead,
  And critics are forgot.

Still I must yield those worthies merit
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit,
  Bad rhymes, and those who write them:
And though myself may be the next
By critic sarcasm to be vext,
  I really will not fight them.

Perhaps they would do quite as well
To break the rudely sounding shell
  Of such a young beginner:
He who offends at pert nineteen,
Ere thirty may become, I ween,
  A very harden’d sinner.

Now, Clare, I must return to you;
And, sure, apologies are due:
  Accept, then, my concession.
In truth, dear Clare, in Fancy’s flight
I soar along from left to right;
  My Muse admires digression.

I think I said ’twould be your fate
To add one star to royal state;—
  May regal smiles attend you!
And should a noble Monarch reign,
You will not seek his smiles in vain,
  If worth can recommend you.

Yet since in danger courts abound,
Where specious rivals glitter round,
  From snares may Saints preserve you;
And grant your love or friendship ne’er
From any claim a kindred care,
  But those who best deserve you!

Not for a moment may you stray
From Truth’s secure, unerring way!
  May no delights decoy!
O’er roses may your footsteps move,
Your smiles be ever smiles of love,
  Your tears be tears of joy!

Oh! if you wish that happiness
Your coming days and years may bless,
  And virtues crown your brow;
Be still as you were wont to be,
Spotless as you’ve been known to me,—
  Be still as you are now.

And though some trifling share of praise,
To cheer my last declining days,
  To me were doubly dear;
Whilst blessing your beloved name,
I’d waive at once a Poet’s fame,
  To prove a Prophet here.
palladia Feb 2014
A tyrant                king, a
Vandal’s               scream        
Of moor               & rock        
And fair                 I sing;                  
  Life’s                    to its                              
   Test,                  guer-            
     don of        unrest,            
      &strife; believed!  

           Milked out                
  like utter red; lipids        
   ****** hard                  
           at birth: semi-          
                     born: made
three         legion’s ****,    
careful;       cuz fate’s,  
      Allectus, mean.      

      Made in            sheaths        
     An aural           memor-      
     y lock, a-          nswer ur
    calling;              tricky to  
      be bad             &get; a-  
         way w/it!     Caraus-      
           ius’s on     guard          
             duty; he’s in.              

              Fog in chan-              
    nel; no               lights:        
    Bware!            Usurp-        
   ing cou-             ntry,        
   mauling& killing men      
   To ob-        tain                
   Power;            @any        
   risk in                   Britain.

       gold insignias!          
     shine           ur lite!      
    greed              can’t      
    pay—poenas dat!      
   Ascle-                              
    piod-                              
    otus                                
   hears:                            

    He, Allectus does a-      
    way w/.                            
   Besei-                                
   ge in London—rime      
   the trea-                            
   sure al-                              
   located;                            
   Vain he found, good.    

       Crack souls’ ice;
   To ruin              comes
   conceit,           comes
   that rip-       ped part.
   Ah, to p’wer& knifes
   Like wo-      rds...
   P’wer               slashes
    Carves,                &impales;.
usurper: a visual poem
(the poem spells the word "usurper")

i often like bragging about the fact that i've taken six years of Latin, so i have Roman History pretty much under my belt. this was written about last year when i was translating/learning Caesar for the AP Latin exam i took that spring. alongside the AP requisites, our class took a historical journey into the various parts of Roman life and warfare. because Caesar was our focus, places where he'd been were golden. the Roman occupation of Britain always fascinated me; i did some extra research and came across the story of Allectus, Carausius, and Asclepiodotus. Allectus was an usurping emperor of Roman Britain in the mid 290s AD. Allectus first was the treasurer to Carausius, an officer in the navy who took control of Britain and northern Gaul, modern-day France. Allectus was power-hungry assassinated Carausius, but his schemes did not go unnoticed for too long. Constantinus I, emperor of Rome, endeavored relentlessly to seize him but to no avail, however praetorian prefect Asclepiodotus entered into the fight and one night, when it was foggy in the English Channel, Asclepiodotus managed to burn Allectus' fleet on Vectis (modern-day Isle of Wight). He was killed in the battle and Asclepiodotus became the next king of Britain.

