Best Commemorated Poems
Achingly slow the way that we kissed,
enjoying the entrapment we laid in.
You commemorated this with cursive.
The soft swirl and soft hand of cursive
matched us as the paper was kissed.
Italics bold as your tongue trucked in.
It was comforting how you creeped in
with flirtation flowing in pristine cursive.
Immortality penned the way you kissed.
A love letter french kissed in cursive.
On Sunday March thirty two thousand fourteen, my sister
lost her grim battle to cancer, she was much younger than I;
nobody would believe that she fervently prayed while waiting to die...
who gave such strength to endure pain, if not her faith of believer?
I stood by her touching her forehead to offer some consolation...
she tried to smile, but was overcome by pangs of desperation.
If horrid fate had cut abruptly her life, prayers provided endless comfort;
and accepting death as a relief from suffering, she cherished that thought!
Farewell, Catherine...even the March gloomy sky cries
to express its ample sympathy for someone with moribund eyes!
A treasure you have left: gems that gleam as the eternal stars,
and each one of them reflects the gentle smile of your shining grace
that everyone saw when you opened those warm arms...
and by loving everyone, you taught us the meaning of an embrace!
Farewell, Catherine...find joy in that celestial place above the earth's sphere,
there happiness is heard through songs that praise glorious love, not fear!
We'll remember those delightful moments you shared with us...
when joy shone on a face that did not know the bitterness
of tears! Yes, they are imprinted on these weeping hearts
as the words of Virgil who commemorated the brave souls
that accomplished great things never forgotten by fleeing time...
isn't your story of indomitable courage for us to read and admire?
A HABITAT OF MODEL AND A MEDAL: BAHAY KUBO
Our bahay kubo*
Is an achievement
And a dream come true
For us to dwell and live
On this simple hut
Whose inspiration I’ve drawn satisfaction
Indeed: I had gotten: A model and a medal.
Why would I say this, a self-reverenge
A MODEL “coz
This is a design
Typical of a Filipino
Worldwide known as Nipa Hut*
Is amply commemorated identity as a race
It’s simple and yet it generates
Patriotism, love strength, upheavals
Unity and success
A model in itself not anymore a caricature
Of value but a realism.
Be it poor, underdeveloped
It was conceived with faith, love and peace
A place for rest and recreation
A hub for hubbies
A hide-away from the crazy world
A stop-over for a voyage
And a playground as well as a battleground
Shared for all by forebears.
And, then also, a MEDAL
More than a bronze, silver or a gold
This hut, hub or a habitat for living things
Is an achievement, an accomplishment for greatness
Which I have a strong convictions of honor
And heroism deserving of a prize, reward and a medal
It is a tremendous height of wisdom
Hot, hut model and a medal!
*bahay kubo--- small hut
*Nipa Hut---native house in the Philippines, synonym of bahay kubo
Emotionally drained
scars no longer visible
and I can still anticipate
the next slap
held prisoner by my thoughts
the pain deep within
a voice,
telling me I must have been at
fault
for him to turn from love
to hate in just a few minutes
mom always said the
husband
is always right
Why do I fear his love?
Why do I question who I am?
I use to know what I want
from life
now I await his approval
I’ve lost myself
in between the hidden scars
and the swear words
the constant refrain,
'you'll never make it without
me'
I’ve lost myself in between
his "I’m sorry and "it will
never happen again"
I’ve heard it so many times
every time I take him back
God knows I'm tired of his
broken promises and second
chances.
I've lost myself in my quest
for love
so lost, sometimes powerless
deep down I know this isn't
love
and yet I still hang on
hang onto his false hope
thinking it is suppose to be
this way
hopefully one day I will find
myself again..
I have to, so I can show my
children a better way
then scars and swear words...
Show them the true meaning
of love without fear
We are
approaching 16 days of
activism for no violence
against women and children
which is an international
event commemorated in
South Africa as well. 25
November 2011 – 10
December 2011
©131120111821
William Thomas Pickering, 2nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers, G/3371 born 1881 died 1916
Commemorated by name on the Thiepval Memorial, France.
Remembrance day ..
A field of bright red poppies dance
As I walk hand in hand with my children
Through the battle fields of the Somme
In my pocket, I have a bunch of wheat
A token memory from where he fell
At peace, to have walked where he walked
As the poppies begin to fade....
