Best Commemorating Poems
It feels like the world
has been struck by a
plague of pathological lies,
where fictional truth
seems to sell better,
the allure of
imitation glistens
even brighter,
while superficial tongues
recite infected mantras,
praising slaves of Satan~
singing corpse lullabies.
And I can feel
my drained soul
descending
into darkness,
as this cathartic
sanctuary
slowly decays,
into odds and ends
of incessant numbness.
Spikes drive through
this splintered ribcage,
shackling my life force,
to silently bleed
in salvation.
I feel the scorching
iron ore entering
my splitting heart,
as they watch
the crimson flow,
mocking my
doomed empathy.
For kindness
is disregarded,
in a cynical world
that has no mercy,
falling into an
abyss of tears,
awaiting eternal sleep,
never to rise to
another devil’s trance,
whilst bleeding in
reckless reckoning.
I am the mistreated
mistress in misery,
stranded in the
midst of an
abandoned island~
cruising through
roaring waves,
in desperate hope
for butterfly bliss.
I trace
deadly deeds
in bloodstained
sea-castles,
pleading the lord,
to tether
the cold walls,
that hide all these
layers of brokenness.
Carvings of
chaos on my skin,
choreograph a
prodigious dance
of death,
commemorating
creased calm,
with prophetic
songs that
have no life.
For the coldest
breeze still
lingers in circles,
from the pits of
an out-burnt mountain,
reluctant to rearrange
dried up poison,
with their cape
of sentiments,
in cold refrains
and resentment.
Yet I question the
cosmic Peridots
scattered between
moonstones in
artless skies.
How can a poet
make the dead
seem beautiful again,
when musty maggots
are the only
fillings they would get?
In my past existence,
circumstance sowed my roots
deep into woods of foreign soil,
slowly I ascended spreading my wings,
yearning to be evergreen,
blossoming in summer with glossy verdant leaves -
I became the soul of the earth.
Yet, I never belonged,
among a promenade of silver skinned pines,
who mocked my rough brown bark.
I was born to flourish in a tropical oasis,
so autumn winds stole my diverse petals.
I stood vulnerable with
bare branches shivering in silence.
Snow fell gently,
as my crumbling core began to rot.
Fate slashed at my anchor like a mad man with an axe,
until I collapsed with my sap bleeding dry.
I was left to slumber in melancholic meadows,
abandoned in murky misty moors.
In death,
I pondered, will anyone miss me in times of;
silence, anger, tears, smiles, laughter and regret?
Although they cannot hear nor see me,
will they still feel me in their hearts?
When they gaze at the night skies.
Will they find me among the stars?
Lost in thought,
yearning stardust and moonlight melodies,
my soul connected with an ethereal spirit,
an aromatic aura I had never felt -
I was finally found.
Her soft lotus touch roused a fluorescent glow.
Our hearts illuminated resembling the golden orb.
As my beloved portrays me in her poetry,
we wander in fields of forever,
commemorating instead of cremating memories.
Her devotion plants a special seed in her bronze orchard,
creating an immortal poetic garden -
where we bloom as flowers in all four seasons.
The whistles screamed that cold dark night
Winter, 1903
At least fourteen would perish
Way out on the prairie
The westbound Sunset Limited,
Eastbound Crescent City Express,
Met head on in a collision
Lives lost in great distress
Horror met the rescuers
Two twisted trains in flames
Of fourteen known to've perished
Of two, were not found names
A hundred plus years later,
On the date and pre-dawn hour
We'd come to the memorial plaque
With Teddy bears and flowers
Holding our thoughts in silence
We walked along the trail
Remembering the violence;
Their deaths upon that rail
Precisely 2:50 A.M
What was it? We don't know
But in our silent vigil
We heard a whistle blow
Sounding clear across the night
Once long, Three short, Last long
But there was nothing in our sight
Praying - we moved along
Our memorial under silver stars
For those perished on the track
Ended as we got in cars
With one last look-
a century back
We'll never solve the mystery
But do we need to know?
Commemorating history
We heard a whistle blow
The leaves have turned brown and crisp
And I've remembered
How much you've been missed
On a day like today
It's the days when I feel down
And I'm sad
That you're not around
Desperately in need of a grandpa's embrace
You were like my best friend
And I'm yearning
For the hours we'd laugh on end.