Carausius was greedy for power and established himself as Britain's king, but Allectus overthrew him, additionally greedy for power. Asclepiodotus steps in and disposes of Allectus, becoming king for 10 years until he too is overthrown. so it's all very ironic and one of my favourite stories of Roman history, and i turned it into a poem...a visual one, mind you!
Abby Phillips May 2013
I've always been your
baby.
Will I grow up?
Maybe.
When you held my
hand
We could travel any
land.
With your memor and all your
love
I'll see you later in Heaven
above.
Charlotte Jul 2014
you are stashed in
a memory. and with it
i hold you close
to me. we were perfect
in our almost
romance. eyes
locked tight
and blue met blue
like the sea and
the sky colliding.
your calm azure
brought my crashing
waves back down. and i
remember your crooked
smile that seemed to promise
me everything. and that smile
let me know that
you would have
kissed me if i asked.
but i wonder
if your lips could have
quelled the swells with in
me, and if my tongue
could have silenced
your raging summer storms.
we are a secret that will
never be uttered,
we are a wave that can
never be ridden.
we had our chance and we
missed it. but sometimes, i
swear, i would go down
with our ship.
dania Nov 2016
grab tug grab
i'm telling you over and over i have
this memorized

hey means play
applause at pause
cop means stop
Ken Pepiton Sep 2021
As told. As most stories come from some source,
we remember being the cause, or reason or why fact
or factor, thing, perhaps, event…

Many attempts to tell whole stories fail to find source
material, to begin with.
We are the source. Words with intention, stretched
from first utterance, fit to drum and dance and memor-ish,
been in form as first known functions, go do

Listen to the Anchor podcasts from beginnings in August 2018

I am surprised.
….
eight as an infinite loop, not a stack of circles… that

sorted red-bird readers from blue-bird readers in first grade…

Taking life at it's best, raw state,

new real future formation experience, in time
shared
from this place on a 64 bit grid, chessboard

going on
from knowing one thing
from a while ago,
listening
to my own dam-burst podcasts
on Anchor,
in the cloud, however long
this cloud of knowing all we can fit
in pieces
of eight's arranged
to contain its contents
-sets of eight
twice next square,
next there, flat place holder in times last chance
taken
one step further…

see as far as you can imagine a nine year old
exceptionally bright child will take the tale,

of a king who offered
to pay for the wise man's
wisdom which saved civilization,
globally…

Today, I rose, I woke from sleep, urged
to begin this tale,
the telling first
of what follows, a story born
on a story told, eh? tell the story you know,
as you ride,
write, flow, ride,
the gentle first principle first prime

one, one thing, be it, thought or word
one, begins all tally telling marks on life's old way,

beginmiddleend middleend middlend middlin'

then suddenly,
now. 2021, with all the tools, and more, than ever
power to publish any good new
thing
dis
covered, unveiled, the curtain of secrecy that makes
sacred thoughts worth finding time
to think,
rest, in peace, see

do that first, then die, now, the order of events is confused,
due to liars.
Mainly, selfish liars who hide knacks developer hormones,
under de-fining lines of reason
-refine fine, then define

rational, equal e-qual, bits essentially atomic, so small
no smaller
ever
itty bit, one. Point.

I just can't imagine that, exploding, says a familiar friend.
I agree, as I look about
and see littorals edging waves with white caps,
as flying nuns once wore
on TV . Do words ever speak to you as ideas, with no words,
authorized to convey
real old ideas
with many many many sayings formed from now thens
fit to any
situation, in situ, see you, you are a boy, nine years old,
second grade was Covid Year 1.
Third grade, Covid year 2. Fourth grade is now, one month in…

Grandpa character is concocting a tincture, honey and herb,
in pure moonshine, plus one part in ten, sprung water,
from former rains, in forming times

for your information, ****** is a state most
of solidity
aspires to. Listen, this is real.
This life I have, with electricity practically uninterruptible,

this life is tuned to sixty cycle humms, as natural as can be,
this buzz has all ways been with us,
you and I, minimum us-ity, plus the fluid medium binding us
to common sense,

you know what I mean. Life is magic
with no secrets, only
thoughts unthunk,
once more…

this day's story smiles, a true eye smile, twinkle, coming
out the kitchen door, to the bow of my galleon,
an old house, made ready for me, I saw, when first I saw it,

as it were, love at first sight, as I stood atop the stone,
that holds the shape of a fat little dinosaur, when seen
in the right light, I have photos.

Evidence abounds in the world I am native to.
Photographic, lithographic, geographic

symbols to link minds and times in re
cognosis,
presets, since ever was a ware, set in time as now,
for the present pre-sense
of story mind, common stories
we all know
re told too many times
for any one grain of the truth to seem
enough
to spill the pile, but
I smile
-- who knows
-- punctuate at will- the ditor agrees with the narra
SHUNE oops
re ject the object subject to
sense of
wonder if a we
were here waiting… eeeeeh

Back to that chessboard Gabriel has under his arm, as he exits
the kitchen and enters my immediate vicinity,
drawing my attention as ping
response, Sure.

