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Life Tribute Poems | Life Poems About Tribute

These Life Tribute poems are examples of Life poems about Tribute. These are the best examples of Life Tribute poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails

This part of you 
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking  words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"

You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions 
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet:  "Ink Never Lies."

Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad | |

Indian Girl

--Virginia Slim--

Different eyes, the same world 
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl 
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair 
---Now listen to  the colors, of transformation, 
On the day she was born, the wind blew in, 
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A  gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim

Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names. 
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl, 
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man 
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,

Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman, 
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero, 
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas tricked and captured, 
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over, 
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands

Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before the princess, 
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision 
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse | |

Football, Beer, His Car and Kid

-The Same Old SongS-

That's all he ever talks about 


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain | |

Another Day

A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.

As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.

Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.

Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.

A Word Collage For Chan Hurst

(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Pantoum | |

Life on Mars

This is Major Tom to Ground Control; do you hear me? Its been almost a year now I've been stranded on Mars. I'm closer to God, but he don't seem to hear my plea. In the clear Martian night, my only friends are the stars. Its been almost a year now I've been stranded on Mars, sitting in a tin can feeling lonely, sad and blue. In the clear Martian night, my only friends are the stars, silently splashing the morning in bitter cold dew. Sitting in a tin can feeling lonely, sad and blue, missing my beloved, wondering if she still waits. Silently splashing the morning in bitter cold dew, the Star-man is near, but is too afraid to be mates. Missing my beloved, wondering if she still waits, I take my protein pills, hoping to go home soon. The star-man is near, but is too afraid to be mates. The topography is an abundance of red dunes. I take my protein pills, hoping to go home soon. Olympus Mons and Valles Marineris, become a bore. The topography is an abundance of red dunes. I'm getting tired of bouncing up and down on the floor. Olympus Mons and Valles Marineris, become a bore. I'm closer to God, but he don't seem to hear my plea. I'm getting tired of bouncing up and down on the floor. This is Major Tom to Ground Control; do you hear me?
In memory of David Bowie R.I.P 10 May 2016 Life On Mars - Poetry Contest by Brian Davey Footnote: Olympus Mons is the tallest volcano in the solar system, reaching 16 miles (25 kilometers) above its surrounding plains. Valles Marineris, on the other hand, is a giant system of valleys about the distance from Los Angeles to New York. Pantoum poem A rare form of poetry. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. This pattern continues for any number of stanzas, except for the final stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern. The first and third lines of the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first stanza is the second of the final. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing. It does not have to rhyme nor have a syllable restriction.

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry | |

Edwin Hofert Tribute


There comes a time in our life
when we simply "must let go"
hoping that encouragement
has been our chance to show

That childhood must not remain
embedded in your mind
You are so much older now 
and in this chance you'll find

A new life does await you 
in the days of warmth and night
for by your coming home
That makes everything so "write"!

Edwin seems to have disappeared again
I pray he is not lost in depression 

Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain | |

In Celebration of REAL Men

The strength of a man is not determined
By his muscles or his brawn
It is determined by his strength
To admit when he is wrong

The wisdom of a man
Is not determined by myriad facts
It is determined by the way
That wisdom is seen in his acts

The integrity of a man
Is not determined by his claim
It is determined by the reputation
That follows around his name

The love of a man
Is not determined by mere time
It is determined by each moment
That he makes you feel sublime

The sexual prowess of a man
Is not related to his size
It’s how he satisfies your needs
And what you see there in his eyes

The chivalry of a man
Is not determined by his manhood
It is determined by how he nurtures
You to revel in womanhood

The passion of a man
Is not his need to self-gratify
It is determined by how often
He makes the effort to satisfy

The wealth of a man
Is not seen in monetary things
But by those things that are free
That to your life he brings

The age of a man
Is not seen in the age life deals
But by the strength of his heart
And how young he makes you feel

The sweetness of a man
Is not determined by what he says
But it's determined by the fact
That you want him more each day

The humour of a man
Is not determined by a hurtful tease
It’s determined by how your laugh
When his words your heart please

A man is an awesome creation
That I’m determined to venerate
As Eve’s daughter much in love
This male wonder I celebrate.

