Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Tribute Poems

Below are the all-time best Tribute poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of tribute poems written by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Tribute Poems

Search for Tribute poems, articles about Tribute poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Tribute poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Tribute Poems
Read Tribute Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Tribute Poem | |

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 
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
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 sung 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 propagandas
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

by;)

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Ancient Warrior

I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow,
You carried burdens then; you see them now.
You’ve heard the cries your people who in pain,
Have shed their tears two hundred years like rain. 

Your sad brown eyes, reflecting now the sky
I see the wings of eagles flying by
Beside you stands an Appaloosa mare
Her spirit one with you now over there.

You hear the drums, they bid you to come near,
Your spirit drawn the beats they ring so clear.
Song like prayers are chanted through the night,
Calling you come, and help them end their plight.  

You’ve heard sad cries and now stand at their side,
You join the prayers with both arms open wide,
United spirits sing until the dawn,
When in the fire’s flames a golden fawn.

Remembering a smile crosses your face,
When tribes were one with Mother Nature’s grace.
The lakes and streams flowing with waters clear,
Flow sadly now, the planet lives in fear.

The weightless feathers that adorn your head
Your tribes grey future weighed you down instead.
Now breathing deep you smell the winds of change
While here on earth your people rearrange.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.21.2014
Giorgio A.V. Contest 
Iambic Pentameter 
1st place

Details | Tribute Poem | |

flowers for Chinaski


I quickly grew tired of poems about
the supposed gentleman who wanted
to turn his gal into a flower.

I thought about what it might be like 
to be turned into a 
flower --

maybe domesticated in a garden 
first, then plucked

or plucked straight from the wild.

Stuck into a vase
on display for people to watch you 
slowly wither.
People admiring you 
with punctuated looks of sentiment,
sniffing you while they watch you
die.

By chance
someone might press you into a book
to preserve you for later admiration,

only able to touch you like a 
gentleman,
so your petals don't disintegrate into dust.

Nah, I would rather she be a 
woman,
have her petals embrace me.

She might try clawing out my eyes with rage 
and slam the kitchenette 
in just that way I can't stand,

before we cuddle together,
an ashtray between us
smoldering with the stacks of Pittsburgh or
Chicago or Buffalo City.

And even if the blue light flickering off the walls 
can't fill all the empty spaces 
in our hearts,
at least we chose to be there

and lived.

Lived beyond 
living for the sole purpose
of dying to look good in the casket,
only to be pressed into a mausoleum.
____


When the time comes,
I want my corpse to feed
the forces that don't give up
fighting against contrived,
manicured lawns --
that don't stop fighting to break through 
concrete city slabs
with the faces of dandelions and chickory,
blossoms exploding
into bright ruckus

while making love to the sky.



April 7th, 2014




“i am with the roots
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument...."

-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"




+/-

Details | Tribute Poem | |

flowers for Chinaski -- part ii

part ii


There was a time
when I wanted to be one of them,

to somehow fit in
with the fancy rituals
of their high society.
But the da-Dumb, da-Dumb, da-Dumb
made me want to puke,
made me want to bounce my head 
off the table, hopefully causing the bone china
and forks
to add clatter to their snobbish 
symphony.

Words like "gossamer" 
flitted around the room,
word so thin but veiled 

and distant,

even the candle light appeared
to shy away from those dry wings.

The snobs talked about how
I was too simple with words.
They did so with such a simple, 
small-mindedness,
the irony provided oxygen for flame
to devour.

And the critics proclaimed that
I wasn't able to love,
when really, I just wanted to get away
from them, 
smoke a cigarette in peace
while hitchhiking back to my chubby cherub,
feel her belly fall and rise against my skin.

I was finally able to love,
and she died.

The previous pain had been for show:
"Look at the drunk ham
feeling sorry for himself."

But when she died,
I distilled tears
into a different type of proof.
I was no longer willing to be
their carnival attraction
placated under the table,
listening to them upstage each other.

When I was able to stand again,
a cold, sharp thing was birthed in my mind,
and 
I wanted to shoot them all between the eyes,
splatter their degrees and deeds 
with their blood and brains.

I found peace though -
stopped wanting to be one of them.

I found peace
away from their chatter
about what to carve on their headstones
or what type of fancy imported granite
their mausoleums should be constructed of.