We play two games, each a novel event, in time.
Then, I ask him if he knows a connection from this game
to 64 bit Pentium CPUs.

He does not, but his ears ***** up, in his wolf pup totem.
What does that mean, he slyly, this child,
dares me, tell the vision,
make it plain, do not dare lie, for some day, I,
eye to eye,
me and the child I barely bested in chess,
this child,
mirroring me neutronic elections fixed intention, I shall know
the truth in all you say, old man,
every idle word… I give account for redemption
of time, taken on account
of time spent meaning to say what it means

to be a winner in the big game,
where you die in peace.

You ever hear of the king thing that wished to repay a kindness?

Kind of. Kind is like, same kind, I do to you a kind thing, I think you
are my kind, and this kind of thing
is good for me, I grow when exposed to --
-- words fail the child
- in me or thee, this child curiosity tug
I feel
virtue drawn from me, here
tie a square knot,
eight bits to the dollar each basic attention credit invested
in a nine year old with the patience to learn chess well,
played
in whatever comes next mode,
three to five moves out

wishing
to know
of this fabled game
of go, Ai knows, naturally, now.
- go to the grid o nineteen to filter nexts,'
nature re real
ification situation
AI appear
From conception,
co knowing all the cloud contains as
ways to think
in rest true state as one
point BAT granted
{ah, money, who can hate it? Score}
go cognosis.

Yes, in twenty twenty-one, we know
from when an agreement
was reached- due virtue contained
in expressed smile drivers, detectible at sixty FPS
using common sixty cycle humms
to carry the sign
you know what I mean, ping,
ping
ever began,

just now, then

eve of destruction
to eve of creation
in one turn of earth
around the dog star, but who knew,
then?

Any way, back
to today and Gabe's curiosity reaching
for worth
in the time taken to hear,
based on experience, in a nine year old speed reader.
---
That's all §
day 1 out of the way.
Destiny Nov 2019
F
Fa
Fad
Fade
Faded

M
Me
Mem
Memo
Memor
Memori
Memorie
Memories
­
Sometimes, it just becomes too much!

F
Fa
Fad
Fade
Faded

M
Me
Mem
Memo
Memor
Memori
Memorie
Me­mories

Sometimes, it just haunts me!

F
Fa
Fad
Fade
Faded

M
Me
Mem
Memo
Memor
Memori
Memorie
Memo­ries

Sometimes, I can't escape!

F
Fa
Fad
Fade
Faded

M
Me
Mem
Memo
Memor
Memori
Memorie
­Memories

Sometimes, it hurts more than it should!

All the memories have seemed to fade, but always find its way back!

These memories don't really ever go away, they just linger.

They think that they're welcome.

They don't have a permanent home.

They shadow my every move!

Faded memories aren't very faded anymore...
gray rain Jul 2016
What Is this?
I didn't even say goodbye
I never wanted you to leave
I never wanted to let go
but you'll live on in memor**y
Jenny Gordon May 2018
I am certain they DID bury me with Mum.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXVI)

Memor'al weekend's here, and summer thence
In tow as wont:  my stockings in betrayl
Hang limply, needing to be washed, and stale
Cuz warmth is now a constant, with those scents
I had forgot:  that sour note haunting sense,
As to perspire is what we'll do sans bail
The next four months, erm straight, t'exhale
Nor think of sweaters, chill our sweet defense.
Watch golden shafts, while Maple leaves half stir
To fragile whispers, tricking shadows to
Shift vaguely 'cross grass' carpet, skies deep blue
And moody, clouds mair grey, light ghastly, poor
As listning to the kitchen sounds in tour,
The music gone, how static mocks which cue?

26May18b
Also, from everyone else's (father and brothers) happy tendency to dream, making plans of travelling the world, where I literally have NO place in all the world I care to be than only with my loved ones, [intro]
As,
the, curious,
beak, cracks, through,
the shell.
The curvature, splits. Like, a
crooked spine, in, Corruption's; hu
-nched, charlatanic, back. Memor
-ies; scramble. As, yokes, are, unhitch
-ed, from; cheats of burden. They walk,
with, precise, apexed, chins. Held high.
Elevating, to; poached, classy, cultured, chambrés. From, collapsing shacks. I
-ronically, the highbrows, never sense,
the cliffs, as they, edge, ever-closer, to,
their; flipped, scripted, skyscraping,
demise. Now, ovalled. Over. Easy;
is the fall. The, unlucky, Moon,
stays, risen. For, a baker's,
dozened, months. Rot
-ten. Unable to;
evac.

