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Long Memorial day Poems | Long Memorial day Poetry

Long Memorial day Poems. Below are the most popular long Memorial day by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Memorial day poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by James Clark | Details |

The Babaji Wheelbarrow

It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood. 
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait,  I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath,  such a heavy lump in my throat,  “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think,  my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink. 
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends. 
 I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.


Long poem by Leonora Galinta | Details |

In Memory of My Dad

It’s already been three years now since you passed away, Yet, those mem’ries of you are alive, in my heart you’ll forever stay; Every time I think of you, I smile with pain, And wish that I can see and hug you once again. My childhood years with you were so much fun, I can’t recall any moment when you hit me with your hand; You always took care of me with so much love, ‘Til I dreamt of Jesus on his bike, showing Himself like you-a loving Dad. You were a very loving father who sacrificed everything, When mom was away for work, you crossed rivers if I get sick; You’d played the biggest role in my grade schooling, You’d always fetched and brought me to school through biking. I remember when you asked my teacher’s permission, I was sick and I couldn’t attend my Kindergarten Graduation; My teacher didn’t agree for I’ll be given an honor, Wrapped in blanket, you brought me up on stage to pin my ribbon. From my secondary to college life, You gave your financial, moral and spiritual support and guide; You’d honed your house-painting skills and you became well- known, A big help for mom and your three children’s education. December 2010 to January, 2011 was the happiest moment for me, You and mom visited me in a place so far away, A happy reunion of only four (with your sis/my aunt) but I was so happy We enjoyed your natal day… I never thought that was your last, Daddy. You went back home and suddenly you got sick, No matter how everyone climbed a mountain, you’d a remote recovery; Despite the pain of losing you as my eyes blurred with tears, I finally let you go to God, in Him you’ll find the most soothing relief. Today is your death anniversary and I’m writing my poetry, To express how much you are missed my ever dearest daddy; I offer you flowers and candles on the altar where I’ve placed your photo, Through my prayer to God, I’ll send my loving messages to you. Dear God, please tell my dad that I dearly love and miss him so much, Hug him for me and through the breeze, please send me his loving touch; Among the most beautiful flowers in heaven, please pick one for me, Give it to him- a symbol of my great love and forever he’s my best daddy.
Feb. 27, 2014 5.20pm A poem requested by my relatives for my dad’s Third Year Death Anniversary on this March/14. He was 64 when he died. It was sent back home through mail and will be read by my 11-yr. old niece on his memorial service day at church. >>Pls. click about this picture. TYSM


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)



Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:



Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.


He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.


After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.


In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.


Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.


He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.


Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.


On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.


Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.


His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.


In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.


On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:


‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’



Mahlangu died for a cause!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

A Different Kind of Memorial

I write this for you far too late it seems.
That the day would come, the sun would set on you
was always just a bad dream, I'd conjure in my head,
late at night while laying haphazardly in my bed.
Of course I found it to be true
and it left me speechless through and through.
You were a friend to me and a Man of God.
You were tired of standing still, so you got off your log.
And when you announced you were joining the army
I was indifferent. I didn't beam with pride, nor preach against it.
I was a pesky mouse with a million things to say, but stayed quiet.
Just what in the world could I do
that would ever compare to the Greatest Sacrifice?
We can't even sit down and talk about it
that's what they mean by the Ultimate Price.
Just how in the world do I honor thee
when I'm convinced so thoroughly
America was in the wrong?
I wish at times I could be like a sheep
and tag along.
Hold my head up high
and see the good ole red, white and blue
waving majestically in the sky.
But I can't just ignore what my heart is telling me.
It's not about taking the day-off and having a barbecue.
It's not about kicking up your feet, basking in the heat.
I respect that full-heartedly.
But with the range of emotions I'm feeling currently
I can't even shed a tear,
it just wouldn't do these feelings justice.
For it is without shame and without prejudice
I mourn the loss of anyone,
not just someone close to me.
I can't put a price tag on lives,
it's just not how I see things.
It's a lie what they tell you, digging doesn't
always get you gold, just grimier dirt.
When someone goes we all point fingers,
but in the end it's only hurt that we feel.
It's a long grieving process, but in explicable ways
some of us just won't ever heal.
Oh how I wish to grab Uncle Sam's shoulders,
screaming, "Wake UP!
We've played your game, but enough is enough!
In the name of God, stop this charade!
How dare you turn a blind eye to so much blood..."
But alas, now is not the time for that - today I'm just sad
when I think of all the life you could have had.
All I know is that on May 4th, 2013 war took her course
and swallowed up one of this world's last great remaining stars.
It's a comfort to me, however minuscule,
that I see your smile on the faces of many,
so you can't be all that far.


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

Auntie

 
Auntie
 
 
In her lofty ways she was at all times 
the best example of
the stars out-shining the moon.

Her ways of doing things always 
correct and proper 
she was a student of the Queen.
Place setting and 
the china on the table all had to 
be according to the law.
 
And no PHD could outwit her with
her twelfth-grade education. 
She though dignified and learned
always quoted un-biblical quotes 
from other bibles.
 
"Cleanliness is next to Godliness ".
 