I found peace in readying myself to be 
consumed by 
roots,
to be perspired into the open, fathomless sky --
the same deep blue as the bird 
who finally pecked his way
through the rusted cage of my heart,

freeing us both.



April 12th, 2014



“i am with the roots
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument...."

-- Charles Bukowski,
"The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966"



+/-

Details | Tribute Poem | |

The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven - A Tribute to Chan Hurst 1979-2014

A few poems written by Chan Hurst, (Just That Archaic Poet)

I hope that we can find some comfort in them at this sad time.


"A Rational Explanation"

What must I do to see this through-
Unlock the world I never knew?
For all I've seen hath been untrue,
As all I've felt hath plagued me, too!
I am no more, past Deaths before
I've reached the end of Living War-
(to see through eyes both blind and closed)
A life to touch, but never know...


"Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep"

Every day, to God I pray
For answers to Life's enigmas
Patience lays in wait to stay-
To cleanse our Social Stigmas
We pass the time in our idle Dreams:
Like fallen stars in singing streams


"A Happy Ending"

Remorse and regret, I mustn't forget
Remind me that Life is a process of Learning
Indeed for I sorrow'd; 'twas always upset
As the Truth was met with painful discerning

But now my eyes are open-wide,
Grew to love what I once despised
I am no longer sick inside-
I just feel happy to be alive


"A Master's Approval"

No happier could I ever be,
(Or feel a joy's enormity!)
Than to know a Soul as Poe-
Would say he likes my poetry!


"The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven"

I pray that in my Eternity,
I'll meet Shelley, Poe and Emily
That we'll all sit down at a table round,
And at length discuss our Poetry!

And Longfellow, lest we forget
Lord Byron, Shakespeare, and beloved Keats!
If I prove their favorite Poet,
I could accomplish no greater feat!

For all my many silly musings,
This one I covet above the rest
For my Soul's toil- finally proving
That the Masters love me best!





"Heaven For A Poet"  by Kelly Deschler

My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to bed nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.

My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.



This poem was one of mine that Chan had faved, so I thought it would be appropriate to share this now and dedicate it to him.

I will always miss you, BP, my brother in poetry, but I sense that you are smiling down on us now.

I know that Chan idolized Edgar Allan Poe. I remember him telling me that someday,
he wanted to share a table in heaven with that "good ol' E.A. Poe".

So, Chan, if that is what you're doing now, I envy you, my friend! 

And, you said that you would personally invite me to that little gathering, remember? :)







Details | Tribute Poem | |

Night Owl

Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!


Details | Tribute Poem | |

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 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

by;PD

Details | Tribute Poem | |

The Wind

~~The Wind~~
            
           ---
Look into my eyes
Follow me into a world of ecstasy
There and only there
Will you find the peace to unwind
           ---

Beautiful brown eyes not blue
Shady lids, stunning  ocean view
Embracing every word 

Hear the wind whispers your name
Come with me
Drown with me
Into the abyss of loving rain
Embrace this moment as I draw you in with words
Release you with the warmth -------I was there

I Share--I take
I LOVE--I HATE
Into my arms
I am the charm
Around your neck
Around your wrist
Listen to the voice from my beating heart
It yearns
The freedom of touch
The freedom of speech. 
Of love, 
Of purity
Like the wind
I'll find my way
Into your heart
Arouse the cheerful energy
Of your insecurity and pen
Follow me into the sea
There we will fall into the deep
Build sand castles 
Around dreams of reality
Slip into my aura light 
Set to the rhythm of the oceanic night

Now, listen to the breeze
It's called out your name
It's only a matter of time----------------
You'll find yourself calling out...... mine

by; PD
Dedicated to all my loving friends & fans :-)

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Clerihew Soup

I tell you I like, that Wayland a bunch
He'd be the guy, to be there in a crunch
Not afraid of humor, he paves the way
With clerihew words, he loves to play

Let's talk of Eileen, the Queen of passion
Her verses of pleasure, will not be rationed
She causes men to rise, women to weep
Many a farmer, have stopped counting sheep

Then there is Shadow, who is a bright light
Her name suggests darkness, but that isn't right
With a pen and paper, she loves to play
Out of the Shadow, poems brighten our day

There is the woman Donna, she is filled with charm
For her animals, she'd give her left arm
Still here in the soup, she adds her own spice
She's a little bit hot and a whole lot of nice

When it comes to Eagles Montery's the last word
She's not in a flock she's a solitary bird
With her strong wings creating a breeze
Verses dance on the wind with the greatest of ease

I can't forget about Richard, now there's a man
He teases Eileen, just because he can
Yet within the humor, his clever exists
His poetic talents, impossible to miss.

