POEMS ABOUT MEMORIES

Englis poetry

http://rcg.org/questions/p104.a.html

"Remember Me"

Remember me when flowers bloom
Early in the spring
Remember me on sunny days
In the fun that summer brings

Remember me in the fall
As you walk through the leaves of gold
And in the wintertime - remember me
In the stories that are told

But most of all remember
Each day - right from the start
I will be forever near
For I live within your heart

 Author: Unknown










Poem about Family

Remember....

© Dawn Jensen

As I walk through life,
I look at all I have done.
I had wandered aimlessly,
And wondered what I have become.

I have been through so much,
It is amazing I made it through.
The lessons I have learned
I am shocked I pulled through.

The times I wondered
What life was all about.
The trials experienced in life,
Can make all the good come out.

We try to make it day by day.
Remembering what we were taught.
Just remember some time to pray,
It is important,
We need it every day.

Life can be short.
Unexpected at that.
We try to take its punches,
Just hoping it won't break our back.

Remember who you are,
Who you want to become.
Everything will fall into place,
When the time comes.

Don't forget I love you's,
Every chance you get.
The time maybe short,
There is no time to regret.

Life can be exciting,
As we all have found out.
Eventful, even busy
There is no time to be left out.

Remember who you are,
And Who you want to become.
The time can be short
Don't leave things undone.

Remember your families,
They are the only ones you've got.
To carry you in times of need
They can not be bought.

Remember they love you,
Either here or there.
They will always be with us.
Help for things to bear.

 Remember, I Remember

I Remember, I Remember

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy. 

Thomas Hood

________________________________________

Remember

BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Remember me when I am gone away,

         Gone far away into the silent land;

         When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

         You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

         Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

         And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

         For if the darkness and corruption leave

         A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

         Than that you should remember and be sad.

______________________________________

BALADA DEL MAR NO VISTO,
RITMADA EN VERSOS DIVERSOS

A Gregorio Castañeda Aragón

 

No he visto el mar.

Mis ojos

—vigías horadantes, fantásticas luciérnagas;

mis ojos avizores entre la noche; dueños

de la estrellada comba;

de los astrales mundos;

mis ojos errabundos

familiares del hórrido vértigo del abismo;

mis ojos acerados de viking, oteantes;

mis ojos vagabundos

no han visto el mar...

La cántiga ondulosa de su trémula curva

no ha mecido mis sueños;

ni oí de sus sirenas la erótica quejumbre;

ni aturdió mi retina con el rútilo azogue

que rueda por su dorso...

sus resonantes trombas,

sus silencios, yo nunca pude oír…:

sus cóleras ciclópeas, sus quejas o sus himnos;

¡ni su mutismo impávido cuando argentos y oros

de los soles y lunas, como perennes lloros

diluyen sus riquezas por el glauco zafir...!

¡Ni aspiré su perfume!

Yo sé de los aromas

de amadas cabelleras...

yo sé de los perfumes de los cuellos esbeltos

y frágiles y tibios;

¡y senos donde esconden sus hálitos las pomas

preferidas de Venus!

Yo aspiré las redomas

donde el Nirvana enciende los sándalos simbólicos;

las zábilas y mirras del mago Zoroastro...

Mas no aspiré las sales ni los iodos del mar.

Mis labios sitibundos

no en sus odres la sed

apagaron:

no en sus odres acerbos

mitigaron la sed...

Mis labios, locos, ebrios, ávidos, vagabundos,

labios cogitabundos

que amargaron los ayes y gestos iracundos

y que unos labios —vírgenes— ¡captaron en su red!

Hermano de las nubes,

yo soy.

Hermano de las nubes

de las errantes nubes, de las ilusas del espacio:

vagarosos navíos

que empujan acres soplos anónimos y fríos,

¡que impelen recios ímpetus voltarios y sombríos!

Viajero de las noches

yo soy.

Viajero de las noches embriagadoras; nauta

de sus golfos ilímites,

de sus golfos ílímites, delirantes, vacíos,

—vacíos de infinito..., vacíos... —Dócil nauta

yo soy,

y mis soñares derrotados navíos...

Derrotados navíos, rumbos ignotos, antros

de piratas... ¡el mar!...

 

Mis ojos vagabundos

—viajeros insaciados— conocen cielos, mundos,

conocen noches hondas, ingraves y serenas,

conocen noches trágicas,

ensueños deliciosos,

sueños inverecundos...

Saben de penas únicas,

de goces y de llantos,

de mitos y de ciencia,

del odio y la clemencia,

del dolor

¡y el amar…!

Mis ojos vagabundos,

mis ojos infecundos…:

no han visto el mar mis ojos,

¡no he visto el mar!

RELATO DE SERGIO STEPANSKY

¡Juego mi vida!
¡Bien poco valía!
¡La llevo perdida
sin remedio!ERIK FJORDSON

 

Juego mi vida,

cambio mi vida.

De todos modos

la llevo perdida...

 

Y la juego o la cambio por el más infantil espejismo,

la dono en usufructo, o la regalo...

 

La juego contra uno o contra todos,

La juego contra el cero o contra el infinito,

la juego en una alcoba, en el ágora, en un garito,

en una encrucijada, en una barricada, en un motín;

la juego definitivamente, desde el principio hasta el fin,

a todo lo ancho y a todo lo hondo

—en la periferia, en el medio,

y en el sub-fondo... —

 

Juego mi vida, cambio mi vida,

la llevo perdida

sin remedio.

 

Y la juego —o la cambio por el más infantil espejismo,

la dono en usufructo, o la regalo...:

o la trueco por una sonrisa y cuatro besos:

todo, todo me da lo mismo:

lo eximio y lo rüín, lo trivial, lo perfecto, lo malo...

 

Todo, todo me da lo mismo:

todo me cabe en el diminuto, hórrido abismo

donde se anudan serpentinos mis sesos.

 

____________________________________________________

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church – (236)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –

I keep it, staying at Home –

With a Bobolink for a Chorister –

And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –

I, just wear my Wings –

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –

I’m going, all along.. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)

_____

    English Folk Verse (c.1870)

            The Fifth of November

    Remember, remember!
    The fifth of November,
    The Gunpowder treason and plot;
    I know of no reason
    Why the Gunpowder treason
    Should ever be forgot!
    Guy Fawkes and his companions
    Did the scheme contrive,
    To blow the King and Parliament
    All up alive.
    Threescore barrels, laid below,
    To prove old England's overthrow.
    But, by God's providence, him they catch,
    With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
    A stick and a stake
    For King James's sake!
    If you won't give me one,
    I'll take two,
    The better for me,
    And the worse for you.
    A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
    A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,
    A pint of beer to wash it down,
    And a jolly good fire to burn him.
    Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!
    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!