Best Memoriam Poems
Teardrops, bagged eyes, a way of sin
The mirror reveals a lost eternal soul
A conniving move against tonight's phantom glow
Voices circle the insomniac moon
Like magic and beauty, "She's Gone With the Wind."
The idea of love,
broken like yesterday's wishbone.
She is leaving today, her arms, my shelter
Her wings are now immense.
Beauty --- she's gone forever!
Never will she suffer-
Never will she return-
All I have are lost memories,
tracing what is left.
One final deep breath
tequila vice to wash away the pain.....
At Last, Now I See!
Under the drunken stars
I had an epiphany
Stricken like a match
A sunken treasure
At Last, I Knew
You did not belong in there,
you were there for the taking
Frail and sick, no longer sane.
Memories lost, no longer - her
My Mother!
What has become of her?
You're a demon, who played us all
Made us cry, while she slowly withered away
The way you laid waste to her body
Nipping both legs, feeding her through tubes
She rapidly forgot our names' our faces'
I hate you, Alzheimer
I hate the way you took her the first time!
I hate you, Death
I hate the way you claimed her final days!
Sleepless nights and pillowed feathers,
Caress a precious moment around my tender skin
Pretending my mother tucked them in
Anything to help me get past my sleepless nights
there's a little dog that's laughing
at a cow jumping the moon
and a cat playing a fiddle
on the wall of a bright room
where a mobile's hanging silent
waiting patiently to turn
like the pages on the bookshelf
that proclaim it's fun to learn
and there's a bible on a small crib
with its cross depicting love
for a child born sadly sleeping
into arms of those above.
Love our enemies as ourselves
Let he who is without sin throw the first stone
Turn the other cheek
He who does wrong to the least of us
Does wrong to me
Crucified c. 33
With malice toward none and charity toward all
If slavery is not wrong, then nothing is wrong
Let us listen to our better angels
Shot—killed 1865
Heaven welcomes the decent of all faiths
God does not favor man above woman
All should be afforded the opportunity and
Means to rise above their caste
Shot—killed 1947
One should not be judged by the color of their
Skin, but by the content of their character
Only the power of love can conquer hate
I may not get there with you, but I have
Been to the mountain, I have seen
the promised land
Shot—killed 1968
Written 5/30/22
Anne-Lise Andresen- "Hugs"
Anisha Dutta- "Sweet Lady"
Beata Agustin- "Spiritual"
Bill Baker- "Friend from Texas"
Brandy Nicole- "Whispers & Scribbles"
Brian Sambourne- "One of my Canadian besties"
Brian Sand- Contest #10,000 (lol)-keep 'em coming, Brian!
Carolyn Devonshire- "Sweet Caroline" (R.I.P. dear Carolyn)
Christina Bowring- "Hugs & Smiles"
Constance la France- "Cats"
Craig Cornish- "Need a dictionary"
Daniel Turner- "Great scrabble player- better poet" (lol)
Darlene De Beaulieu- "Hello Mr. Messina" - (needs to fix avatar-lol)
Deb M- "Debx"
Emile Pinet- "Gifting his books"
Eve Roper- Nursey Rhymes"
Gershon Wolf- "The great philosopher"
Gregory Barden- "The Bard"
Hilo Poet- "Aloha"
I Am Anaya- "Cool"
Ink Empress- "Ink Princess"
Jan Allison- "Best for a laugh"
JCB Brul- "Never won her contests (lol)
John Hamilton- "Lyrics"
John Lawless- "WTFWT"
John Watt- "Word master"
Joseph May- "Love his contests"
Julia Ward- Never won her contests either (lol)
Kim Rodriguez- "Nature"
Lady Labyrinth- "Deep"
Line Gauthier- "Short and sweet"
Maria Williams- "My dear Aussie"
Michael Tor- "My brother from another mother"
Mike Gentile- "Caring"
Milton Hankins- "Missing him"
Mystic Rose Rose- "Flowers, flowers"
Panagiota Romios- "Pangie, the S.F. kid"
Paula Goldsmith- "A lovely read/write"
Quoth The Raven- "The Birds"
Regina McIntosh- "Love, Gina"
Richard Lamoureux- "His lovely wife"
Robert Hinshaw- "The poem I wrote for his wife"
Robert James Liguori- "Marvel"
Sam Kaufman- The finest bus driver poet I ever knew"
Sandra Haight- "My Jersey gal"
Sara Baker- "Bill's lovely wife"
Sara Kendrick- "Thanks for sharing"
Silent One- "Silence" (Rumi)
Sotto Poet- "Admirable"
Susan Ashley- "Warmest wishes"
Suzette Delaney- "The poem I wrote about her avatar eye"
Suzette Richards- "Can't do her contests, too hard (lol)
Tania Kitchin- "Haiku's"
Tom Cunningham- "Great story teller"
Tom Watt- "Another word master"
Tom Woody- "Reminds me of Milton- for some reason"
Unseeking Seeker- "The Seeker"
Valsa George- "Blessings"
Victor Buhagiar- "Missing his wife"
Vijay Pandit- "Imagery and Imagination"
Winged Warrior- "The great alliteration'er"- (R.I.P. John)
Back then,
backyards were big enough
to nurture a growing soul
and provide a space
for the earth to play out
its seasons in full rehearsal.