I hear the thunder of guns, shrieking shells
I see a vast sea of dismembered bodies
A No-Man’s Land of mud and wire
A military display of fireworks dispersing
Casting light on this horrific hell on earth
For underneath the poppies lie, the remains
Of so many men who died, blown to pieces;
Where a river of blood will forever bleed
Passed on from generation to generation
The great loss of war, which nobody wins
As I remember my Great-Grandfather
William Thomas Pickering.....
From color, everything turns into shades of grey
A palette of beauty, now so monochromatic
Everything good and bad ends up as alabaster
And all else is simply forgotten
Lost in the thick-leafed pages of time
Only preserved by the markers indicating their places
Soldiers march and stay in their places
Uniforms the darkest shade of grey
Their valiance dissipating over time
Because history is monolateral and monochromatic
The rebels we massacred we seem to have forgotten
The only things that remind us of them are their statues of alabaster
If every person in the world were commemorated in alabaster
Then would there be just enough places
To position them all? Most we forget
As time and their hair starts turning grey
Only the terrifying ones with monochromatic
Views are stuck forevermore in the realm of time
In life, there’s only so much time
To become extraordinary and immortalized in alabaster
The substance that makes all skin colors monochromatic
And every man stuck in his only place
Turning all of the beauty of outside grey
Until the true colors are forgotten
You and I will soon be forgotten
And stuck in the web of the spider, Time
We’ll watch as everything fades into grey
The piercing dead eyes of the alabaster-men
Reminding us to mind our places
And stay forever monochromatic
And while the grey world looks down on the monochromatics
And while the monochromatics are always forgotten
And while only the forgotten can truly go places
And while places are but a figment of time
And while time turns all men alabaster
And while alabaster is always grey
The monochromatics are the only ones who can stop time,
Remind us that we are not yet forgotten alabaster
Pieces in museums and other places decked only in grey.
THE HOLY WEEK
I reminisce, I miss……
This week is Holy Week and I cannot help;
but to reminisce how we observed the
Holy Week, when I was growing up, that I miss.
Today is Good Friday and I remember
commemorating this day by being in church
at three in the afternoon, when Jesus
died, to recite The Stations of the Cross.
I reminisce; I miss the Holy Week then,
my father decorating the long doubled
strips palms for us to carry to church,
to be blessed in the Palm Sunday mass.
We gathered outside the church at night
on Holy Wednesday for procession around
our little town ending inside the church
to observe the Holy Wednesday mass.
The next night, we went to church
in observance of Holy Thursday and
we commemorated the crucifixion
and death of Jesus on Good Friday.
We continued on to memorialize
with another procession around
the town in the evening, followed
by the lengthy Good Friday mass.
Saturday was observed in silence,
while waiting to exhale and rejoice
the Resurrection on Easter Sunday
with all our town festivities.
Our resurrection procession started
outside the church very early in the
morning, ending at the plaza kiosk
with singers welcoming the procession.
We proceeded to church for the Easter
Sunday mass to celebrate the Resurrection.
We continued on celebrating by going
to the beach having fun and lunch.
How I miss observing the Holy Week then.
I reminisce, I miss….
4/2/21 I Reminisce I Miss Poetry
James Edward Lee Sr.
Written: by Tom Wright
January 2015
The memory of a person is established
By the length of shadow cast on earth,
Some shadows remain long after departure,
While others seem to scamper into the grave;
Man is rarely commemorated for two things,
Those not yet started or those left un-finished.
He will be remembered far longer
For contributions made to life’s picnic,
Than for the Doggie bag he toted away.
Yesterday is a storage locker
Containing all of life’s previous endeavors
Tom
armed with lance and shield
embarks on ivory steed
approaches sanctum
nemesis sighted
embroiled in bloody battle
vicious creature slain
bestowed with honour
patron saint of a nation
commemorated
-------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, April 23rd 2017
When tears came out of my dour eyes,
In depth of faint soul and sobbing sighs,
All the cosmos here felt inutile,
Of rich hearted folk, but introversively futile,
Birds passed by me to revive a new hope,
Not to think of tieing new knots, a new rope,
I was lost, lost my reins, went insane,
Trees shed leaves commemorated my pain,
And all my endeavors, hopes, got objected,
Contused soul, detested, and twicely rejected,
Where could I find a beacon of salvation,
Undernaeth there might I find the warmth of consolation,
There I found hundred of stars directing and suggesting,
Solacement is the only way of living not sobbing,
We live solo, scattering in the immense sky,
You are not alone, see through this peak high,
Embrace all suffering and the pain with open eyes,
And be a man of concrete and wise,
No matter how massive is your pain in depth and size,
The angst will perish, and you will rise.