My friend Vicky T, has brought me to tears
She possesses insight well beyond her years
A voice from the wilderness, please take heed
Wisdom resides in her poems that we read

When it comes to nature, our Nette is the girl
She makes mountains quiver and pretty leaves twirl
To angelic worlds she causes us to travel
Brooks are helpless she makes them all babble

Our Andrea she is well beyond great
Her words are profound they carry such weight
Regardless of form, many contests she wins
She's top of the heap, before she begins

Becca's a doll, with a sensitive pen
She writes of the now and also the then
Her words magical, a muse guides her pen
Capturing my mind again and again

This place amazing, a Mystical Rose
A unique handle my creative friend chose
Perfect for her that woman has style
A perfect seven at the top of the pile

My buddy Drake he has really mad skills
With words like honey the airways he fills
If you are lucky he'll let you co-host
To him I raise a glass to happily toast

Others must wait I'm running out of Rymes
I will write of them some other time
Until then I must wish you all goodbye
Have a sip of my soup, give it a try.




Inspired to try my first Clerihew by 
Wayland Bunch. Hopefully I have got it right.


Details | Tribute Poem | |

Lucilla Smiled

Although her smile I could not see, Lucilla smiled through poetry. This lovely lady I met here who graced us with her sunny ways until her very final days became for me somebody dear. Although her smile I could not see, Lucilla smiled through poetry. Her words of wisdom now can flow in heaven, where all angels go. This lovely lady I met here became for me somebody dear. Although her smile I could not see, Lucilla smiled through poetry! RIP Lucilla Carrillo - Written in her memory Oct 2014 For the Sonnetina Rispetto Contest of Dr. Ram Mehta

Details | Tribute Poem | |

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

Details | Tribute Poem | |

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


Details | Tribute Poem | |

Whiteness

Winter frost on willow trees  
     Weeping tears of snow.  
Halos 'round the opal moon,
     Hopeful, humble glow.           
Ivory keys collecting dust, 
     Itching to be played.   
Tresses bleached by age and time,
     Thinning as they fade. 
Empty pages bound in cloth,
     Ernest for a word.
Naked rows of birches -
     Noble and absurd. 
Endless skies of cotton clouds 
     Eager to unfurl.
Strings of sparkling diamonds, 
     Strands of subtle pearls.
Shovel, shiver - still, it falls:
     Snow subdues the world.

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Poet

Poet—Your words,
Like garments of
Gold and silver thread,
Shimmering in sunlight
Or bathed by moonlit glow,
When shed—
Leave me breathless,
Caught up in their naked truth
And timeless flow—
And I become aware
Of nothing else.


© 2012 Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Nevermore

I write of a man named Edgar Allan Poe,
Whose dark, tortured soul could not rest,
His work is something every poet should know,
These stories are among some of the best.

"The Raven" was never more ghastly and grim,
"The Pit And The Pendulum" which tortured him,
"The Valley Of Unrest" was such a quiet place,
Where "The Sleeper" dreams in peaceful grace,
"The Murders In The Rue Morgue" were a mystery,
"The Fall Of The House Of Usher" had a gloomy history,
"The Black Cat" was dead, but suffered no pain,
"The Tell-Tale Heart" is what drove him insane,
"The Masque Of The Red Death" did conceal,
While "The Purloined Letter" did reveal,
"The Premature Burial" meant for the dead,
"Annabel Lee" was the corpse bride he wed,
"Spirits Of The Dead" found themselves alone,
"The Conqueror Worm" that fed on human bone,
"The Haunted Palace" was wandered by ghosts,
"Tamerlane" written for one he loved the most.

As the poetry flowed from his heart,
One tragic day, death came to his door,
Finally his tortured soul could depart,
He would then pick up his pen, nevermore.