There were wide tracks
of grass, trees to climb,
old sheds to rummage
with their interiors full of tools
and bric-a-brac
webbed in history.
There was food - ripe tomatoes
and corn from a vegetable patch,
grapes swelling
under a cool canopy of vines,
soft skins bursting
their dark sweetness
inside expectant mouths,
almonds, apricots and the luscious
dribble of a warm peach
down sticky cheeks.
Some had roaming chickens
with their bounty of eggs.
Backyards were blotting paper
for a child's hurt, a hiding place
to get away, a theater
for projecting the phantasies
of a sheriff or a princess
high in a golden tower.
And in summer, a sprinkler
casting a gauntlet of cold spray
for tiny feet to challenge.
Then it all ends
when backyards become
too small and more exotic places
call a restless soul to leave
its Eden and break the spell
of its beginning.
Roger Ebert~ "At The Movies"
Chicago Film Critic: Pulitzer Prize winner for Criticism.
Has a star in his name, at the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Passed away in 2013 A.D.
~~A Dedication to Roger Ebert~~
Ah, dear Roger! Gone but not forgotten.
Infinitely compassionate, warm and fun!
With you, and many Chicago journalists,
I was so very blessed to run.
You never were too big to come to my
humble home parties!
You brought your journalist friends, too.
When my daughter was just two, she
joyfully opened our front door for you.
Each New Years Eve, you rented a space
for your hundreds of friends,
With drink, food and overflowing
laughter.
Those days, Roger, I will remember and
cherish, today and forever after.
I daringly argued with you about your movie
critiques!
And yet...you were open to hearing the
ramblings from my mouth.
Till a deathly illness, took you painfully out!
But, of your endless virtues and genuine
humanity and creativity,
Of these, dearest Roger, I will eternally shout!
Love,
Panagiota
Panagiota Romios
4/1/2019
I
I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes,
your face was in the morning paper;
they shot you dead like a dog,
hunted you out all day and night.
II
They said you'd always been a bad seed
and youths were dying because of you;
they said you're a criminal on the run
with a dirty face and shaggy head.
(Refrain)
But I know you better than they do,
you preached love to all the people;
you fought for them, young and old,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
III
And now as I see you lying dead,
it seems my dreams have vanished as well;
they can call you names, any names they want,
but I know there's only one like you,
there's only one like you,
there's only one Che Guevara.
(Repeat Refrain)
You lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
Corralled Beneath A Slow Sink Of Half-Moons
{ After: Section LXIX of Memoriam by Tennyson}
An angel of soft and wanted touch,
she delivers, serenity in tow;
can this sunken vessel proclaim, as much,
agreeing to lift the pain from my soul!
Will this humble plea root within your heart,
shall acceptance grant the gift of joyous song?
Chilled, my spirit dreads another false start,
corralled beneath a slow sink of half-moons?
My angel, my heart, I have deep desires.
Could you deny that ever blessed meal
by roasting my frailty upon hell's fires-
would your beloved healing, hands, my soul feel?
Hearing now this saddened desperate plea,
fearing not, your hand reach to comfort me
Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2016
Debbie Guzzi's , 6/6/6 Challenge
First poem, Beginning of the Line Rhyme Sonnet.
Note: A new sonnet dedicated to this short excerpt--
In Section LXIX of In Memoriam, Tennyson dreams an
allegorical angel who may or may not be the transformed Arthur Hallam:
I found an angel of the night;?
The voice was low, the look was bright;?
He look’d upon my crown and smiled:??
He reach’d the glory of a hand,?
That seem’d to touch it into leaf:?
The voice was not the voice of grief,?
The words were hard to understand.
Even though you're not here,
I miss your morning meows
I've ignored you parting from me
But, you haven't gone anyhow.
I remember six years ago,
When you came into my life
We had so much fun back then
Those years have `been our best flight!'
The best cat anyone could ask for,
Sure was super stylish for being a cat
I'll see you again, my fur buddy friend
You keep a lookout for me until then.
I've learned a great deal from you,
It was last year you departed
I know you're still around here
Because you've embedded in my heart.
R.I.P. Mischief Lotus, my love to you!
