At Last Poems - Poems about At Last

Written: July 25, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand **************** t ...

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Harold John Bray, Jr., Seaman 2C- The last surviving member of the iconic Navy vessel the USS Indianapolis. The Indy was a capitol ship that just returned statewide for major repairs and refitting, following a Japanese Kamikaze attack at Okinawa. Nine members of the crew were killed, a somber time. Harold enlisted in the U.S....

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I write, because if I do not write, I fear I have never been. I write, because my body no longer fits except on the page. my poetry is not recited. it is washed in a basin, hung to dry in the cold, and smells of unsaid life. whoever reads and does not weep, has not understood. who closes the book and falls silent, is my brother....

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Last Dance One grows with adventure true anticipations across a lonely sea but logically my work is safe tuck away in Anthology Fate published and quoted by millions all over the world so far just three they are No Matter What one two my Piano Teacher and Roses Are Red Violet are Blue...

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silly dream … but it’s mine nonetheless wait … wait for it … I’ll wait for it now and ever to feel that press the press of sweet tenderness that melting mouth that met mine all those aching moonrises ago the first - a swollen-full blue of July so bright it drowned the stars … a muggy twilight of steamy mist and cricket song and a hazy dance...

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Covered by cloud the out-of-sight tops of soaring towers, Buckling under their own weight, beginning to topple from Those airy heights; The gaping breach - the once impregnable outer wall! The inner keep ablaze with greedy, insatiable flame; A thunderous cacophony of crashing cymbals and blaring Horns; Wide-eyed lurching panic desperately grasping at the fleeting Moment... And the whole...

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When was the Last time When was the Last time you stepped out of the 4 walls in your mind And set under the stars and dream the dreamers dream that was once part of who you were When was the last time you set with your feet dangling in the cool rippling water Beneath the...

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two years ago, on Christmas eve, i made an appeal and stood in your court i asked you to revoke my status- from a stranger to a lover, or friends who love each other but you declared me guilty and sent your troops, with cannons aimed at my gate if you had asked me, "will you survive?" my answer would've been a...

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Just One Last Night – The Last Goodbye - A Musical Mini-Movie Duet Sometimes, love lingers long after the last goodbye. We think we’re letting go—but in truth, we’re holding on. Not just to memories, but to the soul that once stayed beside us. The Ballad and mini-movie is about love and loss, about the quiet ache that...

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To whom it may concern, We wrote in a rhythm that was soft and slow Between the lines where we could go You brought the bass, I brought the breeze, Dancing together, pens moved fluidly No label fit yet promises were made Ones said were real never to fade You spoke in beats, I answered low And in...

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Give me one last night of silence in the cosmic temple of ancient memory, Where shadows dance with light in circles of fire and hidden divine grace, To touch with trembling fingers the stars from the cup of the thirsty soul, To drink from the black wine of eternity, from chalices filled with moon's blood. Give me one last...

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Long ago, Mithila was left at this forsaken station, As the train slipped away on the wrong track, cutting all horizons. There was no return Mithila knew it, even then. This waiting was only a silent, endless sigh. In the dust-covered mirror of nostalgia, Her past flickers, bright as gleaming, Unreal in its stillness and beauty. The present? A colourless traveller That tells no...

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This Is a Tanka written by Eileen Manassain and reimagined by me by adding every other verse in order to create Lyrics we could put to music. please visit Eileen recent page and enjoy This poem in it's original Form. I want to Thank Eileen for the privilege of working with her on these poems Nothing seems to...

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nothing seems to last flowers weep faded petals a faint scent lingers once blooming in bright color my poems have lost their appeal emotions wither wilted words whirl in the wind bereft of beauty I strive to remain rooted hoping for droplets of love Eileen Manassian...

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When I set out to write a love poem, I imagine you as the crack before thunder finds its voice, your breath breaking the laws of gravity between us. You are no angel— but something that makes clocks forget their purpose, your pulse humming morse code beneath my skin. The coffee cup you leave steaming near the sink outlasts your absence by exactly seven...

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