Details | Tribute Poem | |

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)


Details | Tribute Poem | |

Tribute to Susan Boulet Art

Susan Boulet was an artist 1941-1997
Her paintings are famous for their layered effects which she started later on in her artistic career. She loved fantasy which is easily seen in her paintings. This is my fantasy poem as I look at this beautiful picture painted by Susan Boulet.

The old man sits quietly on the hillside, knowing his days as one
Spirit would soon be coming to an end. He stares blankly at the heavens where the pale blue sky is the backsplash for Cumulus clouds now filling in, the horizon. He chants his prayer over and over again calling his brothers to come receive his spirit and be one with him for all eternity. Brother bear, cloak me with the warmth of your coat that we may walk through each winter and never be cold again. We will stand together as one, never again will we know fear. Brother wolf fill my heart with your loyal spirit that we may rise to heights of a love greater than any human could possibly achieve. His prayer seems to rise more intensely as he continues. Mighty cat, share with me your speed that we may be faster than the wind, jumping through the clouds as one. Wise and good owl, become one with us that we shall have wings to fly as eagles and wisdom to find eternal peace. Now the old man whispers, together we shall hold the secrets of the universe in our hands. Soon his chin drops down on his chest as a smile crosses his face, and the old frail body crumbles to the hard rocky ground. Then the cry of a wolf, the hoot of an owl and simultaneously the roars of a sabre-toothed and bear echo through the valley. As darkness fills the sky and the moon is high, the silhouette of a young warrior stands proudly on the bluff.


Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.26.2014
For Debbie Guzzi’s Contest:
Free Verse, Prose Poetry, Haibun

Details | Tribute Poem | |

One Tolkien Over the Line

He was a writer, a fighter, an old-timer word rhymer
Always thought free verse was asinine
He was the queerest, the dearest, the tear in your beer-est
and he was one Tolkien over the line

He was archaic, prosaic, euphoric, historic
Made pentagrams optically divine
He was the cheekiest, geekiest, and uniquely freakiest
and he was one Tolkien over the line

He loved cigars and Star Wars, guitars, and sitars
Collages made his artistry torch shine
He was the jivest,  high-fivest, young poet alive-est
and he was one Tolkien over the line

It's not much reward to those who are bored
but are afraid of not acting benign
Sometimes you gotta get riled, and go a bit wild 
and step one Tolkien over the line

November 14, 2014


Details | Tribute Poem | |

9 11

                                    
                                                               
                             America the Free  ~             America the Brave ~
                           Freedom with price              Capitalism attacked
                            the many taken                   hearts broken still
                              one World                           try to rebuild
                            sadness and tears               fall hard with fears  
                            guilt by association             many accused still
                             souls evaporated                shattered dreams 
                            tears fall on innocence          left with anger 
                             The proud fearless             knew the inevitable
                              policeman fireman             many lives lost
                            grieving does not stop           12 years later    
                               New York city once          proud  & shameless 
                             refusing to let fears in          protecting ours 
                                left in shock still              question's unanswered                    
                               nothing learned                     nothing gained  
                                ready to attack                   many left behind
                              anger greets denial              anger meets rage 
                               unacceptable still                 refusing new love 
                            wanting days to rewind           let us go back in time 
                              acceptance  allowing           the victims leave in peace
                              the brave taken young           leaving us sadly old
                               haunting dreams                     lost spirits dwell
                               no answers to hate            never forgetting that day
                               Evil entered suddenly              unforgiving fate
                                entering our City                we stand with the fallen
                                 How to fix                            how do we Change 




           
            This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~









          


Details | Tribute Poem | |

Poet's Heart of Gold

Giving Thanks 

In advance, I wish to heal the mind, body, and soul
Thanking all God's creatures
Coating all my expressions from-
-Yesterday, today, and tomorrow
Conceal every worry, 
Focus on the goodness that fills my spirit with thankfulness
And, well, honored comments. 

This is a rich tribute to:
All Poetry Soup Poets, with grateful and appreciating hearts
Enjoy the time, you give each and every Poets

:)

Details | Tribute Poem | |

The Last Gold Leaf

The last gold leaf hangs on the bough;
Summer is just a mem'ry now.
You, too, have gone, my golden friend;
Our summer days came to an end.