Now I'm doing quite the opposite
The memories harvest in my mind
As I bow to your grave
With flowers of all kinds
Commemorating the part you played
In shaping the person I am today.
Yours sincerely,
A granddaughter that misses you dearly.
WRINKLES*
Wrinkles:
Wondrous memorials
Masterfully engraved
By
Graceful Age
For
Commemorating the victories of self
Over
The afflictions of life!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
15 NOVEMBER 2013
*Having read Andrea’s Dietrich: The Wrinkles Justifier, I commented that
I might be inspired to write on Wrinkles. I kept my word! Thank you Andrea!
*Dedicated to all my fellow aging, young friends!
If only you knew the feel of a zephyr,
With its current swooping around hillsides
Ruffling the spruce trees everywhere,
Or descend downwards towards verdant vales
Where flowers bloom all through the year.
If only you knew what the oceans utter
As wonderful waves smash into each other,
Or roll nonchalantly towards the bays,
Destroying sand castles or wiping up
The poor love letters which were written there.
If only you knew the various sounds of Earth,
The laughter of little children playing in our parks,
The parade of grown-ups commemorating feasts,
The sounds of aeroplanes fighting for supremacy,
Whilst on the ground tanks rumble on firing at will.
If only you knew the evil concocted by selfish persons,
Where kindness seems to be at a premium.
Yet I discern others who are compassionate
And help others less fortunate than themselves.
How grateful receivers of good works will be.
If only you knew how many angels fly above
Around the silver stars that orbit in perfect harmony.
Angels that care for this poor land which
We have ruined successfully through our unwanted trash.
While food is thrown away when others die in famine and pain.
Placed 1
Pink rose, plucked from its garden of sweet earth,
laid fondly on her grave to venerate
a woman of inestimable worth
on this, her day of birth I celebrate -
one rose to join the rose who gave me birth.
[Sicilian Quintain]
A pink rose signifies gratitude, admiration, and appreciation,
commemorating grace, joy, and sweetness -
3 traits of my beloved mother, Elizabeth Watt
born Sep 14th, 1919, died Apr 2nd, 2017
Written 13 Sept 2022
I walked by the old cafe on Rue De Sienne and heard an angel playing harp
a cherub an ethereal mome bewitching me and playing softly with my heart
she wore a halo made of gold, a soul that laddered up beyond the tarp
and as the fluent clouds rain-teared upon her alabaster tunic.... Art !
Each star a studded light inside her angel eyes of blue. Each note
commemorating, unfastening, abducting, a copious symphony of one
The buckling breeze became her muse I, a kite released in far remote
a Mystic with no malice in sight stringing up the moon and jealous sun.
June 20, 2018
Unfurl a majestic star spangled sky,
ignited with patriotic pride;
commemorating each 4th of July,
our founders vision, we strive to abide.
Date: July 3, 2022
For: The Sky in July Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Rhymes verified on rhymezone.com
Syllable count verified on howmanysyllables.com
Quatrain form: A/B/A/B
A festive Jewish holiday*
We celebrate today,
When children dress in costumes
And much merriment holds sway.
An evil man named Haman
Tried to have the Jews all killed.
The king, whose wife was Jewish,
Saw that deed was unfulfilled.
Since Haman wore a certain hat
Triangular in shape,
We eat three-cornered cakes to honor
Our too-close escape.
Called hamantaschen, they’re delish
And filled with fruit or “mun”
(Which translates into poppy seeds,
And that’s my favorite one).
The Purim story’s read each year
And Haman’s name is booed,
But afterwards we nosh,
With lots of hamantaschen chewed.
Commemorating history
With something we can taste
Takes a little of the bitter
And with sweetness it’s replaced.
*called Purim
We left the barracks in mid-March,
With snow still on the ground,
Drove two days across the border,
To participate in a multi-national event,
Commemorating the World War II atrocities,
The Japanese called Death Marches.
Our soldiers, sailors, and airmen,
Were marched relentlessly across the Philippines.
Bataan Death March,
Where only the strongest survived.
Today I march for them,
For fallen comrades,
Recognizing their sacrifices.
Freedom’s price so high, paid with our brothers lives.
Here I am, out of water, as I march through the deep sands;
Bataan Memorial Death March,
Where quitting is not my option,
As my brothers marched without choice.