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

It's Okay

It’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink,
to wash your hands with sanitizer instead of soap.
Your mother will joke
about how it doesn’t get your hands clean enough
but when was the last time you listened to her anyway.
It’s okay to cry today,
to use your sleeve instead of tissues.
It’s okay to take that thing that hurt you
and throw it out of the moving car,
just don’t go back to pick it up,
it’s not lost luggage,
it’s buried tumors.
It’s okay to hate God today,
to change his name to yours,
to grab the headstone with your mitten covered hands
and try to knock it over.
Throw the snow at it,
the roses have died.
It has been too long since the passing,
but I give you permission to hate God today.
It’s okay to break into the liquor cabinet
and medicate peacefully,
to drink too much sometimes
and not know where you’ve been
because you’ll eventually find yourself.
It’s okay to walk alone sometimes,
sort your thoughts,
to clear the air with air,
and dry the wounds with salt.
It’s okay to climb into bed early
and stare at the ceiling,
to just tell yourself that it’s okay.

Bold lines are taken from the poem Letter From My Heart to My Brain by Rachel McKibbens

Copyright © Katie Pukash | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

A Golf lesson

Over fifty years have passed,
Tho’ it seems like just the other day;
My father gave me golf clubs,
“It’s a game you need to learn to play.”

He said, “It’s very difficult, but so is life.
There’s more to learn than grip and swing and rules,
Like honesty and dealing with adversity;
Then, pointing to his head, “… and how to use ALL your tools.

Play the Course… and Mother Nature…
Focus on just one shot at a time;
Try to learn from each of your mistakes;
Then, do your best to leave them behind.

These clubs will teach you more
Than our ‘man to man’ talks.
This you'll learn for yourself,
So you can “walk the walk.”

“Practice makes better, but not perfect.
And always remember what they say:
‘”Golf is not a game that we can win.
It’s just a game we play.’”

His lessons served me very well,
Took them to heart and play the game.
And life is much like a round of golf.
Despite the bad shots, I’m always glad I came.


Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Marsiya | |

I'm my Daddy Made Over

Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013

I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over

Taught me to fight back 
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over

He gave me my stubbornness 
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over

How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over

Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on 
I may stumble I may fall 
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over

Sabrina Niday Hansel

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

I Remember When

With just a little coaxing I can remember when Excitement ruled my early days when you'd come home again. I was a boy, just seven or eight and you were fully grown. And it was a very special time when "Brother" would come home. You and your special Mildred, The two of you and "Wart"--- You see, I can't remember the three of you apart. Since you were up and married before I was ever born, I can't remember all the things that happened on the farm. But, things I do remember -- I can remember well -- Like the gifts you brought at Christmas none others could excel. – Like the places you would take us, Mildred, me and "Wart" -- We'd race the train to Cameron if that old Ford would start. – Like the times we'd all go riding and it seemed the car would wiggle -- We'd look and see you steal a kiss and me and "Wart" would giggle. Looking back, I realize the young love you both shared Began a life together that God himself prepared. So, no matter where I wander, No matter where I roam --- No thrills can match the ones I knew When "Brother" would come home. Author’s Note: This was written for my oldest brother and his wife, Mildred, on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary. During WW2 he held a most critical position with the government in New Mexico. “Brother” was a nickname we used for him and “Wart” was a nickname he gave his oldest son, my nephew, only one year Younger than me. He was an inspiration to everyone he met. His life story is motion picture material.

Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Pastoral | |


In Galilee, his voice was heard.
In Nazareth, he rested his spirit.
Cana is where he was first miraculous.
In Galilee, the crowds were like a flock of sheep.
But his crucifixion in Judea defeated their image.
My beloved Jesus knew his faith.
At the last supper, he told his disciples about his last days.

Oh Lord of greatness
How they hung you on the cross
Arms stretched to the limit
Not mindful (of it) at all.
The people of Galilee embraced your ministry.
In Judea, they crowded to witness your crucifixion.
Your mother cried out but
She knew that you were seeking your crown.
In Heaven, you reside.