I would say well didn't 
God make dirt too!?
Don't be asinine she would say- 
Seemed as if the emphasis
would be on the "ass"
I would laugh... and when 
she thought
I was not looking 
she would laugh too.

Auntie could hardly 
pass up a good humorous 
exchange no matter how 
ostentatious or outrageous. 
Her well groomed and well 
manicured demeanor 
was not just for Sundays. 
She served her God faithfully 
in words and in deeds everyday.
 
I have never known her 
to beg or borrow. 
Never seen her complain as 
"Arthur" took his toll on her knees.
 
She was faithful to the end 
and though she had no
 children of her own, 

she nurtured all of the 
children whom were 
blessed enough to be 
corrected by her or to 
eat a slice of her lemon 
meringue pie. 
Anytime I think of her 
I remember the sweetest 

music coming from 
the piano that displayed 
her mood with music- 
Her piano voiced her 
thoughts in pitch and 
range; as she became 
one with the keys and chords. 
 
There was no room for "I can't"-- 
and no excuse not trying. 
She finally gave up on me 
playing the piano -
That ruler had taken 
it's toll on my knuckles 
and even if you failed at any

attempt to do things as right
as she wanted :
After a hardy reprimanding/ 

Auntie was sure to have my favorite 
food and clean bed waiting for me.
I loved her so much that 
every now and then 
I have to write about this amazing 
Sister to my mother.

Her name...
Rosella Faye Graham Derrickson Myers ...
And yes she would say her whole ''title"
if you were to ask her, her name.
 
Her spirit lives on... 

In all the lives that she has touched.


Long poem by William Gray | Details |

Song to Sylvia- For Sylvia Plath

                                                    Song to Sylvia
                                                  R.I.P. Sylvia Plath

                                        Sylvia, please visit my mind attic
                                        somewhere safe to store your head.
                                        Share those silent visions between us
                                        all precious thoughts as yet unsaid.
                                        
                                        Join in rare moments called calm
                                        to throw wild words around the room.
                                        Chasing phantoms away by twilight
                                        before our ceiling crashes down.

                                        I have read your finest works in time
                                        to capture some bitterness of laughter.
                                        As behind a darkened veil you cried
                                        while the pen bled out for slaughter.

                                        Rare knowledge left you all alone
                                        alive to nothing less than deep anger.
                                        We only mirror such troubled minds
                                        that eat from insecurity with hunger.

                                        Once you brought truth to its knees
                                        launching one attack after another.
                                        Until demons tangled you in their webs
                                        With the cruel hypocrisy that smothers.

                                        Simple words not enough to remember
                                        how the past had placed you wrong
                                        Sylvia, forgive me singing idle praises
                                        For you echo all my songs.      


Long poem by John Posey | Details |

Ballad of Sammy Taylor

Sammy Taylor was a good kid, as everyone could see He was destined for greatness unknown to you and me. From the hills of West Virginia, a place called Whittlers’ Bend. He left one day in ’66 never to return again. Folks all remember Sammy for the goodness in his soul. A smile and sparkle in his eyes glittered just like gold. Sammy considered all the people as family to him. When he was called to fight for peace in a place called simply, 'Nam'. He grew up a hunter and loved his fishin’ too So things the outdoors offered Sammy weren’t all that new. ‘Nam' was not the West Virginia Mountains that he knew. The morning he woke up on a hill called 14 Blue. Charlie had been active there just the day before And signs that he was very close could not be ignored. While all remained quiet throughout that August day Little did anybody know that night would bring hell to pay. It was just about a quarter to three, and all was strangely quiet, When the chatter of an M16 broke the silence of the night. There was a pop and then a flare gave vision to the night…. A voice was heard to say, “Charlie’s on his way and he’s coming here to fight.” Now, Sammy had already seen his share of hell on earth And Charlie’s demons gave him one more chance to prove his worth. A dedicated VC soldier was always an awesome foe But nothing will surpass the courage Sammy would soon show. Sammy found himself in front of an insane VC charge He barely had the time to yell, “They’re comin’, Look Out, Sarge!” A VC grenade proved to be his last courageous test When a West Virginia mountain boy covered it with his chest. Now, there’s a house in Whittlers’ Bend with a medal on a wall. But the plaque hanging there beside it cannot tell it all--- How Sammy Taylor went outside, one morning, just to play, Then, some years later, gave his all, in a place so far away. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13 Written By John Posey 05/18/13


Long poem by Jecon B. Nadela | Details |

Soldier of Ages

Dedicated to  Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, Jr. (November 11, 1885 – December 21, 1945) 


I'd fought a hundred battles 
       through the ages past and new 
I'd been a lowly foot soldier 
       But at times commanded too. 
  
I was a witness of Arab mothers 
       Fleeing cities under-siege ; 
A new age liberator, 
       The commander of the third. 
  
I had served with Ceasar's legion; 
       The Carthaginians; and the Greeks. 
When Arthur was in his Kingship, 
I was a captain of the knights 
  
A horseman tough and skillful 
       Of medieval cavalier; 
But ages had transformed me 
       to dash with iron wheels 
  
The only time I meet MacArthur 
       Was in the salient of St. Mehiel 
We both stood erect, calm, and unmindful 
       To the guns and bursting shell. 
           
