Best Earliest Poems
I remember a warm summer morning
With the sun shining bright in the sky
Its glow making stars out of specks of dust,
Floating in shadows as I walked by
To the kitchen where mum, already at toil
Was busily making fresh fare
The aroma of cakes and newly baked bread,
Permeating through the air
Big brother was at play in the garden,
Baby sister asleep in her pram
As I sat at the large kitchen table
To breakfast on warm toast and jam
When I had finished my delicious repast
I helped clear the dishes away,
Washing them clean in the Belfast sink
The like of which are sought after today
Mum put on my shoes and brushed my hair,
Then I joined big brother for play
And although years have past since I was but three
I remember as though yesterday.
Early spring flowers live hurried lives upon the forest floors.
As soon as the ground thaws, they peak forth their tiny blooms.
Alongside ponds and running streams purple violets are seen.
White trilliums and bluebells grace the still brown earth.
They only thrive until the canopy thickens with green.
Still some blue breaks through and sun dapples its rays.
It's Mother Nature's will that life keeps springing up,
And repeating itself endlessly.
upon contemplating how to access
a lapsed half century woolworth
didst weigh more'n five and dime
afore i hove up existential ante
bell and clapper journeys
truncated, predicated, conjugated
on abundant buoyant chant
eyelids gently shuttered while seated
in an easy chair, a grant
from anonymously disposed rubbish
to schlep this accoutrement did enduce a pant
cuz, this mid dull ledged papa no spring rooster,
and now easily became ensconced with scant
exertion enveloped within comfortably numb
meditative state tant
a mount to hypnosis, which quickly quietly,
and quintessentially evoked bliss
stirred wordsmith hood succomb
to an altered state, analogous to virtual reality, a hiss
sans, remembrance of things past,
whereby with negligible mental effort wuss
sold magical mindbending arch, whereat a
(rainbow like emulation mode), this miss
sing Whoosh DID NOT require
much cerebral exertion from me
to pry loose avast treasure trove
of locked precious childhood memories
visited by hindsight aye could see
long since stowed away,
yet methought Xmas theme would re
mind this baby boomer prithee
(encased in nearly inpenetrable
thick gauzy cobwebs, and huge...
droning spy ware spiders did flee
thence, with a figurative brush of hand,
a simulacrum curtain pulled back, whence glee
son shone vis a vis, cuz,
an illusory chink of light shed forth where he
upon forgotten one favorite
nursery rhyme lyrics, which faux holographic beam
recollected as if momentarily carried back
to me own ole Virginny hide deem
stood atop raised causeway immersed
my earliest memory is when I was three
for I tried to run away from home you see
my sisters used to call me names and tease
laugh at me if I fell on my knees
they thought it was funny picking on someone small
but I did not see the funny side at all
but these painful childhood memories I choose not to recall
as if they never happeend at all
I forgive you and I forget
and my birth I do not regret
so it does not matter what they said or did
for back then they were just a kid
God has a purpose for me
His true Love set me free from thee
so I forgive all the things that you do
and may peace always be with you.
inspired by Danielle Whites' my earliest memory contest.
In the earliest of morning light
When birds have not yet taken flight
The sun so low a shadows’ might
Escapes an eagle perfect sight
When the earth in leisured chill
Each valley dank along each hill
And longing stripped of lovers' will
With every dreamer dreaming still
An angel through that black long eve
He holds a trembling hand to grieve
And in the moment make-believe
The rising sun will not deceive
Doorways dim must stand and wait
This tragic timely twist of fate
dec 11, 2024
golden raiment trickling threnody ream
hinged present with distant past,
that temporarily static surreal moment in time stream
the best part of existence, thence I became alive
from dormant state, an anachronistic meme
now, asper the following afore
alluded ditty hie now aim
harmoniously exultant exuding
humming bird of a boy,
whose unspoken name means gift, how came
I to share such minutiae (when original intent
bespoke zeroing to ground zero,
when this ache king hippie merely thought
to elaborate about Christmas excitement then),
which unexpected meandering bore me aloft back
to nursery school days and didst claim
thine parents on that namesake,
which elated mood in tandem with real
or imagined gurgling did frame
that moment reminded vision of particular words
and simple tune sang during along as a game
with make believe friends Harnie and Dinnie,
who would coon sitter this poem lame
joie de vivire, way before existence
teetered and tottered the brink of self shame,
whence psychological snowball effect,
no rhyme nor reason could tame!
Now adieu whilst rickey rockety
quirky one man team
doth recite the words while reveling poignantly
this pastiche long an unraveled seam
row row row your boat gently down the stream
merrily merrily merrily merrily life is but a dream.
I think I was about two three,
cause I remember sitting on my father's knee.
We were traveling down and old dirt road,
now bear with me as my story will unfold.
Things I saw my do I tought were not true,
he could crawl up a corner and look down on you.
At school he was the feature attraction,
I never really got any of the satisfaction.
He had blocks burst on his chest,
we only knew his act was the best.
When I found out that it was him,
I said no wonder he named me Jim.
I veer off to tell you this true fact,
he put me behind the wheel to see how I act.
As my fathers son I came thru,
not really knowing what to do.
Yet at the speed of eighty,
I held the car steady.
He must hae had great faith in me,
why I can not begin to see.
This memory has stayed in my mind,
and I tremble at the thought every time.
But I found pleasure in the return trip,
cause when we finished he gave me a sip.
Don't get me wrong cause I was scared,
it was overcame by that moment of love we shared.
T.W.I.S.T.
JLM
Buzzing around the sun
Green glistening with skin
As I finger-poke for fun
And bleed open my sin
Brother runs out from the shouts
Pouring peroxide on the prick
While in the mirror I see the doubts
Band-aid wrapping round to stick.
Memory fades from there
As hallways slip into darkness
The mind a wandering hare
The heart the harrowing lightness.
The thought of you reminds me of what it feels like to scream without a voice
To scream and internally feel the words fall deaf
Fall deeper down into the pit of my soul
I despise you, although I’m sure you don’t remember me
The way I feel about you is difficult to put into words
I despise you, although I don’t know you
Holding such hate for a someone I do not know
Hate held for someone who would not remember me
Connected to a stranger by my earliest memory of shame
Dirty, filthy, cold, old man hands
Creeping, stalking, preying on my childhood innocence
It belongs to you now
Since then it always had
Not because you asked for it
Someone as vile as you does not dare ask for consent
No, it belongs to you only because you snatched it
As though it was yours to take
From that moment victimhood consumed me
Fell over me, as if descending from the unknown
Dark, heavy, full, resembling the greyest of rain clouds
Ready to implode at any time
A child could not scream
Who would believe me?
How would I even tell?
I swallowed the encounter,
Took it on as as my own burden to nurture
Mine to carry, I could not remove it
Not with acceptance, nor with time
The baggage gets so heavy sometimes
Even with my now mature body carrying it
It’s a part of me, because I thought I had no other option
I was just a child, barely a teen
Dirty, filthy, cold, old man hands
Groping me under my skirt
I despise you, although I’m sure you don’t remember me
The way I feel about you is difficult to put into words
I despise you, although I don’t know you
Holding such hate for a someone I do not know
Hate held for someone who would not remember me
My earliest memory of shame