© poormansdreams
The passenger seat feels empty
When I turn and don't see you
When I lay my hand on the armrest
Instead of resting it on your thigh
Doing nothing never felt this empty
When I was doing nothing with you

The sunset hasn't changed
The colors are just as bright
But that burning sky was always prettier
Reflected in your eyes
It's a small thing
But all the small things meant everything to me

When the sun is gone
The other stars get their chance to shine
But when I lay down to take it all in
I can't help but feel what's missing
On the ground next to me
Where you used to be

Your ghost has followed me
In places where we loved
The afterglow of the brightest part of my life
Was once all I could see

But now the overwhelming glow
Is just a few embers in the wind
I already lost you once
But now I'm losing you again

In places where we loved
Now even your ghost is fading

I thought memories would last forever..
With them I could live without you


But I'd rather die than forget.. then forget forgetting

Let me
die with my
memor-
43 lines, 318 days left.
Horloge ! dieu sinistre, effrayant, impassible,
Dont le doigt nous menace et nous dit : " Souviens-toi !
Les vibrantes Douleurs dans ton coeur plein d'effroi
Se planteront bientôt comme dans une cible,

Le plaisir vaporeux fuira vers l'horizon
Ainsi qu'une sylphide au fond de la coulisse ;
Chaque instant te dévore un morceau du délice
A chaque homme accordé pour toute sa saison.

Trois mille six cents fois par heure, la Seconde
Chuchote : Souviens-toi ! - Rapide, avec sa voix
D'insecte, Maintenant dit : Je suis Autrefois,
Et j'ai pompé ta vie avec ma trompe immonde !

Remember ! Souviens-toi, prodigue ! Esto memor !
(Mon gosier de métal parle toutes les langues.)
Les minutes, mortel folâtre, sont des gangues
Qu'il ne faut pas lâcher sans en extraire l'or !

Souviens-toi que le Temps est un joueur avide
Qui gagne sans tricher, à tout coup ! c'est la loi.
Le jour décroît ; la nuit augmente, souviens-toi !
Le gouffre a toujours soif ; la clepsydre se vide.

Tantôt sonnera l'heure où le divin Hasard,
Où l'auguste Vertu, ton épouse encor vierge,
Où le repentir même (oh ! la dernière auberge !),
Où tout te dira : Meurs, vieux lâche ! il est trop **** ! "
Arlo Miller Jul 29

the sadness that comes with knowing a present moment won't be remembered no matter how good the photos/videos. the sadness that comes from knowing your mom or dad is gone and with them goes their memories of what you were like as a kid. like a book with no copies getting lost
Johnny Noiπ May 2018
angel's              speak a  language that
   can         only be understood                            when no one     m        laughed           when one is            .         high on 
drugs & liquor
                 like the      liquor on ur daughter's  high
                    breath   s       .        s the same as  every
other daughter;                                  in the morning
   our                    daughters play goddesses                in
  the     sacred grove
where the                       soldiers  died  hiddennnnnnnn guys  
hidden in a    quantum   free fall  
opposite the       devil         starting w/ her              ******         bringing        back memor           ies of the           wicked         winds off  the                ****   plastic   hills  
where             shadows              lived  to stand
her shadow just stood there       there     tongue-kissing at an AA 
               meeting   older   lights     rosy  snooch                     speaking  of their wronged   hairy   snooches             giving        birth  as they stood still     w/ their legs opennnnnnn to be                   queens when the           stranger   sleeps              waves &  field   of the desert   gypsy   exists  
burning  her  b            ra;like  a computer  n    flames;  
Rana        leaving her   dying  in a state of;          the state   tree   change   walls   invisible   hill  
               watching **** & seeing my  
            grandmother   bigger than life  ******* **** & coke up her     
  nose  in the  land  where Billy the         Kid   jacked  the corporate state        the  watching her 
                      bare ***   in a Paris   bar,   thin,                         dating  boys
                 that carry    guns,   Mary  calls o     ut             to the      foreign     gods in  purple;          her  friend   in the
  darkness,   hey,   nice  &  cute      
      singing  in the  public bathroom              as it were a  temple   dreaming  
             in due      course   of           u're   a  dog,        honey  at the     party   looking
          .           like a   sitting   rock   Indian; 
  girls s w/ *****                       & upraised  legs,               already pregnant  & skinny;  open her legs   poet         wide & let the
           lucky   foodcar             drive out;  Lou   early   half   sounds   leather   the Denisovan             girl wore loose   facing       North,    the  muses party   turns   drunken

— The End —