Best Reunion Poems
A diesel generator
drowns out the rusted Marshall stack
Six years we owned
the Billboard charts;
the DJ who crowned us
every summer
for five straight years—
this week, a county fair;
tonight, the Music Pier.
The drummer tapes two split fingers
closes his hand once
hard—
then rests the sticks
by Mick’s ashes
in a Folgers Black Silk can behind the kit
Tommy’s gold sequins
snag on his dialysis catheter
as he sits
Johnnie the P-bassist drags a stool onstage
to ease his neuropathy
We are crushed elderberries
hawking CDs from a card table,
bleeding a dark, tart stain
onto ninety aluminum chairs
No teenagers weep;
a man wipes funnel-cake grease
from his chin
As I tune the cherry-red '57 Stratocaster
down a minor third,
hoarse from pushing air
through a throat scraped thick
with scar tissue
We were a dense, golden field
beneath the studio lights
on Midnight Special
Now plucked dandelion crowns
scatter over Ferris wheel blacktop,
leaving white ghost-tufts
snagged in the Music Pier’s
boardwalk planks
Where just three bald stems
plug into the seaside damp—
and the seeds drift past the shoreline,
washed up,
vanishing into the deep
we used to call home
Ancient, rugged hills worn down by time
I miss the lush green hills of my home
Leaning away from the peaceful valley,
Mountains forged from eons long forgotten
During those prehistoric periods before
Earliest settlers found the Appalachians,
Already old, tired, and wrinkled, awaiting
The laughter of young children discovering,
Holding the secrets of ancestors denied
Their birthright by Jacobs and Jacob-ites
Where old waters flow down into new,
New River old, maybe older, than the Nile.
I miss the lush green hills of my home
Leaning away from the peaceful valley
Where John Deere still breaks the ground
In the springtime after a long, hard winter,
And where flowers bloom into October
Especially if Mother Nature allows them.
And she does, for that is her mountain way,
Creating an everlasting yearning for reunion
Back home in those West Virginia hills.
POEM OF THE DAY, December 2, 2021
Poetry Soup
written November 30, 2021
#49 on the Best New Poems List on Poetry Soup
December 8, 2021
In the beginning it is just a lovely cloud
Collin comes across her in the coffee house
One of his friends calls his attention
Look, your mom is here, let’s go elsewhere
A descent of birds pecking at his brain
The cloud he keeps looking at for quite a while
The face and the figure look like his
He goes to the toilet to look into the mirror
The semblance he sees is a puzzling wonder
The birds dance and sing in tumultuous chorus
His friend confounded when he is told
Collin does not know who his mother is
He had been adopted when he was just two
The lady too looks at them off and on
When a bridge comes up none can say
The next few hours he passes in a daze
Is the quest for four years going to succeed
Is the cloud preordained for the sudden rain
Or it is just a fortuitous resemblance
But then isn’t it an exactly mirror image
Returning home Collin scrutinizes himself again
In the mirror he finds the same chiseled face
The same desirous dreamy eyes, head full of hair
He recites poems and talks to himself
Same grace radiates from the daffodils
The plant with the flowers hangs in the air
The charm and the fragrance are irresistible
He craves to rush forward and hug it tight
And flood the flower with crimson kisses
The scented air stays elusive nonetheless
Collin says everything to his adopted parents
They are very glad and cooperate to get to the truth
There would be no problem in living all together
Collin laughs and says very forcefully
The twenty two years old son is no more an introvert
When the magnet works in the very stem cells
The eventual fusion is inevitable obviously
She takes him to her apartment
She lives alone her husband dead
No shadow of children nowhere in the rooms
Thousand wasps biting inside his head
The pain is traumatic for the hidden truth
Light and dark interchange day after day
Poems of love keep churning the two hearts
Drama outside and a flood within
The day DNA test confirms the gene
The two intermingle to a river serene
______________________________________________________________
August 8, 2016: For the Contest: Long Lost Family
Sponsored by Silent One
Meet me there ...
Be it rain or shine,
Since I like both
Any weather is fine
Find me there ...
With those already met,
To mingle there ...