We said goodbye; our chapter closed.
 How I will miss you no one knows.
 On eagle wings you split the skies;
Your spirit soared. You had to fly.

My earthbound soul will bear its grief
Severed from you on mortal reef;
But returning from yonder shore,
Your love in waves will wash me o'er.

You've gone before, my trusted love;
I wait behind, your mourning dove;
Yet, from across the great divide
Your voice to me in dreams confides.

No, I think not that dreams they are;
T is communion of the near with far.
On such sweet songs I stake my claim
To know and love you once again.

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Ode to My Husband

Ode to My Husband
What a wonderful, magical surprise! Sometimes love arrives in disguise. I never saw this coming, Never anticipated such an awesome blessing. I was at the right place, When I spied your sweet, handsome face. It was at the right time, When you called me your goddess and I knew you were mine. Until I met you, I was like a sad, little bird with no songs to sing, With only broken wings, l had to work my way through some hurtful things.
But you came along, A real man, unselfishly offering me strong, broad shoulders to lean on. It was a long, slow process getting back on track, But you were patient and willing to take the burden off my back. When I was lost and alone, you showered me with loving attention, Tenderness, kindness, and consideration. You nurtured and cherished me each step of the way, Building my confidence and trust each day. Thank you for helping my fragile heart to mend, Thank you for helping me become whole and to love again!
Entered in contest "Best love poem #3" sponsored by Poet Destroyer A (5-26-2014)

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Five Sweet Letters for the BIRTHDAY GIRL

L  egendary is her poetic soul
I   nvincible in reaching her goal
N  aughty, but she can also be nice
D  aring, with not a thought to the price
A  mbitious, she will climb to the heights

Linda…she shines in all that she writes!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

PS...Linda, HAPPY BIRTHTDAY!!!!! I wish you all the best!!! May God bless and keep you. I've so come to appreciate you during my time here. You are strong, smart, you speak your mind, you know what you want, you know how to get it, and you are fearless. Qualities I love in a woman! Also, you know how to be caring and tender when the need arises. You are a TITAN of Poetry Soup. Your name says it all. Divide and conquer. Sending you hugs on your special special day! :)

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Twilight Hands

She hummed the dawning of the day
while spry hands bounced babies
Wielded a spatula with expeditious 
movements flipping pancakes onto a plate
Folded napkins at place settings

She was in full swing at noonday
as brisk hands folded lunchmeat and bread 
into sandwiches     Smoothed the creases 
from pages of homework     Kept the iron 
moving in a pendulum motion over 
the mounds of spanking clean laundry

She talked with her hands 
gesturing wildly with excitement 
Administered slaps to unruly kids with her hands
She took all gossip with a grain of salt 
Tossed a pinch over her shoulder 
with a cupped hand    just in case

With reverent hands and nimble fingers 
she daily turned the pages of the good book
unerringly finding the appropriate Bible verse 
Now a smattering of age spots dusts her smiling 
frail countenance aglow through paper-thin skin
And mother folds her twilight hands

Details | Tribute Poem | |

Sonnet to a Fine Poetess

I know a very fine poet, a dear colleague, who’s so exquisitely talented and bright,
And has a superb facility with words and themes making all fit perfect and right;
She has an unrivaled mastery of the poetic art and writes with the best approach,  
And has an unparalleled ability to write the finest verse beyond any reproach. 

This poet’s sense of depth, empathy, and poetic variety is quite splendid to behold,
And she brings such compassion and power to her work worth its weight in gold;
With well-conceived themes and images she invites readers to her special dimension,
While enchanting them magically with sublime verses and holding their attention.

This poet communes with Our Poetry Muse, seeking her scope and enchanted vision,
And shares amply all with her readers with enraptured intent and a perfect precision.
Our friend’s poetry reflects always the human dynamic with such power and grace, 
And she finds the right tone, tenor, pitch and rhyme—putting them in proper place.
 
I must say I’m very proud of our colleague’s work and appreciate so her fine poetry,
And I’m so glad she’s with us and gives us such beauty and elegance in her poetry!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(November 9, 2014) (Shakespearean Sonnet in a Rhyme poetic format) 

*****Written for the “It’s All About Me Contest,” December 4, 2014*****