You were raised from the dead.
Lord Jesus, you will meet your disciples once again.
Your resurrection was angelical.
An angel appeared to your disciples.
They were informed of your forgoing.
In Galilee, as promised, they would see you once more.

The prophecy of the birth of Christ is destiny that forfeited his life.
Penned March 20, 2015!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |


R.I.P. William Dale Eubanks
d. July 1, 2012, aged 68 yrs., Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee

Death came as no surprise
the first Sunday in July;
it claimed you, on a ridge in Tennessee,
with kin who took you in and waited with you
through the last hard days.
You kept what fears you had well hid,
did not betray with loud complaint
the fate you could not but know awaited.
A smile, a joke, a hug – exotic meals –
And genuine interest greeted all you met.
And you were, certainly, never boring
but well-traveled and smart
beyond the telling.
We’ll miss your wit, your bright demeanor,
and will remember all you freely gave ---
and what you took from us
with your passing.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

Bravery Is All There Is

When darkness falls and finds us all alone,
When the heart becomes a small grey stone ...
     Bravery is all there is.

When thunder shakes the windowpanes,
When those we love lie wracked with pain ...
     Bravery is all there is.

Bravery concedes its fear;
Does not attempt to hide its tears.
Bravery is born of holding calm,
In quietly, doggedly, carrying on.

When reason fails to light the dark,
When the answer is a question mark ...
     Bravery is all there is.

When justice seeks to rule in vain,
When sorrow sweeps the roiling brain ...
     Bravery is all there is.

Bravery trembles while it stands,
Accepts what it cannot command.
Bravery bears its burdens well,
Looks not to see if others tell.

     Be brave then, Mystery asks of us;
     Face the unknown with silent trust -
     For at the End, there is only this:
     Bravery is all there is.
     Bravery is all there is.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

the day you flew to Heaven

           We knew , it was if a moment stopped in time 
              hearing the news before most of the World did
           He loved to fly his plane from Colorado to Monterey Bay
           He was a avid golfer at Pebble Beach respected 

           He had loves and passions from many places 
           deciding to fly low through the overcast red sunset
            Not only did he love music and inspire all 
            He loved his Plane , he will always remain a beautiful Soul

              The next day it was confirmed ..all saddened 
             It was John Denver's plane that went down
             Today in Pacific Grove stands the Memorial 
             So Kiss me and smile for me we will ~
              always in loving memory 
               OH babe ,  do we hate you go ~    

         Inspired by ; contest in Music and Loss of an Artist
                   "Leaving on a Jet Plane "

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |


Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”

Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”

One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…

Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.

Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”

Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.

Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed. 
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.

Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.

Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray, 
“Lord, let this day be my last.”

For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.

Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.” 
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.

The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….

Stood an old dog beside the stone, 
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place. 
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.

She smiled through her tears.  
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too.  His name was Pal.”

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

A Tribute to Golda

A Tribute to Golda

It was a clear and bright sun shining morning in May.
As I came out my front door into the breezeway,
I saw coming toward me an enormous gray dog with eyes of pure gold,
The most exquisitely beautiful canine one could ever behold,
With a calm gentle presence and peaceful demeanor;
The look in his brilliant gold eyes assured I had nothing to fear.

It was love at first sight and I hoped he would stay.
Never mind the impediments; I’d find a way.
My toddler son climbed on him like they’d grown up together,
As I seriously pondered the prospect of whether…
Absolutely not, said my husband, a cat man, 
And nixed the idea before it began.

Weeks later, a litter box and cat food mysteriously appeared
On the sidewalk, out of nowhere; we thought it quite weird.
With the next morning’s sunrise, we figured it out.
The same coat of gray and gold eyes left no doubt;
The same being who before as a dog had been spurned,
In a more acceptable form and presence had now returned.

Bounding out of the bushes with a commanding meow,
A little gray, gold-eyed kitten my husband had to allow.
In her life as a cat and formerly a dog,
She was my brave and wise Golda who would go on to log
More than one rescue of our subsequent pets.
In defending attack, this courageous gray, gold-eyed feline was as fierce as it gets.

