Best Past Poems
A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.
Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.
“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it? You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.
“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”
The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.
Who was this man? She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.
But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.
To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.
She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.
She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”
Sweet youth, beauty
By Luna's light.
Cobalt colors
How sweet it is...
I know of great love,
There will never be enough time.
I am here for you.
What is love...crimson rose,
Love stanzas, champagne,
An arc to heaven...
Moonstruck heartbeats?
Lily of the Nile,
By the waters edge,
Romantic waters.
Mountain magic
Flash dancing with dawn.
Oh Luna...cold Moon rising,
Death's cold hand.
Behold Death.
Emma's epitaph...
Soul travel, a glimpse of heaven,
Bodies of light...tranquility.
My Waning years, reflections, hold me.
Autumn's aria, heart song,
Angel love,
Heaven
7-10-19
Collaboration Of Your Titles Poetry Contest ~First Place~
Sponsored by: charles messina
~Poem of the Day July 13, 2019~
Thank you so much for the honor Poetry Soup Team and Members. I appreciate this very much.
"If I could have put you in my heart,
if but I could have wrapped you in myself,
how glad I should have been.
And now the chart
of memory unroils again to me.
The course of our journey here,
here where we part." D.H. Lawrence
Sunset descended behind the willow trees
Into the sea, it seemed to sink and drown
Alone and grieving, hair tousling in the breeze
for one there is no comfort to be found
as he sits staring at the gathering clouds
Lost in memories, overwhelmed with despair
Tears rain from weary reddened eyes
He's an abstract painting of desolation
brush strokes in shades of somber blue
No sunlight appears to brighten today's skies
Only darkness that comes from sad au Revoirs
No words of bereavement can he speak to express
the doleful depth of wistful loneliness
nor the solemn fathoms of elegiac emptiness
Melancholy looms half past midnight's darkest hour
There's a bitterness he swallows, acerbically sour
"This too shall come to pass," I remember to say ~
"In these days of forlorn sorrow
the world must seem hauntingly grim
each time you close your eyes and think of him"
I feel his angst from such an emotional loss
Against it his mind must be raging
Death has no compassion for the young of age
the kind ones who never hurt anyone
the bright ones whose light should never fade away
Weeping for Hazza, he lamentably grieves
watching storm tossed waves roll over angry seas
I hope there's truth in believing broken hearts mend
for the one who's been wounded and bleeding
as another sunset descends behind the willow trees
Escape from a world of unhappiness and sorrow
Days and weeks pass and I realize that I despise this cold hole
Let me be ...
Trapped not only within those four dark walls,
but with the elements in time and place
Let me be ...
Tears that makes you feel completely empty and useless plastic
Stop thinking, collaborating with false emotion
Let me be ...
When will you understand, you do not own my thoughts
I know I should be strong, but it is so painful
Let me be ...
Slowly draining my throat, I scream for water and air
While the morning sun lazily crawling along the purple river
Let me be here forever ...
13.03.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
(unrhymed couplets)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Can you recall the hush of Christmas past?
Think back to when you were a little child,
excited Santa Claus would come at last,
too young to even know you’d been beguiled.
In shadows of your quiet room you lay.
Then maybe to your window you’d tiptoe,
look out and search the sky for Santa’s sleigh.
But all you’d see were swirling flakes of snow,
And in that night, while all your siblings slept,
you tried to stay awake. Do you recall
the only thing you heard as Sandman crept
upon you was the clock upon the wall?
The hush of Christmas past is never gone.
As long as there are children, it lives on.
For Carolyn Devonshire's 'Shakespearean Sonnet (with prizes)' Poetry Contest
Size 7.5 and fave color light blue any kind of gem (all colors fine!)
The old stream doesn’t burble
like it used to in Spring’s past -
rambunctious in youth wild it ran
racing the sun and chasing the moon
splashing leaping and tumbling
over, down and around rocks in its shallow channel -
giving it rollicking laughter
The old stream doesn’t play with sunlight
like it used to in Summer’s past -
when unending yellow dahlia days gentled its flow
allowing for reflections and explorations around each bend
and for savoring saffron skies and plum-shaded shadows
that seemingly stretched on forever -
giving it invincibility
Autumn saw a change in the old stream
under a herald of goldenrod fireworks
waters waned becoming tired and tamed
its banks and shoaly bed littered with Fall’s golds and reds;
a once lilting voice grew quieter
as nocturnal rhythms trespassed towards winter’s solstice
and under the cover of darkness
a cool moon stole the stream’s slow dance with the sun -
giving it vulnerability
The old stream remembered not the goldenrod days
nor the purpose of its earthly path -
Winter charged in on his frosty horse robust with rime
and laid his icy hands upon the sleepy stream -
draining its dreams of a pulse beneath a frozen facade..
but from below the stilled surface a silver current flowed free
… giving the stream eternity.
