Memory Poems

Popular Memory Poems
The Poem Of Zuhair
by İbn Abî Sûlmâ Zuhayr

'Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa?

'And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist?

'The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are springing up from every lying-down place.

'I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile.

'I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool.


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Exposure
by Wilfred Owen

I

1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...
2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...
3 Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient ...
4 Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
5 But nothing happens.

6 Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
7 Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.

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Poem
by Elizabeth Bishop

About the size of an old-style dollar bill,
American or Canadian,
mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays
-this little painting (a sketch for a larger one?)
has never earned any money in its life.
Useless and free., it has spent seventy years
as a minor family relic handed along collaterally to owners
who looked at it sometimes, or didn't bother to.

It must be Nova Scotia; only there

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Sun
by Michael Palmer

Write this. We have burned all their villages

Write this. We have burned all the villages and the people in them

Write this. We have adopted their customs and their manner of dress

Write this. A word may be shaped like a bed, a basket of tears or an X

In the notebook it says, It is the time of mutations, laughter at jokes,
secrets beyond the boundaries of speech

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Hymn To Intellectual Beauty
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats through unseen among us, -- visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower, --
Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,
It visits with inconstant glance
Each human heart and countenance;
Like hues and harmonies of evening, --
Like clouds in starlight widely spread, --
Like memory of music fled, --

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Recent Memory Poems
Another Doctor, Another Revolving Door
by Darris van-Hoxen

What’s the point
if I told you a you
was elsewhere—
not quite you,
not quite I,
just remnants
of someone else.

And with another brain—
not my own—

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Memory Revisiting
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

black cherry dusk skies
and moon rose, it was silver
butterfly quivers

the gemmed stars were out
and Mom tending blooms, singing
clematis clinging

jade dragonfly lake
comes again in memory

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scaling ivory veils
by Rikske Kessner

Secrets remain shrouded, unspoken,
yet I see them seep
into the spaces between breaths.
Truth, as it stands,
refuses the grasp of words—
it thrives in the moments
we dare not recount.

The echo of vanity
envelops everything I once chased,

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Echoes of a Rose
by Drake Son

Her winds still whisper names forgotten,
And her rivers now hum hymns of home’s embrace.
Chimney tops rise, silent like prayers unanswered,
And cracked cobbles mutter stories of long ago.
Still held together by time’s drystone hands,
The home we once knew, now overthrown.

Now, not a place of darkness and gloom,
As strangers still believe.
Nor a land of milky tea-stained dreams,

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In Memory of Late Patrick William O'Connor
by Kinsley Lee

He wrote a poem in the strange land at May,
And he fell as a petal the very next spring day.
He's too young to die for the strange people,
But freedom world, he's the eternal star of sample

Alas, he left a wife and kids at the home,
But leaving a poem as a freedom fighter on the tome
He'd passed one day after, writing which was titled "Korea",
And now he's lying under the hill of the althea.


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