Note: Golda saved the life of my Chow-Chow puppy when she was attacked by a big dog that
came at her from across the street. Golda came out of nowhere with claws out, sending the
dog scurrying with his tail between his legs. Another time she rescued our little Siamese
youngster, Meowli, from the neighbors' dogs by jumping on their head while Meowli ran for
cover. Golda stayed with me for 12 years, longer than the husband cited in the poem, and
then when her time and her work was done, she just disappeared pretty much as she had
appeared. She was a beautiful, long haired all gray Persian with brilliant gold eyes. When not
rescuing other animals, she had the same calm, gentle and peaceful demeanor as the dog who
showed up that morning and left when he knew he was not welcome to stay.

7th place winner in ~Somewhere A Pet Is Waiting Contest~ sponsored by ~A Rambling Poet~

Copyright © Linda Witt-King | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |


THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP Anita’s eyes were brown. She was the kindest of angels. Her speech firm with authority but reassuring with a glass- like sensitivity; she seemed to know all. Prompt as a rooster's first crow, that's how she is. She stands like a lioness ever ready to act, a channel to prolong the patient's life. Her heart is a captive cog of dedicated compassion: as a wife, as a mother, as a Dean, Professor, and as a nurse. She stood always regal in white. Bearing a sanction of life and death with each shot made by her gentle hands. She had Tiger eyes for signs and symptoms; sponges to absorb order and pressures, she was simply a lamp for a sick person. Our batch, she handles with iron fist. Labeled as "black sheep" – for some of us are noisy cans but empty inside. Black sheep but later turned into the cream of the crop. She stood as our Samson pillars then despite canyons of doubts and critiques, our batch defies the odds. Yet, one day a snapshot happened – She fainted while teaching. She was brought to the hospital, scrutinized and observed like the frog in my sophomore year. I was one of the nurses who rendered care. I watched, how the shining light in her eyes turned to stormy sadness. I have heard how her sturdy voice now sounded a tattered tape only syllables and groans, no more. Her before supple glowing skin turned a wrinkled ash — all tautness gone. Finally, she needs only bags of blood in two days her life passed my Anita... _______________________________________________________ Sponsor Thomas Martin Contest Name Show but Don't Tell Placed 3rd... O.E. Guillermo 5:15 pm, May 19, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Cinquain | |

The One Who Survives

The One Who Survives She lives against all odds 'needle in a haystack' stranger gave her a new kidney new life Sandra M. Haight ~13th Place~ Contest: The One Who Survives Sponsor: Sara Kendrick Judged: 02/11/2016 Via her plea on Facebook, my friend's young daughter received a kidney from a perfect stranger in August 2015.

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Is There Life on Mars

Is There Life On Mars

Is there life on Mars?
Where is John Wulf is he Retire?
Is he ignoring my honest sister?
Or is he just a flying man of bars?
Read out there that she tribute him
WELL here comes another for this is not a win
Here’s my tributicking to John Wulf, Jan Allison
And to a real hot young hooting young Jack Ellison
Is there life on Mars?
Do you want to eat many smors bars?
Is Jan Allison dancing to the TANGO stars?
Read somewhere she’s a real chipper and flipper funny lady
Between you and I these three awesome people, sure make
Even Hady look mighty shady!
Now as for Jack Ellison, have you read lately?
He had written a love poem about his special lady
Oh man, these three SPECIAL PEOPLE, are so very happy and funny
With all the whacky, romantics and write the best in the

Finally finished this tributicking poem of mine. Had it on the go for at least 3 weeks.
Was having many computer issues. Some of the issues are still happening but I can cope With this.

Happy Tributes to everyone here!!!!

Copyright © Theresa CW | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

Tribute to a Polished Stone

It is so difficult to measure,
any metaphysical treasure.
One can only glean, 
Its riches of stream,
By absorbing it at one’s leisure.