With ones I haven't yet
In a good place where
We can laugh and smile,
And talk to the ones
Not seen in awhile
I'll be going there
When my time comes,
I'll be waiting there
With my old chums
Promise me now ...
You will cry no tears,
And meet me there
In one hundred years.
Fifty-year class reunions are stricken with sadness:
Former classmates falling apart before my eyes.
Jane uses a walker, and Stan exhibits madness.
Wages of age foreshadow classmates’ demise.
In youth’s green age I could not fathom this,
A time when peers would be withered and worn.
How I wonder could life have gone so amiss?
Surveying the scene, my heart is heavy, torn.
I give proud thanks that I’m not like the others,
Having been spared of time’s toxic touches.
“But what has befallen my sisters and brothers?”
I ponder the question as I reach for my crutches.
We gathered for our thirtieth class reunion at Lydia's Smorgasbord.
I'd avoided such past events since in school I was largely ignored!
But my spouse proclaimed we would attend, thus ending that debate!
The dreaded encounter is expressed in verse below that I will now relate!
A social hour preceded the buffet where the booze freely flowed!
I looked about the room to see if I could spot anyone that I knowed.
I hardly recognized the campus queen - she had acquired a heap of weight!
That once haughty snob now tipped the scales, I judged, at one ninety-eight!
I saw the big-man-on-campus who was named most apt to score success.
He had a dearth of hair, an ample gut and an astonishing lack of finesse!
Some gal with purple hair staggered up to me and planted a slobbering kiss!
Must've been one of my old flames as I mused, "Now, who in hell is this!"
Guys gravitated my way boasting about this and that bending my ear.
They bored me with nasty jokes and trivia that I really didn't want to hear!
Of course I told all how great they looked, staring them dead in the eye,
And asking the Lord's forgiveness and crossed my fingers for telling such a lie!
The jocks were trying to impress one and all with their waning capabilities.
Most were hobbling about with canes discreetly masking their disabilities!
'Twas an interesting eve and the grub was great, of that there is no doubt,
But for our fortieth, fiftieth and sixtieth reunions, please include me out!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The time will come...Then, let me lie easy in a box of natural pine
And please, no bouquets of store-bought flowers will I want
Give the money instead to a soup kitchen, they need it more
A flower from your garden or the fields will do just fine
I'd love music; if there is; I will hang around a little longer.
Just to listen as soft breezes blow, while I whisper goodbyes.
Should it rain that day, I'll dance in puddles as I did as a child
Filled with excitement as cool drops rivulet down my face
As "Adadgio" wafts upon the wind, perhaps I'll frolic bare feet in lush green grass
Perchance it'd be a sunny day, I may twirl in fields of golden wheat
Then anxiously, run through whitest of white, sugar- fine sands
Stand on blue-green ocean's edge; teasingly chased by crested waves
Suddenly, I'd realize that I have eternity; that time no longer has claims on me!
I'd stand upon an ageless boulder; feel the vibration of rolling waves
All the while laughing as cool ocean mists gently wash my face
While I await the awesome moment - the grand reunion of light to light!
~*~
For Paula Swanson's "When" Contest
He looks
Facebook
Her name!!
Old flame!
She wears!!
new hair
Redhead
instead!
Makes date
She's late :(
They greet
"Let's....eat!"
Converse...
What's worse?
He's bored :(
"Pleeeeaze...Lord!!!"
Gets dark
No spark
Goodbye....
He sighs
They part
sad heart
Throws dice
try twice???? :)
He looks
Facebook
Inspired by Brian Strand's April footle contest
Relatives gather to
Reconnect and update,
Reminisce and relax,
Reveling together.
Rowdy at times but fun.
Revelations are shared.
Repeat again next year.
7/29/19
POTD 8/3/19
I went to my high school reunion:
I wasn't sure what to expect.
Would those we once held so high
Retain our aged respect?
High school cliques had disappeared;
our hearts at last included all.
We understood, as our days grew short,
our differences must grow small.
The grey in our hair and slowness of step,
were the trophies of our days:
The wars we fought, the triumphs shared,
the loves lost while finding our ways.
Ups and downs and sideways of life
had been etched upon every face.
The joys and laughter and sadness
had given each an uncommon grace.
The reunion was nice, but I had learned
you really can't go home again
We were no longer those high school mates
Waiting for sixth period to end.
