Memory Field

at first glance this appears a maze

of granite, marble, grass

row on row of standing stone

etched with dates, names

flowers, crucifixes, clouds


under each, lies a life, a



the field brings the names

back, fresh to the mind

but does it do justice to

who they were or what

their time meant, the

events they witnessed, the

company they kept, the

memories they made, the

memories they brought here

with them to this field


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About John White

I've written off and on my entire life. It took years for me to finally take putting words together seriously. Now it's not, nor does it ever feel, like work. Writing daily has become habitual. No day is complete without words having appeared on the page.

Posted on May 9, 2015, in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 16 Comments.

  1. What a lovely poem that so wonderfully parallels the thoughts I had today as I wandered through the graveyard by my house. It is so cosmically refreshing to have a favored blog produce a work of art detailing my own personal experiences of the day. Thank you for sharing this!

    • I love irony and timing like that! It’s amazing that I posted this on a day that you walked through that cemetery. Thank you for your feedback. I must admit I hate and avoid cemeteries with all my might but had recently visited one and it struck me how it went on for acres and acres – nothing but stone on top of stone. They are certainly strange places.

      • I used to find cemeteries to be scary. I would hold my breath as I drove past them and hope not to catch any bad spirits. Yet since rediscovering and redefining what truly means anything to me, I have come to find cemeteries to be a peaceful getaway, a home without a roof if you will.

        When I am there I feel the restful peace that I so desperately seek in this life, the comfort of knowing I won’t be the only person who has a story that passes away as time passes on, and the divine comfort being able to walk among those who have come before me in this messy adventure we call life. Their peace, rest, and existence provides strength and sustenance to my weary soul. While I fight tooth and nail to be happy while I am alive, I know as soon as I am released from this earthly prison I will be among friends.

        But I am kind of weird… πŸ˜‡

        • You’re hardly weird. Not at all. I tend to stay away from cemeteries in order to remember any lost loved one simply how they were rather than by two dates and chunk of rock. For others, cemeteries are comforting and, as you describe, a place of strength and sustenance.

  2. Great poem John,can’t say I like those places but when you wrote about it it shade a whole new lite to it
    Great piece

    • Thank you, Sheldon! Like you, I don’t like cemeteries either, really. They’re depressing for me. But I recently took a rare visit to the grave of a long lost loved one and it resulted in this poem.

  3. moylomenterprises

    Hmm, sad.
    It is not a custom of my upbringing to visit cemeteries for we were raised to believe (via religion) that once a person dies, the body returns to the earth and the breath returns to the creator. There is no afterlife until the resurrection – – the time of Christ’s return. We were also taught that even if there is nothing to fear at the cemetery (there is no life there) that the devil is very capable of orchestrating events to have us believe the dead have risen, that ghosts are among us, and that life after death can take several forms even to have us believe in possibility of souls lingering before passing on to other realms or to heaven with the angels looking down and protecting us.

    Although I have since separated my belief in God from being part of a religion (since they all claim to be the ‘right’ one) I generally don’t like being scared so I will not put myself in a position to let the devil have fun in messing with my mind. So no cemeteries, no scary movies, and certainly no Halloween haunted houses!

    Very poignant, thought – provoking post. Be well…

  4. this awesome.. big fan of your work

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