Susan Ashley
April 12, 1019
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 23
Sponsor: Mark Toney
*Rime: frost formed on cold objects by the rapid freezing of water vapor in clouds or fog.*
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked,
a secret kept like a pebble in my shoe, now smarting.
If heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
Make scars worth the fight, put back the pin from grenade you grasped,
moment of truth arrives, met with two lips bruised and parting.
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.
I thought I walked the streets alone, wearing a grotesque mask.
You were inside me all along, sweet message imparting.,
if heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
How I've missed your awaited touch, and hoping it would last,
our sun grant'd pardons galore, for love's kindled restarting.
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.
I didn't say why I came back, you never took me to task.
tho' written in an inkling, the tear your eye was guarding..
if heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
You never miss something until it goes and die is cast.
Your present regifted, from a long ago departing.
Forgive me for loving you, even though you never asked.
If heart dares to belong, it's just a weakness from my past.
26 December 2020
A time I still remember- Christmas day
in 'fifty-three; I was age fourteen then,
and I recall those very special hours
at home, so cozy- warm with my loved ones
of many generations, happily
around the sparkling tree with old-time trim
of bubble lights, glass balls, and Christmas songs
playing softly on the record player.
Extended family- my mom and dad,
grandparents; brother, cousins, uncles, aunts-
spent happy hours, and such a blessed time
was shared as peace and love were felt by all.
It was perhaps the only year we were
together in one place for Christmas day.
I keep that time of family delight
in memories that fill my heart- for some
there on that day, so special in my thoughts,
are dearly missed, no longer here with us-
they fly with angel wings, look down from high
above in Christmas past, with joy and love-
as I, once the youngest- now the oldest
generation, carry on that spirit
and make traditions last- to someday be
my children and grandchildren’s Christmas past.
Looking back again, back into the past,
it was written in sand, all those questions we asked
on those last days of summer, something was wrong
as the leaves started turning, and shadows grew long
There was dust on the tables, and the clutter remained
where never before, .... had it not been restrained
You were known for your grace, now your pride was at risk
Quickly swept, polished fine, brushed away with a whisk
This just wasn't you, having bricks without mortar
You were never unkempt ...now a life out of order?
You would never have allowed such things out of place
Something so small, would have been your disgrace
There was something to blame, something was strange
Even small tasks, we noticed, had changed
Another piece of a puzzle, fell into place
Your trace of bewilderment, when a name was erased
Your memory lost, and a world gone absurd ...
Then, once it was you....alone and disturbed
Lost and afraid, but mostly confused
Forgetting the day, many things you would lose,
or someone you loved, so much undefined
shoved back to blind spaces, your words couldn't find
Dust motes collected where never before,
would settle, make home, in your mind evermore
Without any warning, without any sound
until you were gone, and the years fell around
Dreams that you had, were drawn in the sand
into the traces of dust of a far away land
_________________________________________________
Inspired by Isaiah Zerbst's Contest: "Pick a Title"
10/31/14
Just as days long ago, when decorum resolved,
before composure, and poise,.. were corsages, unknown
Where propriety mattered, and was favored as gold,
high society, has gathered to flavor their tea
There's a trellis, embraced by a rose climbing vine
Places are set, for dining in jade
beneath shadows that stretch under arthritic old trees
While slivers of sunshine, squeeze through the branches
of silver leafed limbs, in magnolia bloomed shade
Tea will be served, by large knuckled hands
at several round tables dressed with Swiss lace designs
Wearing lavender silk is our proper Grand Dame'
who fits her surroundings, as vintage as wine
Voices are lilting like the birds in the trees
Laughter and chatter, mingle with soft, summer breezes
A bouquet of old friends, around a few scattered tables.