I’m speaking of poetry that hovers,
Levitating between it’s covers,
just waiting to be read, 
nothing left to be said,
Literature for life and lovers.

Tribute to Elizabeth Wesley’s 
 new book …
“Polished Stones”
Author House publications.

     It has been a long, long time since I have read anything that 
has arrested my attention long enough for me to stop and smell 
the roses as has this book "Polished Stones" by Elizabeth Wesley.
 Thank you Elizabeth. 

tribute written by 
Robert A. Dufresne 

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse | |

Enigma's Calling

Extraordinary, I am 
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding  the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When  my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart

Copyright © Katrina Salem | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

the crucible savant

The crucible savant..    by Steven Hudson
(Crucible: A place or situation in which concentrated forces interact to cause or influence  change or development.
  Savant:  a person of learning…)

Through sleepless, hopeless nights
With liquor on breath and dull head
Alone and cold in lay,
We made our passage to manhood,
Many days in suffer and want
Through tears and hardness of heart,
With sorrow for cellmates
In a prison self-made,
Rather hunger and want 
Then submission to those above,
Wild wanderlust thrust us into darkness
Uncertainty of survival, without care,
Knowing no other way,
We strove to understand the deeds done to us in violence,
Shiver, quake, lie awake, as hopelessness covered us like a blanket,
Thieves and murderers as strange bedfellows,
Ladies of the night for use and forgotten,
Laws of the land forsaken, 
In desperate want, Never knowing if we’d  awaken,
Making our way through this world
Boys living as men,
We threw the line, heaved and toiled
In bright sun and fear,
With hands and feet against the frigid snow,
We lived beyond the breaking,
Many before us have sought their manhood,
While others have had it thrust upon them,
Much has been learned, much has been taught
By the flames and the fire, the crucible savant,
It has been our right of passage
Through bloodstained cloth and scars,
The fathers who came before us, live forever in the Arms,
Painted grey, now I see, the path laid out for me,
By the Infinite Son, whose Glory was won,
Making the savant, a reflection of Thee..

Copyright © Angel fire | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

The Center's Footsteps

Thoust message rings,
But it is a wretched beauty.
Sew up thine tongue;
It forks in many directions,
Ensnaring, passing through the centers,
Weaving a thread gleaming, deceivingly white,
Yet drenched in the black goo,
The sticky gobs of our source, our blood.
Cast aside thine needle,
Let time make it blunt.
Wallow in thine sorrow,
But only for a moment.
Up, up with you!
The sticky gobs cannot protect thee.
See me, Hear me.
For I see thee...
Thou hast split thine tongue
To hide, to forget.
Thine forked words, black to all, clear to me.
Go on, go ahead,
Walk through its enveloping black.
And when you cannot run,
And when you can’t do that anymore, 
Find someone to carry you.
Thou art strong!
Let thine center give you new feet!
If even thine center falls weary,
I shalt be thine legs.
I shalt carry you, my friend.

Copyright © Lauren Johnson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

My son Eli

You came to me before I was ready
I cried when I heard of your existence
Over night my youth was gone
Worried sick that I wouldn’t be good enough for you
Clueless on what expect for the future
Carrying you under my heart for 9 months long
I knew that I love you
I just never knew how much
Then I saw your face
Those beautiful brown eyes staring straight into mine
My heart melted 
And I asked myself how can a person love someone so much that they just met
But I did
I love you more than life it’s self
In that instant I knew my purpose on this earth was to protect you from all evil
I would give my last breath to you
I would kill for you
I would steal for you
The little keeper of my heart
My ray of sunshine during a thunder storm
So much joy have you given to me
My life is meaningless without you
I taught you how to walk and how to talk 
You taught me that life’s most precious gift is the love of a child
Your smile gets me through tough times
Your laugh is a symphony of music to my ears
I dedicate my entire life to you
I make I lot of promises that I can not keep but the absolute promise to love you till Lord stops my beating heart is one that is forever 
I was young and clueless
Wondering around the word deaf and dumb
Until the almighty sent you to me
I am now wiser and understanding
Selfless, patient and gentle
You, my wonderful son, are the reason for this
You changed me
You saved me
I am forever grateful for you 
My little pitcher
My soldier
My kung fu ninja
My super hero
The joy of my salvation
Life makes so much more sense when I’m looking at you
Where I go, you will go
I will starve so that you can eat
Go without so that you can have
Sleepless nights and empty bank accounts is all worth seeing you happy
Many will disappoint you, leave you, hurt you, and scar you
But remember momma will forever be right here for you
You are the number one most important thing in my life
You will never come second to nothing or no one
No matter how big you grow you will forever remain my little baby boy
My heart and my soul
My beginning and my ending 
My tiny angel without wings 
My meaning, my reasoning, my inspiration and my motivation
My one and my only Elijah William Tippett