Written By
Shahid Hussain
27 oct, 2015
Once The Covered bridge
Till last fine month
I was poising firm,
Aloft those giggling waters
that often went wild.
Taking pride of
my sinewy timbers,
As brimming loads of
endless desires passed by.
In my days of youth
Condoned the avid,
Drudgery and ambitious,
Smirked evermore.
For years having allured
many adorable twosomes,
Charming familiar faces
grew up in grace.
Now shattered I lie
Beneath that aqua,
As feral waves caress
my deep wounds,
My tears sinking
Tranquil to river bed.
Lost to negligence
my soul kept calling,
As soaked in edacity
you chose to be careless.
Once reckoning picturesque
was my enticing chemistry,
Amidst blooming greens
my stunning brown woodland.
Too late the realm
Severed beyond mend,
Now me, the covered bridge
be commemorated in history
and missed in panorama.
Written August 23, 2017
For contest by Craig Cornish
He born in a hamlet
He became favorite
He healed leper(s)
He is said helper
He shed blood
For the sinfully dead
When they saw HE star they celebrated CHRISTMAS
When HE was crucified we commemorated GOOD FRIDAY
When they saw empty tomb the world celebrate EASTER
Trying to remember
How it all goes
Ask, and no one knows
Pointing in every direction
East and west
just more reflection
Inward retreat
from these
external beatings
a slave in a land
of dreams
filled with too
many misdeeds
They say we've
lost our way,
I say the compass
we were given
was pointed
towards metals.
They say we are
animals with bad reputation.
I say reattach our
roots and let us
franchise our fruit.
They say drugs
run rampant
in our communities
but the stamp
upon delivery
commemorated Elvis
when MLK was an
after mention.
The government
has always meddled
in our endeavors
Welfare, warfare of the mind
It used to mess with ones
pride to be given something
without work
Now it's just what "We" do
but whites suffer too
It ain't about erasing
our color but
eradicating our power
they knew that would
keep us down
long after the finger
pointing would end
If we are too educate
ourselves, our
education should
begin with our
own turmoil
No where in our
school system
will they teach this,
instead,
they separate
docile from misfits
I asked for a hall pass
once, instead of
cutting up I found
my way to the library
and in the dustiest
book section
I learned the most
valuable lesson,
knowledge hidden away
holds invaluable truth.
Today, I was reminiscing about Independence Day celebrations of yesterday,
And how happy throngs commemorated the day as compared to today.
Corona virus and rowdy mobs have seized our orderly domain;
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I recall home-town parades with John Deere tractors and prancing horses;
Marching men and women in uniform representing our armed forces;
Will this year, unruly rabble riot and treat Old Glory with disdain?
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I recall flags displayed along Main Street undulating in the air;
And spirited Sousa tunes played by the high school band with flair;
I recall picnics in the park and backyard barbeques with friends and kin;
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I recall concerts by the Philharmonic Orchestra in Memorial Park;
And the magnificent fireworks later when daylight turned to dark;
Will this year, misguided goons topple historic monuments they consider vain?
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I have many fond memories of The Fourth in my nearly nine decades,
Teaching my kids the significance of the day and marching in parades.
I pray the courage of The Founders will not have been spent in vain.
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
Bob Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
DARK WINTER ENDS, WELCOME SPRING
The first day of winter came with harsh news.
My brother, his wife and son contracted
Covid, then seventeen others tested
positive, for this virus does not choose
it’s victims that it suddenly suffused
our family; three lives terminated.
All three commemorated, as winter
ends and as spring nears, bringing needed light
to overcome the dire, dark winter’s sight.
Welcome spring, a revival to enter
our family again or deliver
new beginnings to give us more insights.
Spring in a week, will bring growth and new hope,
changing darkness to light for us to cope.
3/13/21 Hexsonetta Poetry
Emile Pinet
Choice 10 syllables
Used: How Many Syllables
RhymeZone
PS Grammar