Silver coifed hairdos, to make celebration
Crepe myrtle and wrinkles, beneath ashes and maples
Water cress munchies, and triangle creations
Sweet honey-suckle, tucked over the porches.…
Rose petal blossoms, are painted on china
Bridge cards, tumble by Blue Willow dishes
Biscuits from England, crumble sublimely
Large bosoms bouncing, and big floppy hats
Gossip dished up with lemon-sliced frowns
Up in the tree is the neighbor's calico cat
who catches a glance, and a chance to crawl down
Are they ladies of leisure, from a time that is lost?
Or a painting I've seen on the wall from the past?
______________________________
Inspired By the Garden Party Contest
Sponsored By Cyndi McMillan 6/6/14
P erhaps it's time to let it go.
A ll that pain you suffered so.
S train on your heart and soul.
T ime to release and let go.
P eer around at your life now.
R elish the love your children give.
E njoy your work as you always have.
S it and relax at end of day.
E nergised by renewed hope.
N ever again to ever succumb
T o being abused by anyone.
F acing the future with a smile.
U pteen reasons to celebrate.
T he joys of living and giving.
U ncertainity will always remain.
R emember to count your blessings.
E mbrace often those you love.
21/11/2016
It’s been many years since I’d climbed the wooden steps to my parent’s attic. The hinges of the trap door creak and a cloud of dust rises as I push the door open. I fumble for the light switch; it takes several minutes for the dust to settle and for my eyes to become accustomed to the gloom from the single bulb.
I survey the small space, which is packed to the hilt with hidden treasures. I sit cross-legged in a cramped corner and delve one of the many boxes.
relics of childhood
packed in old cardboard boxes
I find my old bear
My mother had carefully packed away many of my old toys and keepsakes from my schooldays and high days and holidays. Oh how I laughed when I read some of the comments on my school reports and workbooks, it made for very amusing reading! I get quite emotional when I sort through photograph albums and see the faces of those who are no longer with us.
cherished memories
as I leaf through the pages
I wipe away tears
After several hours reminiscing I’ve selected a couple of items, which were once so dear to me; and then I finally close the door on the past.
Picture 3
Photostory Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
11-15-17
Past the graveyard deep in snow
where icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps
as memories in warmth she keeps,
all dressed in black like winter crows.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
past the graveyard.
As by the iron fence I go
the granite gapes in pewter rows.
My heart into my throat now leaps;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
in frozen ground while snowflakes blow
past the graveyard.
11/14/17
This is a rewrite of my Terzanelle, "I Pass the Graveyard".
Precious are the memories that last and last.
All that we hold dear in life took place
Somewhere In that sacred spectrum of time’s space.
Today is momentary, for tomorrow it’s the past!
Pleasure and pain at their most poignant
Reign in the realm of the Now.
Ephemeral though this kingdom be, we can feel our most buoyant!
Sometimes sorrow finds us here. How much grief will the present allow?
Everything we’re feeling, whether gladness or sorrow,
Now will be worst of it, for the present will endow
This ever-trusty truth: “There is always tomorrow.”
Fame or fortune folks will be looking for.
Unknown, however, are the things that are in store.
Tomorrow can change your biggest joy to duress.
Unfathomable, it beckons us all, nonetheless.
Rich will be the godly, for future’s rhapsody
Echoes into the grand eternity.
Nov. 20, 2016 for the Past, Present, Future Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
On Dec. 11, 2017 for Brian Strand's 'MID DECEMBER PREMIERE any form or none,max of 20 lines' Poetry Contest
A child in time
Innocence was not youth, innocence was the times
We all sat at the dinner table
Discussions were lively, as adult’s sipped wine
That old Volkswagen, a trunk of memories
Now sitting in the graveyard of old rusty cars
Wishing for shinier days, and a fresh cold coca cola
Frozen in my mind, rusty bumpers, forever a time to cherish
Some dreamed of voyages to space
I dreamed of far away meadows
Where nothing ever changed
Childhoods magically suspended in time
Let me say, time is no ones friend
We spend it easily in our youth
We treasure it like frankincense with each passing day
Love captures our hearts, will time let it stay?
We see the world around us die
Knowing this is nature’s way
Pain, as loved ones fade
Wither away, as we linger on
Day after day
The same questions float in my head
Why do things have to change?
Am I not better off dead?
Love is bound by tears of the heart
A soft kiss or eyes that speak in lustful silence
It matters not, not at all
We must suffer this world as humans do
Me, I shall cling to yesterday
The days of abundance of spirit and youth
I shall dance inside these memories
These are the happy shadows of the past