Copyright © Kita Henderson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric | |

I'll Be Missing You (A Tribute To My Brother)

Verse 1:

Seems like yesterday we was hanging out
Running round; playing tag in the house
Till you hurt me and I would shout
Zach I gotta let this out my mouth cause
Life ain’t always what it seems to be
It hurts cause I can’t see you visually
Now that you’re gone, I feel like dying 
I don’t even see the point in trying
In the future, it’s my only dream
That you open up the gates for me
I ask God sometimes
Why did he take my friend
Why did Zach’s life have to end
When it’s real, I find it hard to deal
With all the everyday pain I feel
I will never forget that time
When I heard what happened on 4.0.9


Every step I take, every move I make
Every single day, every time I pray
I’ll be missing you
Thinking of the day, when you went away
What a life to take, what a bond to break
I’ll be missing you

Verse 2:

It’s hard to bear with you not around
I know you in heaven smiling down
Watching me like you always did
Ever since I was a little kid
Till the day we meet again
In my heart is where you stay till then
Writing songs; writing poems and doing things like crying
Are only half of what gets me by
Memories give me the strength I need to proceed
Through this thing called grief
I go to God for all support
Cause he’s one I know I lean on
God broke this bond
I promise to the one
That will keep it going strong
I will never forget that time
When I heard what happened on 4.0.9


Copyright © Morgan Fake | Year Posted 2005

Details | Rhyme | |

Birthday Wishes, Without Loving Family Memories Life Is Devoid

Without Loving Memories Life Is Devoid

So your pretty face turned forty today
My how sweet time races far away
Give yourself a gift of love this way
and write in poetic verse and play!

Look back at the life you have enjoyed
The burning candles that lit your way
Without loving memories life is devoid
Have a blessed birthday I pray!
Robert J. Lindley. 09-05-2015

NOTE- A Tribute poem, 
Our own Andrea that celebrates her birthday today!!!

Now poem presented below, complete with the birthday lady's replying verse!
Thanks my friend,  for honoring my request to add verses and being a good sport about the poem and the age teasing lyrics.

Without Loving Memories Life Is Devoid

So your pretty face turned forty today
My how sweet time races far away
Give yourself a gift of love this way
and write in poetic verse and play!

Look back at the life you have enjoyed
The burning candles that lit your way
Without loving memories life is devoid
Have a blessed birthday I pray!

Good sir, for being close to me in age, 
you know that we cannot forever be 
age 40, but if we write poetry, 
the chance is better we can live stress-free! 

Let's play with words, with rhythm and with rhyme. 
Life's candles that we lit have left a glow. 
Our memories in poems live on through time, 
and we might both be 90 for all they know!

Robert Lindley and Andrea Dietrich

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

The Victory Dance

To play as if today
Is your only chance.
Some say, “It’s just a game.”
Have they done the Victory Dance?

When hard-earned Victory
Was finally at hand,
Have they felt the glory
Raining down from the stands?

To do or not to do….
No one wants to hear, “We tried.”
Effort and dedication will be rewarded… 
They'll make the 'magic' that's on your side. 

Yes, to fall short is still an option;
But much better to succeed.
Heroes are made and remembered
Only by their deeds.

So, just go out and win.
Give your all to each and every chance.
Persevere and achieve…

And do the Victory Dance.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014