Miss your barks, miss your presence
Miss your enthusiastic greetings, miss your adorable face
Miss the innocence of your brown eyes, miss your liveliness
Miss the vibes that you spread, of your infectious cheerfulness
Miss the walks we took together and the hikes we did to hills and lakes
Miss your tenacity and stamina and your amazing athletic strength
Miss your adept swimming for a stick you wanted to fetch
Miss your feisty eagerness when you ran and played your favorite ball-chase
Miss those conversations we had of unspoken language
Miss feeling your calming aura around while doing yoga on the carpet
Miss your alert growling at the sound of the doorbell
Miss your sweet friendliness to connect with all the arriving guests
Though we no longer see you coming to our calls,
Or see you retrieving no more of your favorite sticks and balls
You live in our thoughts, you live in our hearts
I ponder and pause, feel you near, not far
Your incredible patience, your enormous faith,
Your immense confidence and your selflessness
Reva, you were an ideal example of God’s grace…
Having you in our lives, we truly feel blessed!!
Acrid smoke in the scientist’s bell jar
Blankets of chenille-covered snow
Crystalline carbon diamond star
Drips forming stalactites grow
Effervescent waterfalls’ dreams
Frothy-topped cappuccinos
Gelid surfaces of lakes and streams
Halos of angels in holy repose
Icebergs splitting from their source
Jasmine-covered pergolas in Spring
Knuckles clenched in fear or remorse
Love’s purest form sobering
Mandala patterns on frosted window
Newly-born flamboyant flamingos
Opalescent lustre of pearls on show
Pineapple-licious snow cones
Quills of the porcupines’ defense
Ringlets of great-grandparents’ hair
Steamy hot springs vapor intense
Trailing wisps of London fog air
Undulating winter foothill maze
Veils of fine tatted lace purity
Wieliczka Salt Mine passageways
Xilinous spider webs artistry
Yahrzeit candle flame in memoriam
Zephyrus ballooning sails on a whim
They handed it to me
The heavy green wool jacket
Circa 1918
Found safe in an attic
In its pockets
“dogtags”
Shoe buckles
And a small bracelet
Etched…NELLIE.
He had come home
He would remember
The men that came home
He would never forget
Those that hadn’t.
As I placed it in the box
I whispered
“THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE”
Brown and worn
She slowly trundled,
Carrying the tattered and torn
Clutching their bundle.
She leans to the right
And then the left,
In that pitiful night
Laying sleepers bereft.
All her metal and carriage
Held a thousand souls
Between their marriage
Of her red hot coals.
And the wooden doors weep
The iron locks, hold their breath
While she screeches on
In her role of death.
In Memoriam Quietly Always Close
Are they whispers, then, settling
So gently upon that slightest breeze wending
Over the granite crosses and statues of cradling angels,
Which stand in their long cemetary rows?
Stating each name of the one passed on with
There-on etched, too, the noting of time alive
And telling of the beloved, who hum there their slow laments;
Who send up colorful balloons to celebrate their love and
Take far their silent greetings in the sky.
Are they lullaby heartsongs, which
Rise on sprigs of heaven-bound light,
So tunefully sweet for love’s addressed, aided
By a league of angellic composers
In their lyrical rounds from above our earthly sphere?
Are these the places of our hushed sympathies?
The places we lay over our dear ones
All the broken pieces of the grieving heart’s still longing
To stay in some way forever near, and, so, we linger thoughtfully
Criss-crossing the undulating final verdigris
Landscape, which embraces the last remains ~
Resting on in heaven’s wait for that further journey going on.
Are these faint mists surrounding
So many hours of our own remaining days —
Which are spent summoning back the stories, the touches,
The eyes that happily cast their glance into our own —
Not truly our tears
Being turned to magnifying memories,
Prayerfully appearing with each
Dusk’s close of day and placid rise of the radiant moon?
Do see that the soundless falling is our aching?
Is a furor — burst of pure, white snow:
A flash of a blizzard, looking nearly weightless,
Landing in silence, but
Incongruously, falling heavily down, into those forming crystalline layers
To dress a seeming lace-like çover over all the stone markers
With a luminous beauty, revealing a metaphor, ineffable
~ Blessed markers of life itself set here before us
Within reach of meeting the Divine.
—————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/5/2023
(Written for Jennifer Wilson & Maggie Hopkins in loving
Memory of James Hopkins, spouse, father, & friend) Also written with the inspiring power of images of the 9,000 marking gravestone crosses in Normandy, France, and sights of Arlington Cemetary, Washington, D.C.
Written to unaccompanied cello Suite 1 in G major, perfomer Yo Yo Ma
Thanks be to God…
WE SEE LILACS TOUCHED WITH DEW,
SHIMMERING IN THE MORNING SUN,
WE SEE THE FIRST ROBIN,
RED BREASTED AND EAGER,
EVER A SIGN THAT SPRING HAS COME
A GOLDEN SUN
SPLASHING IT'S ENDLESS COLORED PAINTINGS
ON A CANVAS OF BLUE,
WE SEE A MOTHER TEACHING HER CHILDREN TO PRAY,
WE HEAR THE LULLABY, THE LAUGHTER,
...AND WE SEE YOU...