These Anniversary Sad poems are examples of Sad poems about Anniversary. These are the best examples of Anniversary Sad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Almost three years now Daddy
since you were taken away
I thank God you no longer suffer
but I had so much more to say
But you and I were always very close
and I know that we still are
So be free to enjoy family and friends
I know you'll never be far
Oh but Daddy
Did I remember to thank you
for coming to stay with the kids and I
At times you thought you were a burden
but if anyone was it was I
And I want to tell you too Daddy
that you would be so proud of them all
Brandon's now a sergeant with a son on the way
Cam Jeremy is due early fall
And your little Sarah Daddy
you would be so very proud
She's a tiny little thing, still a great mom
and has the best boys in any crowd
And I'm sure you've been watching Curtis
So you know he's just like you
And he is living up to the promise he made
Yes Daddy I'm very proud too
Oh and one more thing
before I lay down to rest
Did I remember to tell you and the world
My Daddy's the best
Loving you and missing you always
Your baby girl
Dear brother you were only 22
when the good Lord came calling for you
Water had consumed your last breath
Coroners said was a flashback from heroin and meth
I had always looked up to you
but your verbal abuse made me and the others feel blue
black hair hazel eyes man you look so like Elvis
imitating shaking your hips and pelvis
blisters and sores on your young pale face
oh boy how you had fallen from Gods grace
you had a little girl right after you died
Mom always stood by her and your girlfriend's side
first Grandpa then you Dad Mom and brother Bob
for my life now feels like I've been robbed
missed over 30 yrs of wishing you birthday greetings
now at the dinner table there is limited seating
but every year when your birthday comes and passes
I will be there to pick your grave site overgrown grasses
I wonder what you would look like today
or even if your hair would be full of grey
I have forgiven for all you had done to me
for I hold no regrets so your soul can be free
heres wishing you another birthday greeting
as I lay this card and rose at your grave site's seating
Please give Grandpa Dad Mom and brother Bob my love
for someday I will reunited with all of you above
For now I have my own little girl
for she is my own everyday world
I promise to tell her all about you
and how God will turn you into someone pure and new
Rest in peace my loving dear brother
heres another birthday wish I send in passion smothers
In Loving Memory Of
My Brother Gary
10/ 18/ 48
6 / 5 / 71
The old woman argued relentlessly, her case.
Resolute, she raved in her conviction;
two thousand and one reasons were there for her to be mad.
Eleven was given to questioning eyes.
It was September,
and Bernice brought home the bourgeois man,
and the two fell
from the pedestal
they held among friends in the big city,
(the city) a melting pot,
now a city in affliction.
Bernice’s brown eyes combed the neighborhood;
two boys, with open arms,
played aero planes;
Across the street,
the rug pilot laughed his ass off
as if mocking the bourgeois man,
and his woman hid her face in rags …,
in degradation –
but her sad eyes openly mourned her son’s suicide.
Grief of that magnitude brings offense,
and the bourgeois man was red with wrath,
and he abhors the old woman
with every inch of his being.
Racism was reversed.
He avowed by God to ruin the rug pilot,
and the people that loved him consented.
Hearts were left to wonder
what makes men so cruel.
The reasons for the old woman’s rant was explicable,
and of the grounds for the revenge
the negros conceded,
in only one instance.
Revenge was foreseeable,
and the spirit breeds more phobias.
He stood bravely before me
with a medal of honor in his right hand
and a bandage of agony around his left knee
It seemed like he had struggled to stand,
his crutches lay useless on the ground
I found it hard to understand why,
a soldier in pain didn't even frown
With a voice firm but dry
his words shook me like thunder
"You're now the man of this house"
he uttered like a worn-out hunter
quivering up my legs like a terrified mouse
Drowning my mind through cold ears
he passed his sincere respect and sunken tears
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THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT HAD TO BE IN THE POEM
Abomination scorn Affection Passion Yearning
Struggle Attempt Cherish Relationship Flame
Taste Tender Inner soul Bloom Bamboozle
HERE IS MY ON THE SPOT CREATION!..enjoy :)
I was a woman scorn
Unknowingly cherished a relationship
where the flame was no longer existent;
where time flew by in the distance and I missed
everything in my life I intended
because I was accepting a me that depended
I made an attempt to bamboozle the truth
and convince myself that he wasn’t screwing Kim
Ultimately I faked passion and lustfully feigned for affection
since I’d been betrayed
So, I got down on my knees and I prayed
I began yearning for knowledge of my Inner soul
I began to taste freedom and feel whole
The healing began and my consciousness rose - fresh bloom
It was no longer a struggle to end an abomination that would
prove to be a path of doom
It’s My Birthday
It’s my birthday… I look out the window there is no one for me owe so, owe so lonely poor me .
It’s my birthday… you surprise me, with a Barber-Q grill with a cooler that chills with a grin we show white grills.
Happy Birthday… it’s my Birthday I am still waiting, it is almost the end of my the day, just waiting on you to wish me a happy birthday which, well make my day.
It’s my birthday…you do not remember that day, can we go out for we can remember that day?
It’s my birthday… I can share it or alone, some share it with a twin, or with a friend and the ones who stay to the ends like a good friend.
It my birthday… its looks like another day to me I just need someone or something to comfort with me a room full of women and with hand full men, a juice in cup, juice in glass, with a sweet lady and grill on cut grass that may make every day feel like my birthday, with a touch of class.
It’s your birthday… it’s your birthday you should all-ways win on your birthday, if do not have a mate you sneak and go on second party date form those who may player hate.
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday! it comes and go, I see you come through, looking out my window with a hand full company that is what a party really should need, yes it’s sweet, sweet with music and sweet with treats or it must be the money, or food, or brinks, or just me.
Poetry 7/7/12 by author Keith K. Relf
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)
You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks
for us to hear when, and if, we will),
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.
Her look that day,
Should have told me everything she could not say.
Unprepared, I stared.
She walked away.
As she tossed our ring,
I felt the sting.
If I’d known then
How I feel today,
I'd heal the abscess and my heart’s decay,
Before her affection left me there that day.
We clad ourselves in colors as we march,
saluting independence through a foggy dream;
gazing at the night alight with flashes,
and firefly screams.
Rockets made in China, cascade/
to the backdrop of the Star Spangled Banner;
a flutter to the wind blown flags made in Brazil
and "I Love America Pins" upon our lapel;
(made in Mexico).
We stand on oceanfront (it’s owned by France)
gazing ‘pon the open sea,
the port is owned by Saudis/
but at least we stand here free.
Our hands steadfast upon our chest,
saluting whichever freedoms still remain,
those freedoms, their going fast;
and they’ll disappear one day.
We gaze into the abyss of night,
the twinkling tears that kiss our cheek,
immersing ourselves in awe of moment,
before it fades our dreams to sleep.
We stand enamored with this land,
the love that lurks within our hearts,
we celebrate this love/
fore tomorrow, standing is banned.
Happy Birthday to me,
Another year of misery,
Smiling too wide as I say
Happy Birthday to me.