Oh well take a look at Monty 
       Too slow for his advance 
He didn't expect me to take Palermo 
       or Mesina to my plan 
  
 I was reproved of my harshness, 
       They knew not that I was somber too 
I cared not of my language 
       As long as my point would get through 
  
I'd mixed my words with profanities 
       That my orders surely stick 
My men would always remember every word 
       While they're in the battle field 
  
Oh my, I hate those yellow bastards 
       They have no place on this earth 
I sent them to the frontlines 
       That no more they would breed 
  
 Those swivel chair commanders 
       Discounted my two days time 
But brave soldier deserved to be rescued 
       Before his dog tag stops to chime. 
  
So my men made it to Dunkirk 
       To the delight of McAuliffe 
"Surrender!" yelled the Nazis 
       but "nutz" was all he said. 
  
I was cut off of supplies and fuel 
       For Market Garden's sake 
But after pissing the flowing River 
       I held the Fuhrer's nest 
  
So soon another war was ended 
       Mine enemies had lost 
The iron carver claimed the glory 
       And relieved me from my post.   


Long poem by Cheryl Chandler | Details |

A Lovely Day

From the past days of old.
At Seventh Street & Florence Avenue.
Vehicles in pristine finished.
Bragging Rights Mint Condition.
Proudly rolled by in a yearly tribute.

Very close behind did the present.
Spanking brand new, Virgilina's, VA.
Town's first responders debut their life-
saving vehicles of rescue.

Summer Fest proudly displayed.
Awesomely colored painted fine cars.
Including trucks and plowing tractors.
The drivers and passengers.
Cheerfully waived tossing smiles and candy.

I watched so many of the children laughing.
Enjoying themselves while playfully.
Scrambling to grab all and as many.
Of the tossed free candies.

So very comforting it was to see.
Neighbors, visitors, friends and family.
Witnessing together. 
Standing side by side
In such a loving comradely.
History and our future.
Embracing one another.
In supreme harmony.

Refreshing the supportive celebration.
Veterans from old world wars of our past.
Keeping close in step were our gallant;
soldiers of wars in our present time.

Today's events were also in celebration.
Of the soldiers whom honorably.
Transitioned to a much peaceful home.
This was a very lovely quick get away.

Cotton candy, home made ice cream.
Scenie's Old-fashioned Peanut Brittle.
Freshly squeezed lemonade.
How fortunate to meet Ms Marion Woods.
Author of Uncle Jerdon's Farm Children' Book.

Thanks to my cousin Natarsha.
I am experiencing a very lovely.
Memorial Weekend Holiday.

My Uncle Joe Lassiter our beloved Veteran.
His daughter and my cousin Andrea Miller.
Stood in the longest line waiting patiently.

For what I learned was the town's best.
Brunswick Stew.

It's evening now I sit here as one.
Within this blissful time in nature.
Pleasantly at peace.
Relaxed taking in the beauty.
Of this picturesque piece of land.

Reflectively pondering.
On on this lovely day.
I joyfully have a writing instrument.
Very close at hand.


Long poem by Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Details |

Meeting The Soupers

"Your first poem was an 
excellent poem....you are 
welcome...." Commented 
skat on my first poem.
"Wonderful and deep 
poem....you are welcome 
to poetry soup..." That 
was Poet Destroyer.
"Wow you have touched 
my heart in a special way 
with your poem.....your 
new friend Leonora 
Galinta" said Galinta.
"Well penned" said 
kithinji and so many 
special poets.
Hearty words from these 
unique poets spurred me 
to write better poems.
Which they appreciate.
Poetry soup is safe haven 
where feelings and 
emotions are expressed 
in tangible forms.
An educational enclave 
where different forms of 
knowledge are 
exchanged like two 
hands washing eachother.
Am most humbled to 
meet these dazzling 
gems radiating warmth 
like the sun-a privilege it 
is connect to parts of the 
planet.
I believe we all will meet 
someday,not in the after 
life.
Leonora Galinta is an 
angel to meet,whom I 
admire amongst others.
Love to set my eyes on 
her delicate and graceful 
nature. See her graceful 
carriage, feel her gentle 
hands and smiles as she 
exudes sweetness. I pray 
hand of time will 
backwards when that 
day appears as we walk 
in the woods leading to 
silent deep blue sea with 
gentle breeze 
whispering...... A prolific 
writer as well.
PD will I meet 
someday,love her 
amiable nature,full of 
grace and charm. A 
prolific poetess.
Skat is lovely with her 
immeasurable words of 
encouragement.
Kithinji will I love to 
behold,to learn from him.
Have drink with Robin,
Alian, shake akinyemi, 
stroll with Joe, hv a hike 
with
Sibanda, dine with Ralph 
and you.
Saying hi and hugs to 
Paz Samelo.
Meeting the soupers is 
making a happy family.
   Am gliding like the 
eagle,soaring higher as 
the day pass by.          
you soupers are my 
strength.








Name:Ifeanyi Bob 
Ekechukwu.
(Baron Of Ebullion)


Long Poems