Friends remain pearls, diamonds the tears
but it's strangers we've become.
Faded photographs in a dusty box,
reminders that once we were young.
Into the sea spring tides of the river flow,
Out of sea tides does the rising moon glow.
Glittering waves roll on thousands of miles,
All rivers are robed by lunar beams in piles.
The river twists and turns around the green field,
Snow pellets on flowers the moon rays yield.
The air is frosted with the moonlight sensible,
The white sand on the islet is clearly invisible.
In one color the river merges with the dustless sky,
And in the azure dome the lonely moon rises high.
By the riverside who first saw the moon shine?
When did the moonlight first find a human sign?
Life runs on endlessly from generation to generation,
But the moon remains unchanged years in succession.
No one knows for whom the moon is there waiting,
Yet the river constantly sends off the water flowing.
Like a wondering cloud I parted with you in weep,
Leaving you standing at the ferry in sorrow deep.
Which family has a traveler in a boat tonight?
Who is lovesick in a boudoir lit by the moonlight?
The miserable moonlight moves up and down the stair,
But it should focus on the dressing table you prepare.
The moonshine on the curtain cannot be rolled away,
The beams on the washing-board are brushed but stay.
Gazing at the same moon we can’t converse through,
By moonlight I wish my sincere love could reach you.
The message goose cannot fly higher and farther,
Text-like ripples are written by fish’s jumping on water.
Last night I dreamed of the fallen flowers on the pond,
I couldn't go home although it is mid-spring beyond.
Even the river will soon run out of its spring tide,
Into the west the brilliant moon will finally slide.
Slowly the tilting moon hides itself in the sea haze,
And we’re thousands of miles apart with vain gaze.
How many enjoy reunion when the moon is bright?
On swaying trees the setting moon sheds woeful light.
(Tran.)
85 th class reunion...
plenty of
parking
A full Soup Bowl,
that is full of red hot writers,
with many creative words to read.
Some write funny,
some write romance,
some write true to life,
some write tales of old,
some write very short,
some write very long
but all write from their heart.
A full Soup Bowl,
with one less.
Many of our wonderful writers have left us,
to a better place to write.
Heaven is the place,
a place were we one day will join in.
Another one of our writers went from our Soup Bowl,
writer Panagiota Romios left us Tuesday, Oct. 08, 2025.
Now in heaven writing away,
as she joins the other Soupers.
Many have left,
they have paved the way.
One day there will be a great reunion,
we can all join in together.
May They All Rest In Peace.....
A snatch of sound is carried by the wind,
a delicate and solitary note.
There at the end, the pitch just slightly bends;
it rises for an instance as it floats.
So lovely, it is over far too soon -
and then, a second, similar delight!
The chorus brings a lump within the throat.
Then, there! Two darkened shadows block the moon,
seen rising from the lake in tandem flight:
a pair of loons.
Reflections on a Wall
From the valley floor
A stone arises,
Straight walls of polished blackness,
In between rolling, grassy knolls
Hidden in their cleft –
Arms open wide,
Welcoming pilgrims
Who in pilgrimage approach
It’s darkened face,
Burdened by their tears
Written on a page,
Wounded hearts, reopened,
In time and from far away
In air that hangs so somber,
Yet so full,
Like incense smoke,
Slowly lifting quiet sobs and farewell words
Into Heaven’s air
Until they meld
To final rest upon
The fragrant floral tributes,
As one clear voice of taps,
Bidding youthful souls
And mourning hearts be one again
Within the granite wellspring bubbling up
Like a flame - eternal as the spirit sighs
That rest within the stone -
Where life reflects back to the living
In a visage blank - a void -
Through the eyes of death
To see in the reflection
A mirror framed by silent tears
When hands held in mourning
Trace the outline of a signature,
Remembering the warmth shared
In first steps
Or love awakening,
Then reach out to touch the name
Etched into the stone
Reviving life,
Holding onto a youthful hand outstretched
For one brief moment rejoined with life -
Two souls touch -
Then pulled away into that space
That all mortal flesh fears
To bid adieu again
Across the finite portal into eternity.
Reflections on the Vietnam Memorial – Washington DC