Wounded warrior, I suffered through dehydration,
Through pain in joints already injured in service to my country.
Out of water, I did not worry, for I knew;
The human body’s capability to survive,
For days on end in relentless conditions,
I marched on, to the end…
16 Feb 2015
© 2015 CM Davidson Pickett
Aquila (The Eagle) Constellation
Strong and brave, you are my eagle.
Soaring strength; gliding above earth.
Your light shines past the dark of day.
And brightens love along the way.
Your kindness perceives my wishes.
You fill me fully with your love.
Your helpfulness precedes my need.
You sacrifice your time, good deeds.
Because you are so caring, dear,
The brightest star both far and near!
A humble gift with this love rhyme,
Shall shine throughout eternal time.
Oh, Aquila, constellation.
Gaily in this new kingdom found.
The deed to your bright shining star,
Bought for you where angels abound.
High in the heavens up above,
I give this gift with all my love.
Far away, gleaming in the sky.
Waits your wishing star named, “Ingrid”.
Commemorating life, we two.
Anniversary love renewed.
Forever, dreaming as one heart.
Loving as millennium stars.
© Name withheld for contest
April 15, 2010
enjoy the reed
now displayed as a satisfactory deed.
* * * * * *
A Senior Moment - written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform
i.e. most likely auditorium stage marked
by hushed audience inhaling, notating,
and regaling gleeful lightness of buoyant feat
(but me Yeats heavy of heart) feted for 2017 Redmond
Enrichment Academy graduates, who attained,
a milestone vis a vis earning their
high school diploma, and ready to launch
bountiful daunting challenges, yet sure
footed each young gal and/or guy
will exude joy and sorrow upon grasping their
high school diploma aware a sound education
sent each on their own future path
while pomp and circumstances issues forth
by adroit musically talented underclass
* * * * * *
man, which emotional celebrated achievement
evoked by keynote student speaker,
but also underscored via that well worn mortar
board, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus
tune (composed by Sir Edward Elgar –
subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging
cheers, eliciting grownups immense Kleenex
moistening overpowering quintessentially
simmering ululating wrenching yowling
as tassels flipped (maybe in conjunction with
a non twittering uber bird) to the left side
of the caparisoned newly anointed future
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades
persons momentarily stung with sadness
to depart favorite classmates and teachers
who voluntarily cosseted, ferried, and
* * * * * *
capitalone did flickr imperceptibly, kneaded
and leavened LivingSocial, and massaged MineCraft
outlook plenti full confidence, faith, and inherent
lettered oblations serve as snap chatting,
Easter morning
Nineteen fifties
Black and white
Edged in gray
Pyramid like
Stepping stones
Determined by age and height
Reminiscent of the glories of Cleopatra
Stand silhouetted within
Easter’s sunny orbit
The Ideal family with fixed smiles
Returns the viewers’ gaze
Light enters
The shutter clicks
Kidnapping the treasured moment
Mom and dad
Bookend eldest daughter
Twin-like reflections of
Younger brothers stand at mid-point
Youngest daughter becomes
The monument’s foundation
Picture perfect in Easter finery
Chapeaus are draped in crushed netting
Brimming with bright flowers and multi-colored berries
Suit coats hold crisp white shirts and striped ties
Tiny purses dangle from wrists
Fixed Colgate-like smiles
Return the viewer’s gaze
Commemorating, witnessing, rejoicing
What is for who will come
Shoulder to shoulder they stand
Planets spiraling bumping, clashing
Yet staying in orbit
Generations may wonder
At the story being told
Does the little girl rue standing alone?
Or is it her statement?
Why not the oldest?
Leaving the parents together?
Must the brothers move glued as one through eternity?
Will each find a place in the firmament?
Will eternity claim the parents first?
Will a younger moon precede?
Frear not
As Gods’s heavens circumscribe
The position of the moon and stars.
Creation’s order begets love and benevolence
Tradition is reward and
Source material
For nature’s anomalies
Every Easter it was our family tradition to take a picture of the six of us before church. It was often taken on the steps of our family home.
Thank You Teacher
Commemorating
All sacrifices
That these people made
In everyone’s lives
Should be then honored.
“Thank you teacher!”
A gratitude
From deep within.
For they deserve…
Love, respect
Warm salute!!!
This World
Teachers’
Day!